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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40940 ***
+
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW
+
+
+
+
+  [Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW
+
+  By
+  MRS. HENRY WOOD
+
+  AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.
+
+  _FOURTH SERIES_
+
+  TWENTIETH THOUSAND
+
+  +London+
+  MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
+  NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
+  1901
+
+
+
+
+    "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.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+                              PAGE
+  A MYSTERY                      1
+
+  SANDSTONE TORR                61
+
+  CHANDLER AND CHANDLER        145
+
+  VERENA FONTAINE'S REBELLION  190
+
+  A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE         293
+
+  ROGER BEVERE                 313
+
+  KETIRA THE GIPSY             368
+
+  THE CURATE OF ST. MATTHEW'S  408
+
+  MRS. CRAMP'S TENANT          449
+
+
+
+
+JOHNNY LUDLOW.
+
+
+
+
+A MYSTERY.
+
+
+I.
+
+"Look here, Johnny Ludlow," said Darbyshire to me--Darbyshire being, as
+you may chance to remember, our doctor at Timberdale--"you seem good
+at telling of unaccountable disappearances: why don't you tell of that
+disappearance which took place here?"
+
+I had chanced to look in upon him one evening when he was taking rest in
+his chimney-corner, in the old red-cushioned chair, after his day's work
+was over, smoking his churchwarden pipe in his slippers and reading the
+story of "Dorothy Grape."
+
+"We should like to see that disappearance on paper," went on Darbyshire.
+"It is the most curious thing that has happened in my experience."
+
+True enough it was. Too curious for any sort of daylight to be seen
+through it; as you will acknowledge when you hear its details; and far
+more complicated than the other story.
+
+The lawyer at Timberdale, John Delorane, was a warm-hearted and
+warm-tempered man of Irish extraction. He had an extensive practice, and
+lived in an old-fashioned, handsome red-brick house in the heart of
+Timberdale, with his only daughter and his sister, Hester.
+
+You may have seen prettier girls than Ellin Delorane, but never one
+that the heart so quickly went out to. She was too much like her dead
+mother; had the same look of fragile delicacy, the same sweet face with
+its pensive sadness, the soft brown eyes and the lovely complexion. Mrs.
+Delorane had died of decline: people would say to one another, in
+confidence, they hoped Ellin might escape it.
+
+The largest and best farm in the neighbourhood of Timberdale, larger
+than even that of the Ashtons, was called the Dower Farm. It belonged
+to Sir Robert Tenby, and had been occupied for many years by one Roger
+Brook, a genial, pleasant gentleman of large private means apart from
+his success in farming. Rich though he was, he did not disdain to see
+practically after his work himself; was up with the lark and out with
+his men, as a good farmer ought to be. Out-of-doors he was the keen,
+active, thorough farmer; indoors he lived as a gentleman. He had four
+children: three boys and one girl, who were all well and comprehensively
+educated.
+
+But he intended his sons to work as he had worked: no idleness for him;
+no leading of indolent and self-indulgent lives. "Choose what calling
+you please," he said to them; "but stick to it when chosen, and do your
+very best in it." The eldest son, Charles, had no fancy for farming,
+no particular head for any of the learned professions; he preferred
+commerce. An uncle, Matthew Brook, was the head of a mercantile house in
+New York; he offered a post in it to Charles, who went out to him. The
+second son, Reginald, chose the medical profession; after qualifying
+for it, he became assistant to a doctor in London to gain experience.
+William, the third son, went to Oxford. He thought of the Church, but
+being conscientious, would not decide upon it hastily.
+
+"So that not one of you will be with me," remarked Mr. Brook. "Well, be
+it so. I only want you to lead good and useful lives, striving to do
+your duty to God and to man."
+
+But one of those overwhelming misfortunes, that I'm sure may be compared
+with the falling of an avalanche, fell on Mr. Brook. In an evil hour
+he had become a shareholder in a stupendous undertaking which had
+banking for its staple basis; and the thing failed. People talked of
+"swindling." Its managers ran away; its books and money were nowhere;
+its shareholders were ruined. Some of the shareholders ran away too;
+Roger Brook, upright and honourable, remained to face the ruin. And
+utter ruin it was, for the company was one of unlimited liability.
+
+The shock was too much for him: he died under it. Every shilling he
+possessed was gone; harpies (it is what Timberdale called them) came
+down upon his furniture and effects, and swept them away. In less time
+almost than it takes to tell of, not a vestige remained of what had
+been, save in memory: Sir Robert Tenby had another tenant at the Dower
+Farm, and Mrs. Brook had moved into a little cottage-villa not a stone's
+throw from Darbyshire's. She had about two hundred a-year of her own,
+which no adverse law could touch. Her daughter, Minnie, remained with
+her. You will hardly believe it, but they had named her by the romantic
+name of Araminta.
+
+William Brook had come down from Oxford just before, his mind made up
+_not_ to be a clergyman, but to remain on the farm with his father. When
+the misfortunes fell, he was, of course, thrown out; and what to turn
+his hand to he did not at once know. Brought up to neither profession
+nor trade, no, nor to farming, it was just a dilemma. At present, he
+stayed with his mother.
+
+One day he presented himself to Mr. Delorane. "Can you give me some
+copying to do, sir?" he asked: "either at your office here, or at home.
+I write a good clear hand."
+
+"What do you mean to do, Master William?" returned the lawyer, passing
+over the question. The two families had always been intimate and much
+together.
+
+"I don't know what; I am waiting to see," said William. He was a slender
+young fellow of middle height, with gentle manners, a very nice, refined
+face, and a pair of honest, cheery, dark-blue eyes.
+
+"Waiting for something to turn up, like our old friend Micawber!" said
+the lawyer.
+
+"If I could earn only a pound a-week while I am looking out, I should
+not feel myself so much of a burden on my mother--though she will not
+hear me say a word about that," the young man went on. "You would not
+take me on as clerk and give me that sum, would you, Mr. Delorane?"
+
+Well, they talked further; and the upshot was, that Mr. Delorane did
+take him on. William Brook went into the office as a clerk, and was paid
+a pound a-week.
+
+The parish wondered a little, making sundry comments over this at its
+tea-tables: for the good old custom of going out to real tea was not out
+of fashion yet in Timberdale. Every one agreed that William Brook was to
+be commended for putting his shoulder to the wheel, but that it was a
+grave descent for one brought up to his expectations. Mr. St. George
+objected to it on another score.
+
+Years before, there had arrived in England from the West Indies a little
+gentleman, named Alfred St. George. His father, a planter, had recently
+died, and the boy's relatives had sent him home to be educated, together
+with plenty of money for that purpose. Later, when of an age to leave
+school, he was articled to Mr. Delorane, and proved an apt, keen pupil.
+Next he went into the office of a renowned legal firm in London, became
+a qualified lawyer and conveyancer, and finally accepted an offer made
+him by Mr. Delorane, to return to Timberdale, as his chief and managing
+clerk. Mr. Delorane paid him a handsome salary, and held out to him, as
+report ran, hopes of a future partnership.
+
+Alfred St. George had grown up a fine man; tall, strong, lithe and
+active. People thought his face handsome, but it had unmistakably a
+touch of the tar-brush. The features were large and well formed, the
+lips full, and the purple-black hair might have been woolly but for
+being drilled into order with oils. His complexion was a pale olive, his
+black eyes were round, showing a great deal of the whites, and at times
+they wore a very peculiar expression. Take him for all in all, he was a
+handsome man, with a fluent tongue and persuasive eloquence.
+
+It was Mr. St. George who spoke against William Brook's being taken on
+as clerk. Not that his objection applied to the young man himself, but
+to his probable capacity for work. "He will be of no use to us, sir,"
+was the substance of his remonstrance to Mr. Delorane. "He has had no
+experience: and one can hardly snub Brook as one would a common clerk."
+
+"Don't suppose he will be of much use," carelessly acquiesced Mr.
+Delorane, who was neither a stingy nor a covetous man. "What could I do
+but take him on when he asked me to? I like the young fellow; always
+did; and his poor father was my very good friend. You must make the best
+of him, St. George: dare say he won't stay long with us." At which St.
+George laughed good-naturedly and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+But William Brook did prove to be of use. He got on so well, was so
+punctual, so attentive, so intelligent, that fault could not be found
+with him; and at the end of the first year Mr. Delorane voluntarily
+doubled his pay--raising it to two pounds per week.
+
+Timberdale wondered again: and began to ask how it was that young Brook,
+highly educated, and reared to expect some position in the world, could
+content himself with stopping on, a lawyer's clerk? Did he mean to
+continue in the office for ever? Had he ceased to look out for that
+desirable something that was to turn up? Was he parting with all
+laudable ambition?
+
+William Brook could have told them, had he dared, that it was not lack
+of ambition chaining him to his post, but stress of love. He and Ellin
+Delorane had entered a long while past into the mazes of that charming
+dream, than which, as Tom Moore tells us, there's nothing half so sweet
+in life, and the world was to them as the Garden of Eden.
+
+It was close upon the end of the second year before Mr. Delorane found
+it out. He went into a storm of rage and reproaches--chiefly showered
+upon William Brook, partly upon Ellin, a little upon himself.
+
+"I have been an old fool," he spluttered to his confidential clerk.
+"Because the young people had been intimate in the days when the Brooks
+were prosperous, I must needs let it go on still, and never suspect
+danger! Why, the fellow has had his tea here twice a-week upon an
+average!--and brought Ellin home at night when she has been at his
+mother's!--and I--I--thought no more than if it had been her brother!
+I could thrash myself! And where have her aunt Hester's eyes been, I
+should like to know!"
+
+"Very dishonourable of Brook," assented St. George, knitting his brow.
+"Perhaps less harm is done than you fear, sir. They are both young, can
+hardly know their own minds; they will grow out of it. Shall you part
+them?"
+
+"Do you suppose I shouldn't?" retorted the lawyer.
+
+William Brook was discharged from the office: Ellin received orders to
+give up his acquaintanceship; she was not to think of him in private or
+speak to him in public. Thus a little time went on. Ellin's bright face
+began to fade; Aunt Hester looked sick and sorry; the lawyer had never
+felt so uncomfortable in his life.
+
+Do what he would, he could not get out of his liking for William Brook,
+and Ellin was dear to him as the apple of his eye. He had been in love
+himself once, and knew what it meant; little as you would believe it of
+a stout old red-faced lawyer; knew that both must be miserable. So much
+the better for Brook--but what of Ellin?
+
+"One would think it was you who had had your lover sent to the
+right-about!" he wrathfully began to Aunt Hester, one morning when he
+came upon her in tears as she sat at her sewing. "I'd hide my face if I
+were you, unless I could show a better."
+
+"It is that I am so sorry for Ellin, John," replied Aunt Hester, meekly
+wiping her tears. "I--I am afraid that some people bear sorrow worse
+than others."
+
+"Now what do you mean by that?"
+
+"Oh, not much," sighed Aunt Hester, not daring to allude to the dread
+lying latent in her own mind--that Ellin might fade away like her
+mother. "I can see what a sharp blow it has been to the child, John, and
+so--and so I can but feel it myself."
+
+"Sharp blow! Deuce take it all! What business had young Brook to get
+talking to her about such rubbish as love?"
+
+"Yes indeed, it is very unfortunate," said Aunt Hester. "But I do not
+think he has talked to her, John; I imagine he is too honourable to have
+said a single word. They have just gone on loving one another in secret
+and in silence, content to live in the unspoken happiness that has
+flooded their two hearts."
+
+"Unspoken fiddlestick? What a simpleton you are, Hester!"
+
+Mr. Delorane turned off in a temper. He knew it must have been a
+"sharp blow" to Ellin, but he did not like to hear it so stated to his
+face. Banging the door behind him, he was crossing the hall to the
+office--which made a sort of wing to the house--when he met William
+Brook.
+
+"Will you allow me to speak to you, sir?" asked the young man in a tone
+of deprecation. And, though the lawyer had the greatest mind in the
+world to tell him NO and send him head-foremost out again, he thought of
+Ellin, he thought of his dead friend, Roger Brook; so he gave a growl,
+and led the way into the dining-room.
+
+In his modest winning way, William Brook spoke a little of the trouble
+that had come upon their family--how deeply sorry he was that Ellin and
+he should have learnt to care for one another for all time, as it was
+displeasing to Mr. Delorane----
+
+"Hang it, man," interrupted the lawyer irascibly, too impatient to
+listen further--"what on earth do you propose to yourself? Suppose I did
+not look upon it with displeasure?--are you in a position to marry her?"
+
+"You would not have objected to me had we been as we once
+were--prosperous, and----"
+
+"What the dickens has that to do with it!" roared the lawyer. "Our
+business lies with the present, not the past."
+
+"I came here to tell you, sir, that I am to leave for New York to-night.
+My brother Charles has been writing to me about it for some time past.
+He says I cannot fail to get on well in my uncle's house, and attain
+to a good position. Uncle Matthew has no sons: he will do his best to
+advance his nephews. What I wish to ask you, sir, is this--if, when my
+means shall be good and my position assured, you will allow me to think
+of Ellin?"
+
+"The man's mad?" broke forth Mr. Delorane, more put about than he had
+been at all. "Do you suppose I should let my only child go to live in a
+country over the seas?"
+
+"No, sir, I have thought of that. Charles thinks, if I show an aptitude
+for business, they may make me their agent over here. Oh, Mr. Delorane,
+be kind, be merciful: for Ellin's sake and for mine! Do not send me away
+without hope!"
+
+"Don't you think you possess a ready-made stock of impudence, William
+Brook?"
+
+The young man threw his earnest, dark-blue eyes into the lawyer's. "I
+feared you would deem so, sir. But I am pleading for what is dearer to
+me and to her than life: our lives will be of little value to us if we
+must spend them apart. Only just one ray of possible hope, Mr. Delorane!
+It is all I ask."
+
+"Look here; we'll drop this," cried the lawyer, his hands in his
+pockets, rattling away violently at the silver in them, his habit when
+put out, but nevertheless calming down in temper, for in spite of
+prejudice he did like the young man greatly, and he was not easy as to
+Ellin. "The best thing you can do is to go where you are going--over the
+Atlantic: and we'll leave the future to take care of itself. The money
+you think to make may turn out all moonshine, you know. There; that's
+every word I'll say and every hope I'll give, though you stop all day
+bothering me, William Brook."
+
+And perhaps it was as much as William Brook had expected: any way, it
+did not absolutely forbid him to hope. He held out his hand timidly.
+
+"Will you not shake hands with me, sir--I start to-night--and wish me
+God speed."
+
+"I'll wish you better sense; and--and I hope you'll get over safely,"
+retorted Mr. Delorane: but he did not withhold his hand. "No
+correspondence with Ellin, you understand, young man; no underhand
+love-making."
+
+"Yes, sir, I understand; and you may rely upon me."
+
+He quitted the room as he spoke, to make his way out as he came--through
+the office. The lawyer stood in the passage and looked after him: and a
+thought, that had forced itself into his mind several times since this
+trouble set in, crossed it again. Should he make the best of a bad
+bargain: give Brook a chief place in his own office and let them set up
+in some pleasant little home near at hand? Ellin had her mother's money:
+and she would have a great deal more at his own death; quite enough to
+allow her husband to live the idle life of a gentleman--and William was
+a gentleman, and the nicest young fellow he knew. Should he? For a full
+minute Mr. Delorane stood deliberating--yes, or no; then he took a hasty
+step forward to call the young man back. Then, wavering and uncertain,
+he stepped back again, and let the idea pass.
+
+"Well, how have you sped?" asked Mr. St. George, as William Brook
+reappeared in the office. "Any hope?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," answered William. "At least, it is not absolutely
+forbidden. There's a line in a poem my mother would repeat to us when we
+were boys--'God and an honest heart will bear us through the roughest
+day.' I trust He, and it, will so bear me and Ellin."
+
+"Wish I had your chance, old fellow!"
+
+"My chance!" repeated William.
+
+"To go out to see the world; to go out to the countries where gold and
+diamonds are picked up for the stooping--instead of being chained, as I
+am, between four confined walls, condemned to spend my life over musty
+parchments."
+
+William smiled. "I don't know where you can pick up gold and diamonds
+for the stooping. Not where I am going."
+
+"No, not in New York. You should make your way to the Australian
+gold-fields, Brook, or to the rich Californian mines, or to the diamond
+mountains in Africa, and come back--as you would in no time--with a sack
+of money on your shoulders, large enough to satisfy even Delorane."
+
+"Or lose my health, if not my life, in digging, and come home without
+a shirt to my back; a more common result than the other, I fancy,"
+remarked William. "Well, good-bye, old friend."
+
+St. George, towering aloft in his height and strength, put his
+arm around William's shoulder and walked thus with him to the
+street-entrance. There they shook hands, and parted. Ellin Delorane,
+her face shaded behind the drawing-room curtain from the October sun,
+watched the parting.
+
+There was to be no set farewell allowed to her. She understood that.
+But she gathered from Aunt Hester, during the day, that her father had
+not been altogether obdurate, and that if William could get on in the
+future, perhaps things might be suffered to come right. It brought to
+her a strange comfort. So very slight a ray, no bigger than one of the
+specks that fall from the sky, as children say, will serve to impart a
+most unreasonable amount of hope to the troubled heart.
+
+Towards the close of the afternoon, Ellin went in her restlessness to
+pay a visit to her friend Grace at the Rectory, who had recently become
+Herbert Tanerton's wife, and sat talking with her till it was pretty
+late. The moon, rising over the tops of the trees, caused her to start
+up with an exclamation.
+
+"What will Aunt Hester say?"
+
+"If you don't mind going through the churchyard, Ellin," said Grace,
+"you would cut off that corner, and save a little time." So Ellin took
+that route.
+
+"Ellin!"
+
+"William!"
+
+They had met face to face under the church walls. He explained that he
+was sparing a few minutes to say farewell to his friends at the Rectory.
+The moon, coming out from behind a swiftly passing cloud, for it was
+rather a rough night, shone down upon them and upon the graves around
+them. Wildly enough beat the heart of each.
+
+"You saw papa to-day," she whispered unevenly, as though her breath were
+short.
+
+"Yes, I saw him. I cannot say that he gave me hope, Ellin, but he
+certainly did not wholly deny it. I think--I believe--that--if I can
+succeed in getting on, all may be well with us yet."
+
+William Brook spoke with hesitation. He felt trammelled; he could not
+in honour say what he would have wished to say. This meeting might be
+unorthodox, but it was purely accidental; neither he nor Ellin had
+sought it.
+
+"Good-bye, my darling," he said with emotion, clasping her hands in his.
+"As we have met, there cannot be much wrong in our saying it. I may
+not write to you, Ellin; I may not even ask you to think of me; I may
+not, I suppose, tell you in so many words that I shall think of you;
+but, believe this: I go out with one sole aim and end in view--that of
+striving to make a position sufficiently fair to satisfy your father."
+
+The tears were coursing down her cheeks; she could hardly speak for
+agitation. Their hearts were aching to pain.
+
+"I will be true to you always, William," she whispered. "I will wait for
+you, though it be to the end of life."
+
+To be in love with a charming young lady, and to have her all to
+yourself in a solitary graveyard under the light of the moon, presents
+an irresistible temptation for taking a kiss, especially if the kiss
+is to be a farewell kiss for days and for years. William Brook did not
+resist it; very likely did not try to. In spite of Mr. Delorane and
+every one else, he took his farewell kiss from Ellin's lips.
+
+Then they parted, he going one way, she the other. Only those of
+us--there are not many--who have gone through this parting agony can
+know how it wrings the heart.
+
+But sundry superstitious gossips, hearing of this afterwards, assured
+Ellin that it must be unlucky to say farewell amidst graves.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The time went on. William Brook wrote regularly to his people, and Minty
+whispered the news to Ellin Delorane. He would send kind remembrances to
+friends, love to those who cared for it. He did not dislike the work of
+a mercantile life, and thought he should do well--in time.
+
+In time. There was the rub, you see. We say "in time" when we mean next
+Christmas, and we also say it when we mean next century. By the end of
+the first year William Brook was commanding a handsome salary; but the
+riches that might enable him to aspire to the hand of Miss Delorane
+loomed obscurely in the distance yet. Ellin seemed strong and well, gay
+and cheerful, went about Timberdale, and laughed and talked with the
+world, just as though she had never had a lover, or was not waiting for
+somebody over the water. Mr. Delorane thought she must have forgotten
+that scapegrace, and he hoped it was so.
+
+It was about this time, the end of the first year, that a piece of good
+luck fell to Mr. St. George. He came into a fortune. Some relative in
+the West Indies died and left it to him. Timberdale put it down at a
+thousand pounds a-year, so I suppose it might be about five hundred. It
+was thought he might be for giving up his post at Mr. Delorane's to
+be a gentleman at large. But he did nothing of the kind. He quitted
+his lodgings over Salmon's shop, and went into a pretty house near
+Timberdale Court, with a groom and old Betty Huntsman as housekeeper,
+and set up a handsome gig and a grey horse. And that was all the change.
+
+As the second year went on, Ellin Delorane began to droop a little. Aunt
+Hester did not like it. One of the kindest friends Ellin had was Alfred
+St. George. After the departure of young Brook, he had been so tender
+with Ellin, so considerate, so indulgent to her sorrow, and so regretful
+(like herself) of William's absence, that he had won her regard. "It
+will be all right when he comes back, Ellin," he would whisper: "only be
+patient."
+
+But in this, the second year, Mr. St. George's tone changed. It may be
+that he saw no hope of any happy return, and deemed that, for her own
+sake, he ought to repress any hope left in her.
+
+"There's no more chance of his returning with a fortune than there is of
+my going up to the moon," he said to Tod confidentially one day when we
+met him striding along near the Ravine.
+
+"Don't suppose there is--in this short time," responded Tod.
+
+"I'm afraid Ellin sees it, too: she seems to be losing her spirits.
+Ah, Brook should have done as I advised him--gone a little farther and
+dug in the gold-fields. He might have come back a Croesus then. As it
+is--whew! I wouldn't give a copper sixpence for his chance."
+
+"Do you know what I heard say, St. George?--that you'd like to go in for
+the little lady yourself."
+
+The white eye-balls surrounding St. George's dark orbs took a tinge of
+yellow as they rolled on Tod. "Who said it?" he asked quietly.
+
+"Darbyshire. He says you are in love with her as much as ever Brook
+was."
+
+St. George laughed. "Old Darbyshire? Well, perhaps he is not far wrong.
+Any way, love's free, I believe. Were I her father, Brook should prove
+his eligibility to propose for her, or else give her up. Good-day,
+Todhetley; good-day, Johnny."
+
+St. George went off at a quick pace. Tod, looking after him, made his
+comments. "Should not wonder but he wins her. He is the better man of
+the two----"
+
+"The better man!" I interrupted.
+
+"As to means, at any rate: and see what a fine upright free-limbed
+fellow he is! And where will you find one more agreeable?"
+
+"In tongue, nowhere; I admit that. But I wouldn't give up William Brook
+for him, were I Ellin Delorane."
+
+That St. George was in love with her grew as easy to be seen as is the
+round moon in harvest. Small blame to him. Who could be in the daily
+companionship of a sweet girl like Ellin Delorane, and not learn to love
+her, I should like to know? Tod told St. George he wished he had his
+chance.
+
+At last St. George spoke to her. It was in April, eighteen months after
+Brook's departure. Ellin was in the garden at sunset, busy with the
+budding flowers, when St. George came to join her, as he sometimes did,
+on leaving the office for the day. Aunt Hester sat sewing at the open
+glass-doors of the window.
+
+"I have been gardening till I am tired," was Ellin's greeting to him, as
+she sat down on a bench near the sweetbriar bush.
+
+"You look pale," said Mr. St. George. "You often do look pale now,
+Ellin: do you think you can be quite well?"
+
+"Pray don't let Aunt Hester overhear you," returned Ellin in covert,
+jesting tones. "She begins to have fancies, she says, that I am not as
+well as I ought to be, and threatens to call in Mr. Darbyshire."
+
+"You need some one to take care of you; some one near and dear to you,
+who would study your every look and action, who would not suffer the
+winds of heaven to blow upon your face too roughly," went on St. George,
+plunging into Shakespeare. "Oh, Ellin, if you would suffer me to be that
+one----"
+
+Her face turned crimson; her lips parted with emotion; she rose up to
+interrupt him in a sort of terror.
+
+"Pray do not continue, Mr. St. George. If--if I understand you rightly,
+that you--that you----"
+
+"That I would be your loving husband, Ellin; that I would shelter you
+from all ill until death us do part. Yes, it is nothing less than that."
+
+"Then you must please never to speak of such a thing again; never to
+think of it. Oh, do not let me find that I have been mistaking you all
+this time," she added in uncontrollable agitation: "that while I have
+ever welcomed you as my friend--and his--you have been swayed by another
+motive!"
+
+He did not like the agitation; he did not like the words; and he bit his
+lips, striving for calmness.
+
+"This is very hard, Ellin."
+
+"Let us understand each other once for all," she said--"and oh, I
+am so sorry that there's need to say it. What you have hinted at is
+impossible. Impossible: please not to mistake me. You have been my very
+kind friend, and I value you; and, if you will, we can go on still on
+the same pleasant terms, caring for one another in friendship. There
+can be nothing more."
+
+"Tell me one thing," he said: "we had better, as you intimate,
+understand each other fully. Can it be that your hopes are still fixed
+upon William Brook?"
+
+"Yes," she answered in a low tone, as she turned her face away. "I hope
+he will come home yet, and that--that matters may be smoothed for us
+with papa. Whilst that hope remains it is simply treason to talk to me
+as you would have done," she concluded with a spurt of anger.
+
+"Ellin," called out Aunt Hester, putting her head out beyond the
+glass-doors, "the sun has set; you had better come in."
+
+"One moment, Ellin," cried Mr. St. George, preventing her: "will you
+forgive me?"
+
+"Forgive and forget, too," smiled Ellin, her brow smoothing itself.
+"But you must never recur to the subject again."
+
+So Mr. St. George went home, his accounts settled--as Tod would have
+said: and the days glided on.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What is it that ails Ellin?"
+
+It was a piping-hot morning in July, in one of the good old hot
+summers that we seem never to get now; and Aunt Hester sat in her
+parlour, its glass-doors open, adding up the last week's bills of the
+butcher and the baker, when she was interrupted by this question from
+her brother. He had come stalking upon her, rattling as usual, though
+quite unconsciously, the silver in his trousers pockets. The trousers
+were of nankeen: elderly gentlemen wore them in those days for
+coolness.
+
+"What ails her!" repeated Aunt Hester, dropping the bills in alarm.
+"Why do you ask me, John?"
+
+"Now, don't you think you should have been a Quaker?" retorted Mr.
+Delorane. "I put a simple question to you, and you reply to it by asking
+me another. Please to answer mine first. What is it that is the matter
+with Ellin?"
+
+Aunt Hester sighed. Of too timid a nature to put forth her own opinion
+upon any subject gratuitously in her brother's house, she hardly liked
+to give it even when asked for. For the past few weeks Ellin had been
+almost palpably fading; was silent and dispirited, losing her bright
+colour, growing thinner; might be heard catching her breath in one
+of those sobbing sighs that betoken all too surely some secret,
+ever-present sorrow. Aunt Hester had observed this; she now supposed
+it had at length penetrated to the observation of her brother.
+
+"Can't you speak?" he demanded.
+
+"I don't know what to say, John. Ellin does not seem well, and looks
+languid: of course this broiling weather is against us all. But----"
+
+"But what?" cried the lawyer, as she paused. "As to broiling weather,
+that's nothing new in July."
+
+"Well, John--only you take me up so--and I'm sure I shouldn't like to
+anger you. I was about to add that I think it is not so much illness
+of body with Ellin as illness of mind. If one's mind is ransacked with
+perpetual worry----"
+
+"Racked with perpetual worry," interrupted Mr. Delorane, unconsciously
+correcting her mistake. "What has she to worry her?"
+
+"Dear me! I suppose it is about William Brook. He has been gone nearly
+two years, John, and seems to be no nearer coming home with a fortune
+than he was when he left. I take it that this troubles the child: she
+is losing hope."
+
+Mr. Delorane, standing before the open window, his back to his sister,
+turned the silver coins about in his pockets more vehemently than
+before. "You say she is not ailing in body?"
+
+"Not yet. She is never very strong, you know."
+
+"Then there's no need to be uneasy."
+
+"Well, John--not yet, perhaps. But should this state of despair, if I
+don't use too strong a word, continue, it will tell in tune upon her
+health, and might bring on--bring on----"
+
+"Bring on what?" sharply asked the lawyer.
+
+"I was thinking of her mother," said poor Aunt Hester, with as much
+deprecation as though he had been the Great Mogul: "but I trust, John,
+you won't be too angry with me for saying it."
+
+Mr. Delorane did not say whether he was angry or not. He stood there,
+fingering his sixpences and shillings, gazing apparently at the
+grass-plat, in reality seeing nothing. He was recalling a past vision:
+that of his delicate wife, dying of consumption before her time; he
+seemed to see a future vision: that of his daughter, dying as she had
+died.
+
+"When it comes to dreams," timidly went on Aunt Hester, "I can't say I
+like it. Not that I am one to put faith in the foolish signs old wives
+talk of--that if you dream of seeing a snake, you've got an enemy; or,
+if you seem to be in the midst of a lot of beautiful white flowers,
+it's a token of somebody's death. I am not so silly as that, John. But
+for some time past Ellin has dreamt perpetually of one theme--that of
+being in trouble about William Brook. Night after night she seems to be
+searching for him: he is lost, and she cannot tell how or where."
+
+Had Aunt Hester suddenly begun to hold forth in the unknown tongue, it
+could not have brought greater surprise to Mr. Delorane. He turned short
+round to stare at her.
+
+"Seeing what a wan and weary face the child has come down with of late,
+I taxed her with not sleeping well," continued Aunt Hester, "and she
+confessed to me that she was feeling a good bit troubled by her dreams.
+She generally has them towards morning, and the theme is always the
+same. The dreams vary, but the subject is alike in all--William Brook
+is lost, and she is searching for him."
+
+"Nonsense! Rubbish!" put in Mr. Delorane.
+
+"Well, John, I dare say it is nonsense," conceded Aunt Hester meekly:
+"but I confess I don't like dreams that come to you persistently night
+after night and always upon one and the same subject. Why should they
+come?--that's what I ask myself. Be sure, though, I make light of the
+matter to Ellin, and tell her her digestion is out of order. Over and
+over again, she says, they seem to have the clue to his hiding place,
+but they never succeed in finding him. And--and I am afraid, John, that
+the child, through this, has taken up the notion that she shall never
+see him again."
+
+Mr. Delorane, making some impatient remark about the absurdity of women
+in general, turned round and stood looking into the garden as before.
+Ellin's mind was getting unhinged with the long separation, she had
+begun to regard it as hopeless, and hence these dreams that Brook was
+"lost," he told himself, and with reason: and what was he to do?
+
+How long he stood thus in perfect silence, no sound to be heard but
+the everlasting jingling of the loose silver, Aunt Hester did not know;
+pretty near an hour she thought. She wished he would go; she felt very
+uncomfortable, as she always did feel when she vexed him--and here were
+the bills waiting to be added up. At length he turned sharply, with the
+air of one who has come to some decision, and returned to the office.
+
+"I suppose I shall have to do it myself," he remarked to Mr. St. George.
+
+"Do what, sir?"
+
+"Send for that young fellow back, and let them set up in some little
+homestead near me. I mean Brook."
+
+"Brook!" stammered St. George.
+
+"Here's Ellin beginning to fade and wither. It's all very well for her
+aunt to talk about the heat! _I_ know. She is pining after him, and I
+can't see her do it; so he must come home."
+
+Of all the queer shades that can be displayed by the human countenance,
+about the queerest appeared in that of Mr. St. George. It was not
+purple, it was not green, it was not yellow; it was a mixture of all
+three. He gazed at his chief and master as one gazes at a madman.
+
+"Brook can come into the office again," continued Mr. Delorane. "I don't
+like young men to be idle; leads 'em into temptation. We'll make him
+head clerk here, next to you, and give him a couple of hundred a-year.
+If--what's the matter?"
+
+For the strange look on his manager's face had caught the eye of Mr.
+Delorane. St. George drew three or four deep breaths.
+
+"Have you thought of Miss Delorane, sir--of her interests--in planning
+this?" he presently asked.
+
+"Why, that's what I do think of; nothing else. You may be sure I
+shouldn't think of it for the interest of Brook. All the same, I like
+the young man, and always shall. The child is moping herself into a bad
+way. Where shall I be if she should go into a decline like her mother?
+No, no; she shall marry and have proper interests around her."
+
+"She could do that without being sacrificed to Brook," returned St.
+George in a low tone. "There are others, sir, of good and suitable
+position, who would be thankful to take her--whose pride it would be
+to cherish her and render every moment of her life happy."
+
+"Oh, I know that; you are one of 'em," returned Mr. Delorane carelessly.
+"It's what all you young sparks are ready to say of a pretty girl,
+especially if she be rich as well. But don't you see, St. George, that
+Ellin does not care for any of you. Her heart is fixed upon Brook, and
+Brook it must be."
+
+Of course this news came out to Timberdale. Some people blamed Mr.
+Delorane, others praised him. Delorane must be turning childish in his
+old age, said one; Delorane is doing a good and a wise thing, cried
+another. Opinions vary in this world, you know, and ever will, as proved
+to us in the fable of the old man and his ass.
+
+But now--and it was a strange thing to happen the very next day Mr.
+Delorane received a letter from William Brook, eight closely written
+pages. Briefly, this was its substance. The uncle, Matthew Brook of New
+York, was about to establish a house in London, in correspondence with
+his own; he had offered the managership of it to William, with a small
+share of profits, guaranteeing that the latter should not be less than
+seven hundred a-year.
+
+"And if you can only be induced to think this enough for us to begin
+upon, sir, and will give me Ellin," wrote the young man, "I can but say
+that I will strive to prove my gratitude in loving care for her; and I
+trust you will not object to her living in London. I leave New York next
+month, to be in England in September, landing at Liverpool, and I shall
+make my way at once to Timberdale, hoping you will allow me to plead my
+cause in person."
+
+"No no, Master William, you won't carry my daughter off to London,"
+commented Mr. Delorane aloud, when he had read the letter--not but that
+it gratified him. "You must give up your post, young man, and settle
+down by me here, if you are to have Ellin. I don't see, St. George, why
+Brook should not make himself into a lawyer, legal and proper," added he
+thoughtfully. "He is young enough--and he does not dislike the work. You
+and he might be associated together after I am dead: 'Brook and St.
+George.'"
+
+Mr. St. George's face turned crusty: he did not like to hear his name
+put next to Brook's. "I never feel too sure of my own future," he said
+in reply. "Now that I am at my ease in the world, tempting visions come
+often enough across me of travelling out to see it."
+
+Mr. Delorane wrote a short, pithy note in answer to the appeal of
+William Brook, telling him he might come and talk to him as soon as he
+returned. "The young fellow may have left New York before it can reach
+him," remarked the lawyer, as he put the letter in the post; "but if so,
+it does not much matter."
+
+So there was Timberdale, all cock-a-hoop at the prospect of seeing
+William Brook again, and the wedding that was to follow. Sam Mullet,
+the clerk, was for setting the bells to ring beforehand.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Some people think September the pleasantest month in the year, when the
+heats of summer have passed and the frosts of winter have not come.
+Never a finer September than we had that autumn at Timberdale; the skies
+looked bright, the leaves of the trees were putting on their tints of
+many colours, and the land was not yet quite shorn of its golden grain.
+
+All the world was looking out for William Brook. He did not come.
+Disappointment is the lot of man. Of woman also. When the third week
+was dragging itself along in expectancy, a letter came to Mrs. Brook
+from William. It was to say that his return home was somewhat delayed,
+as he should have to take Jamaica en route, to transact some business
+at Kingston for his uncle. He should then proceed direct from Kingston
+by steamer to Liverpool, which place he hoped to reach before the
+middle of October. "Tell all my friends this, that they may not wonder
+at my delay," the letter concluded; but it contained no intimation
+that he had received the answer written by Mr. Delorane.
+
+A short postscript was yet added, in these words: "Alfred St. George
+has, I know, some relatives living in, or near Kingston--planters, I
+believe. Tell him I shall call upon them, if I can make time, to see
+whether they have any commands for him."
+
+Long before the middle of October, Ellin Delorane became obviously
+restless. A sort of uneasy impatience seemed to have taken possession
+of her: and without cause. One day, when we called at Mr. Delorane's
+to take a message from home, Ellin was in the garden with her outdoor
+things on, waiting to go out with her aunt.
+
+"What a ridiculous goose you are!" began Tod. "I hear you have taken up
+the notion that Sweet William has gone down in the Caribbean Sea."
+
+"I'm sure I have not," said Ellin. "Aunt Hester must have told you that
+fable when she was at Crabb Cot yesterday."
+
+"Just so. She and the mater laid their gossiping caps together for the
+best part of an hour--and all about the foolishness of Miss Ellin
+Delorane."
+
+"Why, you know, Ellin," I put in, "it is hardly the middle of October
+yet."
+
+"I tell myself that it is not," she answered gravely. "But, somehow,
+Johnny, I don't--don't--expect--him."
+
+"Now, what on earth do you mean?"
+
+"I wish I knew what. All I can tell you is, that when his mother
+received that letter from William last month, saying his return was
+delayed, a sort of foreboding seized hold of me, an apprehension that
+he would never come. I try to shake it off, but I cannot. Each day, as
+the days come round, only serves to make it stronger."
+
+"Don't you think a short visit to Droitwich would do you good, Ellin?"
+cried Tod, which was our Worcestershire fashion of recommending people
+to the lunatic asylum.
+
+"Just listen to him, Johnny!" she exclaimed, with a laugh.
+
+"Yes, 'just listen to him'--and just listen to yourself, Miss Ellin, and
+see which talks the most sense," he retorted. "Have you got over those
+dreams yet?"
+
+Ellin turned her face to him quickly. "Who told you anything about that,
+Aunt Hester?"
+
+Tod nodded. "It's true, you know."
+
+"Yes, it is true," she slowly said. "I have had those strange dreams for
+some weeks now; I have them still."
+
+"That William Brook is lost?"
+
+"That he is lost, and that we are persistently searching for him.
+Sometimes we are seeking for him in Timberdale, sometimes at
+Worcester--in America, in France, in places that I have no knowledge
+of. There always seems to be a sadness connected with it--a sort of
+latent conviction that he will never be found."
+
+"The dreams beget the dreams," said Tod, "and I should have thought you
+had better sense. They will soon vanish, once Sweet William makes his
+appearance: and mind, Miss Ellin, that you invite me to the wedding."
+
+Ellin sighed--and smiled. And just then Aunt Hester appeared attired in
+her crimson silk shawl with the fancy border, and the primrose feather
+in her Leghorn bonnet.
+
+A day or two went on, bringing no news of the traveller. On the
+nineteenth of October--I shall never forget the date--Mr. and Mrs.
+Todhetley and ourselves set off in the large open phaeton for a place
+called Pigeon Green, to spend the day with some friends living there.
+On this same morning, as it chanced, a very wintry one, Mr. St. George
+started for Worcester in his gig, accompanied by Ellin Delorane. But
+of this we knew nothing. He had business in the town; she was going to
+spend a few days with Mary West, formerly Mary Coney.
+
+Ellin was well wrapped up, and Mr. St. George, ever solicitous for her
+comfort, kept the warm fur rug well about her during the journey: the
+skies looked grey and threatening, the wind was high and bitterly cold.
+Worcester reached, he drove straight through the town, left Ellin at
+Mrs. West's door, in the Foregate Street, and then drove back to the
+Hare and Hounds Inn to put up his horse and gig.
+
+
+II.
+
+I shall always say, always think, it was a curious thing we chanced to
+go that day, of all days, to Pigeon Green. It is not chance that brings
+about these strange coincidences.
+
+    "There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
+    Rough-hew them how we will."
+
+Pigeon Green, a small colony of a dozen houses, formed a triangle, as
+may be said, with Timberdale and Evesham, being a few miles distant from
+each. Old Mr. and Mrs. Beele, life-long friends of the Squire, lived
+here. Their nephew had brought his newly-married wife from London to
+show her to them, and we were all invited to dinner. As the Squire did
+not care to be out in the dark, his sight not being what it used to be,
+the dinner-hour was fixed for two o'clock. We started in the large open
+phaeton, the Squire driving his favourite horses, Bob and Blister. It
+was the nineteenth of October. Mrs. Todhetley complained of the cold
+as we went along. The lovely weather of September had left us; early
+winter seemed to be setting in with a vengeance. The easterly wind was
+unusually high, and the skies were leaden.
+
+On this same wintry morning Mr. St. George left Timberdale in his gig
+for Worcester, accompanied by Ellin Delorane. St. George had business to
+transact with Philip West, a lawyer, who was Mr. Delorane's agent in
+Worcester. Philip West lived in the Foregate Street, his offices being
+in the same house. Ellin was very intimate with his wife, formerly Mary
+Coney, and was invited to spend a few days with her. It was Aunt Hester
+who had urged the acceptance of this invitation: seeing that Ellin was
+nervous at the non-arrival of her lover, William Brook, was peeping into
+the newspapers for accounts of shipwrecks and other calamities at sea.
+So they set off after breakfast, Ellin well wrapped up, in this stylish
+gig of Mr. St. George's. There are gigs and gigs, you know, and I assure
+you some gigs were yet fashionable vehicles in those days.
+
+It was bitterly cold. St. George, remarking that they should have snow
+as soon as the high wind would let it come down, urged his handsome
+grey horse to a fleet pace, and they soon reached Worcester. He drove
+straight to Foregate Street, which lay at the other end of the town, set
+down Ellin, and then went back again to leave his horse and gig at the
+Hare and Hounds in College Street, the inn at which he generally put up,
+retracing his steps on foot to Mr. West's.
+
+And now I must return to ourselves.
+
+After a jolly dinner at two o'clock with the Beeles, and a jolly dessert
+after it, including plenty of fresh filberts and walnuts, and upon
+that a good cup of tea and some buttered toast, we began to think about
+getting home. When the phaeton came round, the Squire remarked that
+it was half-an-hour later than he had meant to start; upon which, old
+Beele laid the fault of its looking late to the ungenial weather of the
+evening.
+
+We drove off. Dusk was approaching; the leaden skies looked dark and
+sullen, the wind, unpleasantly high all day, had increased to nearly a
+hurricane. It roared round our heads, it whistled wildly through the
+trees and hedges, it shook the very ears of Bob and Blister; the few
+flakes of snow or sleet beginning then to fall were whirled about in
+the air like demons. It was an awful evening, no mistake about that;
+and a very unusual one for the middle of October.
+
+The Squire faced the storm as well as he could, his coat-collar turned
+up, his cloth cap, kept for emergencies in a pocket of the carriage,
+tied down well on his ears. Mrs. Todhetley tied a knitted grey shawl
+right over her bonnet. We, in the back seat, had much ado to keep our
+hats on: I sat right behind the Squire, Tod behind Mrs. Todhetley. It
+was about the worst drive I remember. The wild wind, keen as a knife,
+stung our faces, and seemed at times as if it would whirl us, carriage
+and horses and all, in the air, as it was whirling the sleet and snow.
+
+Tod stood up to speak to his father. "Shall I drive, sir?" he asked.
+"Perhaps you would be more sheltered if you sat here behind."
+
+Tod's driving in those days was regarded by the Squire with remarkable
+disparagement, and Tod received only a sharp answer--which could not be
+heard for the wind.
+
+We got along somehow in the teeth of the storm. The route lay chiefly
+through by-ways, solitary and unfrequented, not in the good, open
+turnpike-roads. For about a mile, midway between Pigeon Green and
+Timberdale, was an ultra dreary spot; dreary in itself and dreary in its
+associations. It was called Dip Lane, possibly because the ground dipped
+there so much that it lay in a hollow; overgrown dark elm-trees grew
+thickly on each side of it, their branches nearly meeting overhead. In
+the brightest summer's day the place was gloomy, so you may guess how it
+looked now.
+
+But the downward dip and the dark elm-trees did not constitute all the
+dreariness of Dip Lane. Many years before, a murder had been committed
+there. The Squire used to tell us of the commotion it caused, all the
+gentlemen for miles and miles round bestirring themselves to search out
+the murderers. He himself was a little fellow of five or six years old,
+and could just remember what a talk it made. A wealthy farmer, belated,
+riding through the lane from market one dark night, was attacked and
+pulled from his horse. The assailants beat him to death, rifled his
+pockets of a large sum, for he had been selling stock, and dragged him
+_through the hedge_, making a large gap in it. Across the field, near
+its opposite side, was the round, deep stagnant piece of water known as
+Dip Pond (popularly supposed to be too deep to have any bottom to it);
+and it was conjectured that the object of the murderers, in dragging him
+through the hedge, was to conceal the body beneath the dark and slimy
+water, and that they must have been disturbed by some one passing in the
+lane. Any way, the body was found in the morning lying in the field
+a few yards from the gap in the hedge, pockets turned inside out, and
+watch and seals gone. The poor frightened horse had made its way home,
+and stayed whinnying by the stable-door all night.
+
+The men were never found. A labourer, hastening through the lane earlier
+in the evening, with some medicine from the doctor's for his sick wife,
+had noticed two foot-pads, as he described them, standing under a tree.
+That these were the murderers, then waiting for prey, possibly for this
+very gentleman they attacked, no one had any doubt; but they were never
+traced. Whoever they were, they got clear off with their booty, and--the
+Squire would always add when telling the story to a stranger--with
+their wicked consciences, which he sincerely hoped tormented them ever
+afterwards.
+
+But the most singular fact in the affair remains to be told. From
+that night nothing would grow on the spot in the hedge over which
+the murdered man was dragged, and on which his blood had fallen. The
+blood-stains were easily got rid of, but the hedge, though replanted
+more than once, never grew again; and the gap remained in it still.
+Report went that the farmer's ghost haunted it--that, I am sure, you
+will not be surprised to hear, ghosts being so popular--and might be
+seen hovering around it on a moonlit night.
+
+And amidst the many small coincidences attending the story (my story)
+which I am trying to place clearly before you, was this one: that the
+history of the murder was gone over that day at Mr. Beele's. Some remark
+led to the subject as we sat round the dessert-table, and Mrs. Frank
+Beele, who had never heard of it, inquired what it was. Upon that, the
+Squire and old Beele recounted it to her, each ransacking his memory to
+help the other with fullest particulars.
+
+To go on with our homeward journey. Battling along, we at length
+plunged into Dip Lane--which, to its other recommendations, added that
+of being inconveniently narrow--and Tod, peering outwards in the gloomy
+dusk, fancied he saw some vehicle before us. Bringing his keen sight to
+bear upon it, he stood up to reconnoitre, and made it out to be a gig,
+going the same way that we were. The wind was not quite so bad in this
+low spot, and the snow and sleet had ceased for a bit.
+
+"Take care, father," said Tod: "there's a gig on ahead."
+
+"A gig, Joe?"
+
+"Yes, it's a gig: and going at a strapping pace."
+
+But the Squire was going at a strapping pace also, and driving two fresh
+horses, whereas the gig had but one horse. We caught it up in no time.
+It slackened speed slightly as it drew close to the hedge on that side,
+to give us room to pass. In a moment we saw it was St. George's gig, St.
+George driving.
+
+"Halloa!" called Tod, as we shot by, and his shout was loud enough
+to frighten the ghost at the gap, which lively spot we were fast
+approaching, "there's William Brook! Father, pull up: there's William
+Brook!"
+
+Brook was sitting with St. George. His coat was well buttoned up,
+a white woollen comforter folded round his neck and chin, and a
+low-crowned, wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his brows. I confess
+that but for Tom's shout I should not have recognized him--muffled up
+in that way.
+
+Anxious to get home, out of the storm, the Squire paid no heed to Tod's
+injunction of pulling up. He just turned his head for a moment towards
+the gig, but drove on at the same speed as before. All we could do was
+to call out every welcome we could think of to William Brook as we
+looked back, and to pull off our hats and wave them frantically.
+
+William Brook pulled off his, and waved it to us in return. _I saw him
+do it._ He called out something also, no doubt a greeting. At least, I
+thought he did; but the wind swept by with a gust at the moment, and it
+might have been St. George's voice and not his.
+
+"Johnny, lad, it's better than nuts," cried Tod to me, all excitement
+for once, as he fixed his hat on his head again. "How glad I am!--for
+Nelly's sake. But what on earth brings the pair of them--he and St.
+George--in Dip Lane?"
+
+Another minute or so, and we reached the gap in the hedge. I turned
+my eyes to it and to the pond beyond it in a sort of fascination; I
+was sure to do so whenever I went by, but that was seldom; and the
+conversation at the dessert-table had opened the wretched details
+afresh. Almost immediately afterwards, the gig wheels behind us, which I
+could hear above the noise of the wind, seemed to me to come to a sudden
+standstill. "St. George has stopped," I exclaimed to Tod. "Not a bit of
+it," answered he; "we can no longer hear him." Almost close upon that,
+we passed the turning which led out of the lane towards Evesham. Not
+heeding anything of all this, as indeed why should he, the Squire dashed
+straight onwards, and in time we gained our homestead, Crabb Cot.
+
+The first thing the Squire did, when we were all gathered round the
+welcome fire, blazing and crackling with wood and coal, and the stormy
+blasts beat on the window-panes, but no longer upon us, was to attack us
+for making that noise in Dip Lane, and for shouting out that it was
+Brook.
+
+"It was Brook, father," said Tod. "St. George was driving him."
+
+"Nonsense, Joe," reprimanded the Squire. "William Brook has not landed
+from the high seas yet. And, if he had landed, what should bring him in
+Dip Lane--or St. George either?"
+
+"It was St. George," persisted Tod.
+
+"Well, that might have been. It looked like his grey horse. Where was he
+coming from, I wonder?"
+
+"Mr. St. George went to Worcester this morning, sir," interposed Thomas,
+who had come in with some glasses, the Squire having asked for some hot
+brandy-and-water. "Giles saw his man Japhet this afternoon, and he said
+his master had gone off in his gig to Worcester for the day."
+
+"Then he must have picked up Brook at Worcester," said Tod, in his
+decisive way.
+
+"May be so," conceded the Squire, coming round to reason. "But I don't
+see what they could be doing in Dip Lane."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The storm had disappeared the following morning, but the ground was
+white with a thin coating of snow; and in the afternoon, when we started
+for Timberdale to call on William Brook, the sky was blue and the sun
+shining. Climbing up from the Ravine and crossing the field beyond it to
+the high-road, we met Darbyshire, the surgeon, striding along as fast as
+his legs would carry him.
+
+"You seem to be in a hurry," remarked the Squire.
+
+"Just sent for to a sick patient over yonder," replied Darbyshire,
+nodding to some cottages in the distance. "Dying, the report is;
+supposed to have swallowed poison. Dare say it will turn out to be a
+case of cucumber."
+
+He was speeding on when Tod asked whether he had seen William Brook
+yet. Darbyshire turned to face him, looking surprised.
+
+"Seen Brook yet! No; how should I see him? Brook's not come, is he?"
+
+"He got home last night. St. George drove him from Worcester in his
+gig," said Tod, and went on to explain that we had passed them in Dip
+Lane. Darbyshire was uncommonly pleased. Brook was a favourite of his.
+
+"I am surprised that I have not seen him," he cried; "I have been about
+all the morning. St. George was in Worcester yesterday, I know. Wonder,
+though, what induced them to make a pilgrimage through Dip Lane!"
+
+Just, you see, as the rest of us had wondered.
+
+We went on towards Mrs. Brook's. But in passing Mr. Delorane's, Aunt
+Hester's head appeared above the Venetian blind of the dining-room. She
+began nodding cordially.
+
+"How lively she looks," exclaimed the Squire. "Pleased that he is back,
+I take it. Suppose we go in?"
+
+The front-door was standing open, and we went in unannounced. Aunt
+Hester, sitting then at the little work-table, making herself a cap with
+lace and pink ribbons, got up and tried to shake hands with all three of
+us at once.
+
+"We are on our way to call on William Brook," cried the Squire, as we
+sat down, and Aunt Hester was taking up her work again.
+
+"On William Brook!--why, what do you mean?" she exclaimed. "Has he
+come?"
+
+"You don't mean to say you did not know it--that he has not been to see
+you?" cried the Squire.
+
+"I don't know a thing about it; I did not know he had come; no one has
+told me," rejoined Aunt Hester. "As to his coming to see me--well, I
+suppose he would not feel himself at liberty to do that until Mr.
+Delorane gave permission. When did he arrive? I am so glad."
+
+"And he is not much behind his time, either," observed Tod.
+
+"Not at all behind it, to speak of, only we were impatient. The truth
+is, I caught somewhat of Ellin's fears," added Aunt Hester, looking at
+us over her spectacles, which she rarely wore higher than the end of her
+nose. "Ellin has had gloomy ideas about his never coming back at all;
+and one can't see a person perpetually sighing away in silence, without
+sighing a bit also for company. Did he get here this morning? What a
+pity Ellin is in Worcester!"
+
+We told Aunt Hester all about it, just as we had told Darbyshire, but
+not quite so curtly, for she was not in a hurry to be off to a poisoned
+patient. She dropped her work to listen, and took off her spectacles,
+looking, however, uncommonly puzzled.
+
+"What a singular thing--that you should chance to have been in Dip Lane
+just at the time they were!--and why should they have chosen that dreary
+route! But--but----"
+
+"But what, ma'am?" cried the Squire.
+
+"Well, I am thinking what could have been St. George's motive for
+concealing the news from me when he came round here last night to tell
+me he had left Ellin safely at Philip West's," replied she.
+
+"Did he say nothing to you about William Brook?"
+
+"Not a word. He said what a nasty drive home it had been in the teeth
+of the storm and wind, but he did not mention William Brook. He seemed
+tired, and did not stay above a minute or two. John was out. Oh, here is
+John."
+
+Mr. Delorane, hearing our voices, I suppose, came in from the office.
+Aunt Hester told him the news at once--that William Brook was come home.
+
+"I am downright glad," interrupted the lawyer emphatically. "What with
+one delay and another, one might have begun to think him lost: it was
+September, you know, that he originally announced himself for. What
+do you say?"--his own words having partly drowned Aunt Hester's--"St.
+George drove him home last night from Worcester? Drove Brook? Nonsense!
+Had St. George brought Brook he would have told me of it."
+
+"But he did bring him, sir," affirmed Tod: and he went over the history
+once more. Mr. Delorane did not take it in.
+
+"Are these lads playing a joke upon me, Squire?" asked he.
+
+"Look here, Delorane. That we passed St. George in Dip Lane is a fact;
+I knew the cut of his gig and horse. Some one was with him; I saw that
+much. The boys called out that it was William Brook, and began shouting
+to him. Whether it was he, or not, I can't say; I had enough to do
+with my horses, I can tell you; they did not like the wind, Blister
+especially."
+
+"It was William Brook, safe enough, sir," interposed Tod. "Do you think
+I don't know him? We spoke to him, and he spoke to us. Why should you
+doubt it?"
+
+"Well, I suppose I can't doubt it, as you speak so positively," said Mr.
+Delorane. "The news took me by surprise, you see. Why on earth did St.
+George not tell me of it? I shall take him to task when he comes in. Any
+way, I am glad Brook's come. We will drink his health."
+
+He opened what was in those days called the cellaret--and a very
+convenient article it was for those who drank wine as a rule--and put on
+the table some of the glasses that were standing on the sideboard. Then
+we drank health and happiness to William Brook.
+
+"And to some one else also," cried bold Tod, winking at Aunt Hester.
+
+"You two boys can go on to Mrs. Brook's," cried the Squire; "I shall
+stop here a bit. Tell William I am glad he has surmounted the perils of
+the treacherous seas."
+
+"And tell him he may come to see me if he likes," added the lawyer. "I
+expect he did not get a note I wrote to him a few months back, or he'd
+have been here this morning."
+
+Away we went to Mrs. Brook's. And the first thing that flabbergasted us
+(the expression was Tod's, not mine) was to be met by a denial of the
+servant's. Upon Tod asking to see Mr. William, she stared at us and said
+he was not back from his travels.
+
+"Come in," called out Minty from the parlour; "I know your voices." She
+sat at the table, her paint-box before her. Minty painted very nice
+pieces in water-colours: the one in process was a lovely bit of scenery
+taken from Little Malvern. Mrs. Brook was out.
+
+"What did I hear you saying to Ann about William--that he had come
+home?" she began to us, without getting up from her work--for we were
+too intimate to be upon any ceremony with one another. "He is not come
+yet. I only wish he was."
+
+"But he is come," said Tod. "He came last night. We saw him and spoke to
+him."
+
+Minty put down her camel-hair pencil then, and turned round. "What do
+you mean?" she asked.
+
+"Mr. St. George drove William home from Worcester. We passed them in the
+gig in Dip Lane."
+
+Minty retorted by asking whether we were not dreaming; and for a minute
+or two we kept at cross-purposes. She held to it that they had seen
+nothing of her brother; that he was not at Timberdale.
+
+"Mamma never had a wink of sleep last night, for thinking of the
+dreadful gale William must be in at sea. Your fancy misled you," went on
+Minty, calmly touching-up the cottage in her painting--and Tod looked as
+if he would like to beat her.
+
+But it did really seem that William had not come, and we took our
+departure. I don't think I had ever seen Tod look so puzzled.
+
+"I wish I may be shot if I can understand this!" said he.
+
+"Could we have been mistaken in thinking it was Brook?" I was beginning;
+and Tod turned upon me savagely.
+
+"I swear it was Brook. There! And you know it as well as I, Mr. Johnny.
+Where can he be hiding himself? What is the meaning of it?"
+
+It is my habit always to try to account for things that seem
+unaccountable; to search out reasons and fathom them; and you would be
+surprised at the light that will sometimes crop up. An idea flashed
+across me now.
+
+"Can Brook be ill, Tod, think you?--done up with his voyage, or
+something--and St. George is nursing him at his house for a day or two
+before he shows himself to Timberdale?" And Tod thought it might be so.
+
+Getting back to Mr. Delorane's, we found him and the Squire sitting at
+the table still. St. George, just come in, was standing by, hat in hand,
+and they were both tackling him at once.
+
+"_What_ do you say?" asked St. George of his master, when he found room
+for a word. "That I brought William Brook home here last night from
+Worcester! Why, what can have put such a thing into your head, sir?"
+
+"_Didn't_ you bring him?" cried the Squire. "Didn't you drive him home
+in your gig?"
+
+"That I did not. I have not seen William Brook."
+
+He spoke in a ready, though surprised tone, not at all like one who is
+shuffling with the truth, or telling a fable, and looked from one to
+another of his two questioners, as if not yet understanding them. The
+Squire pushed his spectacles to the top of his brow and stared at St.
+George. He did not understand, either.
+
+"Look here, St. George: do you deny that it was you we passed in Dip
+Lane last night--and your grey horse--and your gig?"
+
+"Why should I deny it?" quietly returned St. George. "I drew as close
+as I could to the hedge as a matter of precaution to let you go by,
+Squire, you were driving so quickly. And a fine shouting you greeted me
+with," he added, turning to Tod, with a slight laugh.
+
+"The greeting was not intended for you; it was for William Brook,"
+answered Tod, his voice bearing a spice of antagonism; for he thought he
+was being played with.
+
+St. George was evidently at a loss yet, and stood in silence. All in a
+moment, his face lighted up.
+
+"Surely," he cried impulsively, "you did not take that man in the gig
+for William Brook!"
+
+"It was William Brook. Who else was it?"
+
+"A stranger. A stranger to me and to the neighbourhood. A man to whom
+I gave a lift."
+
+Tod's face presented a picture. Believing, as he did still, that it
+was Brook in the gig, the idea suggested by me--that St. George was
+concealing Brook at his house out of good-fellowship--grew stronger and
+stronger. But he considered that, as it had come to this, St. George
+ought to say so.
+
+"Where's the use of your continuing to deny it, St. George?" he asked.
+"You had Brook there, and you know you had."
+
+"But I tell you that it was not Brook," returned St. George. "Should I
+deny it, if it had been he? You talk like a child."
+
+"Has Brook been away so long that we shouldn't know him, do you
+suppose?" retorted quick-tempered Tod. "Why! as a proof that it was
+Brook, he shouted back his greeting to us, taking off his hat to wave
+it in answer to ours. Would a strange man have done that?"
+
+"The man did nothing of the kind," said St. George.
+
+"Yes, he did," I said, thinking it was time I spoke. "He called back a
+greeting to us, and he waved his hat round and round. I should not have
+felt so sure it was Brook but for seeing him without his hat."
+
+"Well, I did not see him do it," conceded St. George. "When you began
+to shout in passing the man seemed surprised. 'What do those people
+want?' he said to me; and I told him you were acquaintances of mine. It
+never occurred to my mind, or to his either, I should imagine, but that
+the shouts were meant for me. If he did take off his hat in response,
+as you say, he must have done it, I reckon, because I did not take off
+mine."
+
+"Couldn't you hear our welcome to him? Couldn't you hear us call him
+'Brook'?" persisted Tod.
+
+"I did not distinguish a single word. The wind was too high for that."
+
+"Then we are to understand that Brook has not come back: that you did
+not bring him?" interposed the Squire. "Be quiet, Joe; can't you see you
+were mistaken? I told you you were, you know, at the time. You and
+Johnny are for ever taking up odd notions, Johnny especially."
+
+"The man was a stranger to me," spoke St. George. "I overtook him
+trudging along the road, soon after leaving Worcester; it was between
+Red Hill and the turning to Whittington. He accosted me, asking which of
+the two roads before us would take him to Evesham. I told him which, and
+was about to drive on when it occurred to me that I might as well offer
+to give the man a lift: it was an awful evening, and that's the truth:
+one that nobody would, as the saying runs, turn a dog out in. He thanked
+me, and got up; and I drove him as far as----"
+
+"Then that's what took you round by Dip Lane, St. George?" interrupted
+Mr. Delorane.
+
+"That's what took me round by Dip Lane," acquiesced St. George, slightly
+smiling; "and which seems to have led to this misapprehension. But don't
+give my humanity more credit than it deserves. Previously to this I had
+been debating in my own mind whether to take the round, seeing what a
+journey was before me. It was about the wildest night I ever was out
+in, the horse could hardly make head against the wind, and I thought we
+might feel it less in the small and more sheltered by-ways than in the
+open road. Taking up the traveller decided me."
+
+"You put him down in Dip Lane, at the turning that leads to Evesham,"
+remarked the Squire.
+
+"Yes, I put him down there. It was just after you passed us. He thanked
+me heartily, and walked on; and I drove quickly home, glad enough to
+reach it. Who he was, or what he was, I do not know, and did not ask."
+
+Tod was still in a quandary; his countenance betrayed it. "Did you
+notice that he resembled William Brook, St. George?"
+
+"No. It did not strike me that he resembled any one. His face was well
+wrapped up from the cold, and I did not get a clear view of it: I am not
+sure that I should know it again. I should know his voice, though," he
+added quickly.
+
+Poor Aunt Hester, listening to all this in dismay, felt the
+disappointment keenly: the tears were stealing down her face. "And we
+have been drinking his health, and--and feeling so thankful that he was
+safely back again!" she murmured gently.
+
+"Hang it, yes," added Mr. Delorane. "Well, well; I dare say a day or two
+more will bring him. I must say I thought it odd that you should not
+have mentioned it to me, St. George, if he had come."
+
+"I should have thought it very odd, sir," spoke St. George.
+
+"Will you take a glass of wine?"
+
+"No, thank you; I have not time for it. Those deeds have to be gone
+over, you know, sir, before post-time," replied St. George; and he left
+the room.
+
+"And if ever you two boys serve me such a trick again--bringing me over
+with a cock-and-bull story that people have come back from sea who
+haven't--I'll punish you," stuttered the Squire, too angry to speak
+clearly.
+
+We went away in humility; heads down, metaphorically speaking, tails
+between legs. The Squire kept up the ball, firing away sarcastic
+reproaches hotly.
+
+Tod never answered. The truth was, he felt angry himself. Not with the
+Squire, but with the affair altogether. Tod hated mystification, and
+the matter was mystifying him utterly. With all his heart, with all the
+sight of his eyes, he had believed it to be William Brook: and he could
+not drive the conviction away, that it was Brook, and that St. George
+was giving him house room.
+
+"I don't like complications," spoke he resentfully.
+
+"Complications!" retorted the Squire. "What complications are there
+in this? None. You two lads must have been thinking of William Brook,
+perhaps speaking of him, and so you thought you saw him. That's all
+about it, Joe."
+
+The complications were not at an end. A curious addition to them was at
+hand. The Squire came to a halt at the turning to the Ravine, undecided
+whether to betake himself home at once, or to make a call first at
+Timberdale Court, to see Robert Ashton.
+
+"I think we'll go there, lads," said he: "there's plenty of time. I
+want to ask him how that squabble about the hunting arrangements has
+been settled."
+
+So we continued our way along the road, presently crossing it to take
+the one in which the Court was situated: a large handsome house, lying
+back on the right hand. Before gaining it, however, we had to pass the
+pretty villa rented by Mr. St. George, its stable and coach-house and
+dog-kennel beside it. The railway was on ahead; a train was shrieking
+itself at that moment into the station.
+
+St. George's groom and man-of-all-work, Japhet, was sweeping up the
+leaves on the little lawn. Tod, who was in advance of us, put his arms
+on the gate. "Are you going to make a bonfire with them?" asked he.
+
+"There's enough for't, sir," answered Japhet. "I never see such a wind
+as yesterday's," he ran on, dropping his besom to face Tod, for the man
+was a lazy fellow, always ready for a gossip. "I'm sure I thought it 'ud
+ha' blowed the trees down as well as the leaves."
+
+"It was pretty strong," assented Tod, as I halted beside him, and the
+Squire walked on towards the Court. "We were out in it--coming home from
+Pigeon Green. There was one gust that I thought would have blown the
+horses right over."
+
+"The master, he were out in it, too, a coming home from Worcester,"
+cried Japhet, taking off his old hat to push his red hair back. "When he
+got in here, he said as he'd had enough on't for one journey. I should
+think the poor horse had too; his coat were all wet."
+
+Tod lifted up his head, speaking impulsively. "Was your master alone,
+Japhet, when he got home? Had he any one with him?"
+
+"Yes, he were all alone, sir," replied the man. "Miss Delorane were with
+him when he drove off in the morning, but she stayed at Worcester."
+
+Had Tod taken a moment for thought he might not have asked the question.
+He had nothing of the sneak in him, and would have scorned to pump a
+servant about his master's movements. The answer tended to destroy his
+theory of Brook's being concealed here, and to uphold the account given
+by Mr. St. George.
+
+Quitting the railings, we ran to catch up the Squire. And at that
+moment two or three railway passengers loomed into view, coming from the
+train. One of them was Ellin Delorane.
+
+She came along briskly, with a buoyant step and a smiling face. The
+Squire dropped us a word of caution.
+
+"Now don't go telling her of your stupid fancy about Brook, you two: it
+would only cause her disappointment." And with the last word we met her.
+
+"Ah ha, Miss Ellin!" he exclaimed, taking her hands. "And so the
+truant's back again!"
+
+"Yes, he is back again," she softly whispered, with a blush that was
+deep in colour.
+
+The Squire did not quite catch the words. She and he were at
+cross-purposes. "We have but now left your house, my dear," he
+continued. "Your aunt does not expect you back to-day; she thought you
+would stay at Worcester till Saturday."
+
+Ellin smiled shyly. "Have you seen him?" she asked in the same soft
+whisper.
+
+"Seen whom, my dear?"
+
+"Mr. Brook."
+
+"Mr. Brook! Do you mean _William_ Brook? He is not back, is he?"
+
+"Yes, he is back," she answered. "I thought you might have seen him: you
+spoke of the return of the truant."
+
+"Why, child, I meant you," explained the Squire. "Nobody else. Who says
+William Brook is back?"
+
+"Oh, I say it," returned Ellin, her cheeks all rosy dimples. "He reached
+Worcester yesterday."
+
+"And where is he now?" cried the Squire, feeling a little at sea.
+
+"He is here, at Timberdale," answered Ellin. "Mr. St. George drove him
+home last night."
+
+"There!" cried Tod with startling emphasis. "There, father, please not
+to disparage my sight any more."
+
+Well, what do you think of this for another complication? It took me
+aback. The Squire rubbed his face, and stared.
+
+"My dear, just let us understand how the land lies," said he, putting
+his hand on Ellin's shoulder. "Do you say that William Brook reached
+Worcester yesterday on his return, and that St. George drove him home
+here at night?"
+
+"Yes," replied Ellin. "Why should you doubt it? It is true."
+
+"Well, we thought St. George did drive him home," was the Squire's
+answer, staring into her face; "we passed his gig in Dip Lane and
+thought that it was Brook that he had with him. But St. George denies
+this. He says it was not Brook; that he has not seen Brook, does not
+know he has come home; he says the man he had with him was a stranger,
+to whom he was giving a lift."
+
+Ellin looked grave for a moment; then the smiles broke out again.
+
+"St. George must have been joking," she cried; "he cannot mean it. He
+happened to be at Worcester Station yesterday when Mr. Brook arrived by
+the Birmingham train: we suppose he then offered to drive him home. Any
+way, he did do it."
+
+"But St. George denied that he did, Ellin," I said.
+
+"He will not deny it to me, Johnny. Gregory West, returning from a visit
+to some client at Spetchley, met them in the gig together."
+
+The Squire listened as a man dazed. "I can't make head or tail of it,"
+cried he. "What does St. George mean by denying that he brought Brook?
+And where _is_ Brook?"
+
+"Has no one seen him?" questioned Ellin.
+
+"Not a soul, apparently. Ellin, my girl," added the Squire, "we will
+walk back with you to your father's, and get this cleared up. Come
+along, boys."
+
+So back we went to turn the tables upon St. George, Tod in a rapture of
+gratification. You might have thought he was treading upon eggs.
+
+We had it out this time in Mr. Delorane's private office; the Squire
+walked straight into it. Not but that "having it out" must be regarded
+as a figure of speech, for elucidation seemed farther off than before,
+and the complications greater.
+
+Mr. Delorane and his head-clerk were both bending over the same
+parchment when we entered. Ellin kissed her father, and turned to St.
+George.
+
+"Why have you been saying that you did not drive home William Brook?"
+she asked as they shook hands.
+
+"A moment, my dear; let me speak," interrupted the Squire, who never
+believed any one's explanation could be so lucid as his own. "Delorane,
+I left you just now with an apology for having brought to you a
+cock-and-bull story through the misleading fancies of these boys; but
+we have come back again to tell you the story's true. Your daughter
+here says that it was William Brook that St. George had in his gig.
+And perhaps Mr. St. George"--giving that gentleman a sharp nod--"will
+explain what he meant by denying it?"
+
+"I denied it because it was not he," said Mr. St. George, not appearing
+to be in the least put out. "How can I tell you it was Brook when it was
+not Brook? If it had been----"
+
+"You met William Brook at the Worcester railway-station yesterday
+afternoon," interrupted Ellin. "Mrs. James Ashton saw you there; saw
+the meeting. You _were_ at the station, were you not?"
+
+"I was at the station," readily replied St. George, "and Mrs. James
+Ashton may have seen me there, for all I know--I did not see her. But
+she certainly did not see William Brook. Or, if she did, I didn't."
+
+"Gregory West saw you and him in your gig together later, when you were
+leaving Worcester," continued Ellin. "It was at the top of Red Hill."
+
+St. George shook his head. "The person I had in my gig was a stranger.
+Had Gregory West come up one minute earlier he would have seen me take
+the man into it."
+
+"William _has_ come," persisted Ellin.
+
+"I don't say he has not," returned St. George. "All I can say is that I
+did not know he had come and that I have not seen him."
+
+Who was right, and who was wrong? Any faces more hopelessly puzzled than
+the two old gentlemen's were, as they listened to these contradictory
+assertions, I'd not wish to see. Nothing came of the interview; nothing
+but fresh mystification. Ellin declared William Brook had arrived, had
+been driven out of Worcester for Timberdale in St. George's gig. We felt
+equally certain we had passed them in Dip Lane, sitting together in the
+gig; but St. George denied it in toto, affirming that the person with
+him was a stranger.
+
+And perhaps it may be as well if I here say a word about the routes.
+Evesham lay fifteen miles from Worcester; Timberdale not much more
+than half that distance, in a somewhat different direction, and on a
+different road. In going to Timberdale, if when about half-way there you
+quitted the high-road for by-ways you would come to Dip Lane. Traversing
+nearly the length of the lane, you would then come to a by-way leading
+from it on the other side, which would bring you on the direct road to
+Evesham, still far off. Failing to take this by-way leading to Evesham,
+you would presently quit the lane, and by dint of more by-ways would
+gain again the high-road and soon come to Timberdale. This is the route
+that Mr. St. George took that night.
+
+We went home from Mr. Delorane's, hopelessly mystified, the Squire
+rubbing up his hair the wrong way; now blowing us both up for what he
+called our "fancies" in supposing we saw William Brook, and now veering
+round to the opposite opinion that we and Ellin must be alike correct in
+saying Brook had come.
+
+Ellin's account was this: she passed a pleasant morning with Mary West,
+who was nearly always more or less of an invalid. At half-past one
+o'clock dinner was served; Philip West, his younger brother Gregory, who
+had recently joined him, and Mr. St. George coming in from the office
+to partake of it. Dinner over, they left the room, having no time to
+linger. In fact, Gregory rose from table before he had well finished.
+Mary West inquired what his haste was, and he replied that he was off to
+Spetchley; some one had been taken ill there and wanted a will made. It
+was Philip who ought to have gone, who had been sent for; but Philip had
+an hour or two's business yet to do with Mr. St. George. Mrs. West told
+St. George that she would have tea ready at five o'clock, that he might
+drink a cup before starting for home.
+
+Later on in the afternoon, when Ellin and Mrs. West were sitting over
+the fire, talking of things past and present, and listening to the
+howling of the wind, growing more furious every hour, James Ashton's
+wife came in, all excitement. Her husband, in medical practice at
+Worcester, was the brother of Robert Ashton of Timberdale. A very nice
+young woman was Marianne Ashton, but given to an excited manner. Taking
+no notice of Mrs. West, she flew to Ellin and began dancing round her
+like a demented Red Indian squaw.
+
+"What will you give me for my news, Ellin?"
+
+"Now, Marianne!" remonstrated Mrs. West. "Do be sensible, if you can."
+
+"Be quiet, Mary: I am sensible. Your runaway lover is come, Ellin; quite
+safely."
+
+They saw by her manner, heard by her earnest tone, that it was true.
+William Brook had indeed come, was then in the town. Throwing off her
+bonnet, and remarking that she meant to remain for tea, Mrs. James
+Ashton sat down to tell her story soberly.
+
+"You must know that I had to go up to the Shrub Hill Station this
+afternoon," began she, "to meet the Birmingham train. We expected Patty
+Silvester in by it; and James has been since a most unearthly hour this
+morning with some cross-grained patient, who must needs go and be ill at
+the wrong time. I went up in the brougham, and had hardly reached the
+platform when the train came in. There was a good deal of confusion;
+there always is, you know; passengers getting out and getting in. I ran
+about looking for Patty, and found she had not come: taken fright at the
+weather, I suppose. As the train cleared off, I saw a figure that seemed
+familiar to me; it was William Brook; and I gave a glad cry that you
+might have heard on the top of St. Andrew's spire. He was crossing the
+line with others who had alighted, a small black-leather travelling-bag
+in his hand. I was about to run over after him, when a porter stopped
+me, saying a stray engine was on the point of coming up, to take on the
+Malvern train. So, all I could do was to stand there, hoping he would
+turn his head and see me. Well: just as he reached the opposite
+platform, Mr. St. George stepped out of the station-master's office, and
+I can tell you there was some shaking of hands between the two. There's
+my story."
+
+"And where is he now?"
+
+"Oh, they are somewhere together, I suppose; on their way here perhaps,"
+rejoined Mrs. James Ashton carelessly. "I lost sight of them: that
+ridiculous stray engine the man spoke of puffed up at the minute, and
+stopped right in front of me. When it puffed on again, leaving the way
+clear, both he and St. George had vanished. So I got into the brougham
+to bring you the news in advance, lest the sudden sight of William the
+deserter should cause a fainting-fit."
+
+Ellin, unable to control herself, burst into glad tears of relief. "You
+don't know what a strain it has been," she said. And she sat listening
+for his step on the stairs. But William Brook did not come.
+
+At five o'clock punctually the tea was brought in, and waited for some
+little time on the table. Presently Mr. West appeared. When they told
+him he was late, he replied that he had lingered in the office expecting
+Mr. St. George. St. George had left him some time before to go to the
+Shrub Hill Station, having business to see to there, and had promised to
+be back by tea-time. However, he was not back yet. Mr. West was very
+glad to hear of the arrival of William Brook, and supposed St. George
+was then with him.
+
+Before the tea was quite over, Gregory West got back from Spetchley. He
+told them that he had met St. George just outside the town, and that he
+had a gentleman in his gig. He, Gregory West, who was in his brother's
+gig, pulled up to ask St. George whether he was not going home earlier
+than he had said. Yes, somewhat, St. George called back, without
+stopping: when he had seen what sort of a night it was going to be, he
+thought it best to be off as soon as he could.
+
+"Of course it was William Brook that he had with him, Gregory!"
+exclaimed Mary West, forgetting that her brother-in-law had never seen
+William Brook.
+
+"I cannot tell," was the only answer the young lawyer could give. "It
+was a stranger to me: he wore a lightish-coloured over-coat and a white
+comforter."
+
+"That's he," said Mrs. James Ashton. "And he had on new tan-coloured kid
+gloves: I noticed them. I think St. George might have brought him here,
+in spite of the roughness of the night. He is jealous, Ellin."
+
+They all laughed. But never a shadow of doubt rested on any one of their
+minds that St. George was driving William Brook home to Timberdale. And
+we, as you have heard, saw him, or thought we saw him, in Dip Lane.
+
+
+III.
+
+I scarcely know how to go on with this story so as to put its
+complications and discrepancies of evidence clearly before you. William
+Brook had been daily expected to land at Liverpool from the West Indies,
+and to make his way at once to Timberdale by rail, _viâ_ Birmingham and
+Worcester.
+
+In the afternoon of the 19th of October, Mrs. James Ashton chanced to be
+at the Worcester Station when the Birmingham train came in. Amidst the
+passengers who alighted from it she saw William Brook, whom she had
+known all her life. She was not near enough to speak to him, but she
+watched him cross the line to the opposite platform, shake hands there
+with Mr. St. George, and remain talking. Subsequently, Gregory West
+had met St. George leaving Worcester in his gig, a gentleman sitting
+with him; it was therefore assumed without doubt that he was driving
+William Brook to Timberdale, to save him the railway journey and for
+companionship.
+
+That same evening, at dusk, as we (not knowing that Brook had landed)
+were returning home from Pigeon Green in the large phaeton, amid a great
+storm of wind, and slight sleet and snow, Mrs. Todhetley sitting with
+the Squire in front, Tod and I behind, we passed St. George's gig in
+Dip Lane; and saw William Brook with him--as we believed, Tod most
+positively. We called out to Brook, waving our hats; Brook called back
+to us and waved his.
+
+But now, Mr. St. George denied that it was Brook. He said the gentleman
+with him was a stranger to whom he had given a lift of three or four
+miles on the road, and who bore no resemblance to Brook, so far as he
+saw. Was it Brook, or was it not? asked every one. If it was Brook, what
+had become of him? The only one point that seemed to be sure in the
+matter was this--William Brook had not reached Timberdale.
+
+The following, elaborated, was Mr. St. George's statement.
+
+He, as confidential clerk, soon to be partner, of Mr. Delorane, had a
+good deal of business to go through that day with Philip West at
+Worcester, and the afternoon was well on before it was concluded. He
+then went up to the station at Shrub Hill to inquire after a missing
+packet of deeds, which had been despatched by rail from Birmingham to
+Mr. Delorane and as yet could not be heard of. His inquiries over, St.
+George was traversing the platform on his way to quit the station, when
+one of the passengers, who had then crossed the line from the Birmingham
+train, stopped him to ask if he could inform him when the next train
+would leave for Evesham. "Very shortly," St. George replied, speaking
+from memory: but even as he spoke a doubt arose in his mind. "Wait a
+moment," he said to the stranger; "I am not sure that I am correct"--and
+he drew from his pocket a time-table and consulted it. There would not
+be a train for Evesham for more than two hours, he found, one having
+just gone. The stranger remarked that it was very unfortunate; he had
+not wanted to wait all that time at Worcester, but to get on at once.
+The stranger then detained him to ask, apologizing for the trouble, and
+adding that it was the first time he had been in the locality, whether
+he could get on from Evesham to Cheltenham. St. George told him that
+he could, but that he could also get on to Cheltenham from Worcester
+direct. "Ah," remarked the stranger, "but I have to take Evesham on
+my way." No more passed, and St. George left him on the platform. He
+appeared to be a gentleman, spoke as a cultured man speaks, St. George
+added when questioned on these points: and his appearance and attire
+tallied with that given by Mrs. Ashton. St. George had not observed Mrs.
+James Ashton on the opposite platform; did not know she was there.
+
+Perceiving, as he left the station, how bad the weather was getting, and
+what a wild night might be expected, St. George rapidly made up his mind
+to start for home at once, without waiting for tea at Philip West's or
+going back at all to the house. He made his way to the Hare-and-Hounds
+through the back streets, as being the nearest, ordered his gig, and set
+off--alone--as soon as it was ready. It was then growing dusk; snow was
+falling in scanty flakes mixed with sleet, and the wind was roaring and
+rushing like mad.
+
+Gaining the top of Red Hill, St. George was bowling along the level road
+beyond it, when some wayfarer turned round just before him, put up his
+hand, and spoke. By the peculiar-coloured coat--a sort of slate--and
+white comforter, he recognized the stranger of the railway-station;
+he also remembered the voice. "I beg your pardon a thousand times for
+stopping you," he said, "but I think I perceive that the road branches
+off two ways yonder: will you kindly tell me which of them will take me
+to Evesham? there seems to be no one about on foot that I can inquire
+of." "That will be your way," St. George answered, pointing with his
+whip. "But you are not thinking of walking to Evesham to-night, are
+you?" he added. "It is fifteen miles off."
+
+The stranger replied that he had made up his mind to walk, rather than
+wait two hours at Worcester station: and St. George was touching his
+horse to move on, when a thought struck him.
+
+"I am not going the direct Evesham road, but I can give you a lift part
+of the way," he said. "It will not cut off any of the distance for you,
+but it will save your legs three or four miles." The stranger thanked
+him and got up at once, St. George undoing the apron to admit him. He
+had the same black bag with him that St. George had noticed at the
+station.
+
+St. George had thus to make a detour to accommodate the stranger. He
+was by no means unwilling to do it; for, apart from the wish to help a
+fellow-creature, he believed it would be less rough in the low-lying
+lands. Driving along in the teeth of the furious wind, he turned off the
+highway and got into Dip Lane. We saw him in it, the stranger sitting
+with him. He drove on after we had passed, pulled up at the proper place
+for the man to descend, and pointed out the route. "You have a mile or
+two of these by-ways," he said to him, "but keep straight on and they
+will bring you out into the open road. Turn to your left then, and you
+will gain Evesham in time--and I wish you well through your walk."
+
+Those were St. George's exact words--as he repeated them to us later.
+The stranger thanked him heartily, shook hands and went on his way,
+carrying his black bag. St. George said that before parting with the
+traveller, he suggested that he should go on with him to Timberdale,
+seeing the night was so cold and wild, put up at the Plough-and-Harrow,
+where he could get a comfortable bed, and go on to Evesham in the
+morning. But the stranger declined, and seemed impatient to get on.
+
+He did not tell St. George who he was, or what he was; he did not tell
+his name, or what his business was in Worcestershire, or whether he was
+purposing to make a stay at Evesham, or whither he might be going when
+he left it: unless the question he had put to St. George, as to being
+able to get on to Cheltenham, might be taken for an indication of his
+route. In fact, he stated nothing whatever about himself; but, as
+St. George said, the state of the weather was against talking. It was
+difficult to hear each other speak; the blasts howled about their ears
+perpetually, and the sharp sleet stung their faces. As to his bearing
+the resemblance to Brook that was being talked of, St. George could only
+repeat that he did not perceive it; he might have been about Brook's
+height and size, but that was all. The voice was certainly not Brook's,
+not in the least like Brook's, neither was the face, so far as St.
+George saw of it: no idea of the kind struck him.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+These were the different statements: and, reading them, you have the
+matter in a nutshell. Mrs. James Ashton continued to affirm that it was
+William Brook she saw at the station, and could not be shaken out of
+her belief. She and William had played together as children, they had
+flirted together, she was pleased to declare, as youth and maiden, and
+_did_ anybody suppose she could mistake an unknown young man for him in
+broad daylight? An immense favourite with all the world, Marianne Ashton
+was fond of holding decisively to her own opinions; all her words might
+have begun with capital letters.
+
+I also maintained that the young man we saw in St. George's gig in
+Dip Lane, and who wore a warm great-coat of rather an unusual colour,
+something of a grey--or a slate--or a mouse, with the white woollen
+comforter on his neck and the soft low-crowned hat drawn well on his
+brows, was William Brook. When he took off his hat to wave it to us in
+response, I saw (as I fully believed) that it was Brook; and I noticed
+his gloves. Mrs. Todhetley, who had turned her head at our words, also
+saw him and felt not the slightest doubt that it was he. Tod was ready
+to swear to it.
+
+To combat this, we had Mr. St. George's cool, calm, decisive assertion
+that the man was a stranger. Of course it outweighed ours. All the
+probabilities lay with it; he had been in companionship with the
+stranger, had talked with him face to face: we had not. Besides, if it
+had been Brook, where was he that he had not made his way to Timberdale?
+So we took up the common-sense view of the matter and dismissed our own
+impressions as fancies that would not hold water, and looked out daily
+for the landing of the exile. Aunt Hester hoped he was not "lost at
+sea:" but she did not say it in the hearing of Ellin Delorane.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days went on. November came in. William Brook did not appear; no
+tidings reached us of him. His continued non-appearance so effectually
+confirmed St. George's statement, that the other idea was exploded and
+forgotten by all reasonable minds. Possibly in one or two unreasonable
+ones, such as mine, say, a sort of hazy doubt might still hover. But,
+doubt of what? Ay, that was the question. Even Tod veered round to the
+enemy, said his sight must have misled him, and laid the blame on the
+wind. Both common sense and uncommon said Brook had but been detained in
+Jamaica, and might be expected in any day.
+
+The first check to this security of expectation was wrought by a letter.
+A letter from New York, addressed to William Brook by his brother there,
+Charles. Mrs. Brook opened it. She was growing vaguely uneasy, and had
+already begun to ask herself why, were William detained in the West
+Indies, he did not write to tell her so.
+
+And this, as it proved, was the chief question the letter was written to
+ask. "If," wrote Charles Brook to his brother, "if you have arrived at
+home--as we conclude you must have done, having seen in the papers the
+safe arrival of the _Dart_ at Liverpool--how is it you have not written
+to say so, and to inform us how things are progressing? The uncle does
+not like it. 'Is William growing negligent?' he said to me yesterday."
+
+The phrase "how things are progressing," Mrs. Brook understood to apply
+to the new mercantile house about to be established in London. She sent
+the letter by Araminta to Mr. Delorane.
+
+"Can William have been drowned at sea?" breathed Minty.
+
+"No, no; I don't fear that; I'm not like that silly woman, Aunt Hester,
+with her dreams and her fancies," said Mr. Delorane. "It seems odd,
+though, where he can be."
+
+Inquiries were made at Liverpool for the list of passengers by the
+_Dart_. William Brook's name was not amongst them. Timberdale waited on.
+There was nothing else for it to do. Waited until a second letter came
+from Charles Brook. It was written to his mother this time. He asked for
+news of William; whether he had, or had not, arrived at home.
+
+The next West Indian mail-packet, steaming from Southampton, carried
+out a letter from Mr. St. George, written to his cousin in Kingston,
+Jamaica, at the desire of Mr. Delorane: at the desire, it may with truth
+be said, of Timberdale in general. The same mail also took out a letter
+from Reginald Brook in London, who had been made acquainted with the
+trouble. Both letters were to the same purport--an inquiry as to William
+Brook and his movements, more particularly as to the time he had
+departed for home, and the vessel he had sailed in.
+
+In six or eight weeks, which seemed to some of us like so many months,
+Mr. St. George received an answer. His relative, Leonard St. George,
+sent rather a curious story. He did not know anything of William
+Brook's movements himself, he wrote, and could not gain much reliable
+information about them. It appeared that he was to have sailed for
+England in the _Dart_, a steamer bound for Liverpool, not one of their
+regular passenger-packets. He was unable, however, to find any record
+that Brook had gone in her, and believed he had not: neither could he
+learn that Brook had departed by any other vessel. A friend of his told
+him that he feared Brook was dead. The day before the _Dart_ went out of
+port, a young man, who bore out in every respect the description of
+Brook, was drowned in the harbour.
+
+Comforting news! Delightfully comforting for Ellin Delorane, not to
+speak of Brook's people. Aunt Hester came over to Crabb Cot, and burst
+into tears as she told it.
+
+But the next morning brought a turn in the tide; one less sombre, though
+uncertain still. Mrs. Brook, who had bedewed her pillow with salt tears,
+for her youngest son was very dear to her heart, received a letter from
+her son Reginald in London, enclosing one he had just received from
+the West Indies. She brought them to Mr. Delorane's office during the
+morning, and the Squire and I happened to be there.
+
+"How should Reginald know anything about it?" demanded St. George, in
+the haughty manner he could put on when not pleased; and his countenance
+looked dark as he gazed across his desk at Mrs. Brook, for which I
+saw no occasion. Evidently he did not like having his brother's news
+disputed.
+
+"Reginald wrote to Kingston by the same mail that you wrote," she said.
+"He received an introduction to some mercantile firm out there, and this
+is their answer to him."
+
+They stated, these merchants, that they had made due inquiries according
+to request, and found that William Brook had secured a passage on board
+the _Dart_; but that, finding himself unable to go in her, his business
+in Kingston not being finished, he had, at the last moment, made over
+his berth and ticket to another gentleman, who found himself called upon
+to sail unexpectedly: and that he, Brook, had departed by the _Idalia_,
+which left two days later than the _Dart_ and was also bound for
+Liverpool.
+
+"I have ascertained here, dear mother," wrote Reginald from London,
+"that the _Idalia_ made a good passage and reached Liverpool on the
+18th of October. If the statement which I enclose you be correct, that
+William left Jamaica in her, he must have arrived in her at Liverpool,
+unless he died on the way. It is very strange where he can be, and
+what can have become of him. Of course, inquiries must now be made in
+Liverpool. I only wish I could go down myself, but our patients are all
+on my hands just now, for Dr. Croft is ill."
+
+The first thought, flashing into the mind of Mr. Delorane, was, that the
+18th of October was the eve of the day on which William Brook was said
+to have been seen by Mrs. James Ashton. He paused to consider, a sort of
+puzzled doubt on his face.
+
+"Why, look you here," cried he quickly, "it seems as though that _was_
+Brook at Worcester Station. If he reached Liverpool on the 18th, the
+probabilities are that he would be at Worcester on the 19th. What do you
+make of it?"
+
+We could not make anything. Mrs. Brook looked pale and distressed.
+The Squire, in his impulsive good-nature, offered to be the one to go,
+off-hand, to make the inquiries at Liverpool. St. George opposed this:
+_he_ was the proper person to go, he said; but Mrs. Delorane reminded
+him that he could be ill spared just then, when the assizes were at
+hand. For the time had gone on to spring.
+
+"I will start to-night," said the Squire, "and take Johnny with me. My
+time is my own. We will turn Liverpool upside down but what we find
+Brook--if he is to be found on earth."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+That the Squire might have turned Liverpool "upside down" with the
+confusion of his inquiries was likely enough, only that Jack Tanerton
+was there, having brought his own good ship, the _Rose of Delhi_,
+into port but a few days before. Jack and William Brook had been boys
+together, and Jack took up the cause in warm-hearted zeal. His knowledge
+of the town and its shipping made our way plain before us. That is, as
+plain as a way can be made which seems to have neither inlet nor outlet.
+
+The _Idalia_ was then lying in the Liverpool docks, not long in again
+from the West Indies. We ascertained that William Brook had come in her
+the previous autumn, making the port of Liverpool on the 18th of
+October.
+
+"Then nothing happened to him half-way?" cried the Squire to the second
+mate, a decent sort of fellow who did all he could for us. "He was not
+lost, or--or--anything of that sort?"
+
+"Why no," said the mate, looking surprised. "He was all right the whole
+of the voyage and in first-rate spirits--a very nice young fellow
+altogether. The _Idalia_ brought him home, all taut and safe, take our
+word for that, sir; and he went ashore with the rest, and his luggage
+also: of which he had but little; just a big case and the small one that
+was in his cabin."
+
+All this was certain. But from the hour Brook stepped ashore, we were
+unable to trace anything certain about him. The hotels could not single
+him out in memory from other temporary sojourners. I think it was by no
+means a usual occurrence in those days for passing guests to give in
+their names. Any way, we found no record of Brook's. The railway porters
+remembered no more of him than the hotels--and it was hardly likely they
+would.
+
+Captain Tanerton--to give Jack his title--was indefatigable; winding
+himself in and out of all kinds of places like a detective eel. In
+some marvellous way he got to learn that a gentleman whose appearance
+tallied with Brook's had bought some tan-coloured kid gloves and also
+a white comforter in a shop in Bold Street on the morning of the 19th
+of October. Jack took us there that we might question the people,
+especially the young woman who served him. She said that, while choosing
+the gloves, he observed that he had just come off a sea-voyage and found
+the weather here very chilly. He wore a lightish great-coat, a sort of
+slate or grey. She was setting out the window when he came in, and had
+to leave it to serve him; it was barely eight o'clock, and she remarked
+that he was shopping betimes; he replied yes, for he was going off
+directly by train. He bought two pair of the gloves, putting one pair of
+them on in the shop; he next bought a warm knitted woollen scarf, white,
+and put that on. She was quite certain it was the 19th of October, and
+told us why she could not be mistaken. And that was the last trace we
+could get of Brook in Liverpool.
+
+Well, well; it is of no use to linger. We went away from Liverpool,
+the Squire and I, no better off than we were when we entered it. That
+William Brook had arrived safely by the _Idalia_, and that he had landed
+safely, appeared to be a fact indisputable: but after that time he
+seemed to have vanished into air. Unless, mark you, it was he who had
+come on to Worcester.
+
+The most concerned of all at our ill-luck was Mr. St. George. He had
+treated the matter lightly when thinking Brook was only lingering over
+the seas; now that it was proved he returned by the _Idalia_, the case
+was different.
+
+"I don't like it at all," he said to the Squire frankly. "People may
+begin to think it was really Brook I had with me that night, and ask me
+what I did with him."
+
+"What could you have done with him?" dissented the Squire.
+
+"Not much--that I see. I couldn't pack him up in a parcel to be sent
+back over seas, and I couldn't bury him here. I wish with all my heart
+it had been Brook! I won't leave a stone unturned now but what I find
+him," added St. George, his eyes flashing, his face flushing hotly. "Any
+way, I'll find the man who was with me."
+
+St. George set to work. Making inquiries here, there, and everywhere for
+William Brook, personally and by advertising. But little came of it.
+A porter at the Worcester railway-station, who had seen the traveller
+talking with St. George on the platform, came forward to state that
+they (the gentleman and Mr. St. George) had left the station together,
+walking away from it side by side, down the road. St. George utterly
+denied this. He admitted that the other might have followed him so
+closely as to impart a possible appearance of their being together, but
+if so, he was not conscious of it. Just as he had denied shaking hands
+with the stranger, which Mrs. James Ashton insisted upon.
+
+Next a lady came forward. She had travelled from Birmingham that
+afternoon, the 19th of October, with her little nephew and niece. In the
+same compartment, a first-class one, was another passenger, bearing,
+both in attire and person, the description told of--a very pleasant,
+gentlemanly young man, nice-looking, eyes dark blue. It was bitterly
+cold: he seemed to feel it greatly, and said he had recently come from a
+warmer climate. He also said that he ought to have got into Worcester by
+an earlier train, but had been detained in Birmingham, through missing
+his luggage, which he supposed must have been put out by mistake at some
+intermediate station. He had with him a small black hand-bag; nothing
+else that she saw. His great-coat was of a peculiar shade of grey; it
+did not look like an English-made coat: his well-fitting kid gloves were
+of fawn (or tan) colour, and appeared to be new. Once, when the high
+wind seemed to shake the carriage, he remarked with a smile that one
+might almost as well be at sea; upon which her little nephew said: "Have
+you ever been to sea, sir?" "Yes, my little lad," he answered; "I landed
+from it only yesterday."
+
+The only other person to come forward was a farmer named Lockett, well
+known to us all. He lived on the Evesham Road, close upon the turning,
+or by-way, which led up from Dip Lane. On the night of the storm, the
+19th of October, he went out about ten o'clock to visit a neighbour,
+who had met with a bad accident. In passing by this turning, a man came
+out of it, walking pretty sharply. He looked like a gentleman, seemed to
+be muffled up round the neck, and carried something in his hand; whether
+a black bag, or not, Mr. Lockett did not observe. "A wild night," said
+the farmer to him in salutation. "It is that," answered the other. He
+took the road to Evesham, and Mr. Lockett saw him no more.
+
+St. George was delighted at this evidence. He could have hugged old
+Lockett. "I knew that the truth would be corroborated sooner or later,"
+he said, his eyes sparkling. "That was the man I put out of my gig in
+Dip Lane."
+
+"Stop a bit," cried Mr. Delorane, a doubt striking him. "If it was the
+same man, what had he been doing to take two or three hours to get into
+the Evesham Road? Did he bear any resemblance to William Brook,
+Lockett?--you would have known Brook."
+
+"None at all that I saw. As to knowing Brook, or any one else, I can't
+answer for it on such a night as that," added the farmer after a pause.
+"Brook would have known me, though, I take it, daylight or dark, seeing
+me close to my own place, and all."
+
+"It was the other man," affirmed St. George exultantly, "and now we will
+find him."
+
+An advertisement was next inserted in the local newspapers by Mr. St.
+George, and also in the _Times_.
+
+"Gentleman Wanted. The traveller who got out of the Birmingham train
+at Worcester railway-station on the 19th of last October, towards the
+close of the afternoon, and who spoke to a gentleman on the platform
+respecting the trains to Evesham and to Cheltenham, and who was
+subsequently overtaken a little way out of Worcester by the same
+gentleman and given a few miles' lift in his gig, and was put down in
+a cross-country lane to continue his walk to Evesham: this traveller
+is earnestly requested to give an address where he may be communicated
+with, to Alfred St. George, Esquire, Timberdale, Worcester. By doing
+so, he will be conferring a great favour."
+
+For two long weeks the advertisements brought forth no reply. At the
+end of that time there came to Mr. St. George a post-letter, short and
+sweet.
+
+"Tell me what I am wanted for.--R. W."
+
+It was dated Post Office, Cheltenham. To the Post Office, Cheltenham,
+St. George, consulting with Mr. Delorane, wrote a brief explanation.
+That he (R. W.) had been mistaken by some people who saw him that night
+in the gig, for a gentleman named Brook, a native of Timberdale, who
+had been missing since about that time. This, as R. W. might perceive,
+was not pleasant for himself, St. George; and he begged R. W. to come
+forward and set the erroneous idea at rest, or to state where he could
+be seen. Expenses, if any, would be cheerfully paid.
+
+This letter brought forth the following answer:--
+
+  "DEAR SIR,
+
+  "I regret that your courtesy to me that stormy night should have
+  led to misapprehension. I the more regret it that I am not able
+  to comply with your request to come forward. At present that is
+  impossible. The truth is, I am, and have been for some months now,
+  lying under a cloud, partly through my own credulous fault, chiefly
+  through the designing faults of another man, and I dare not show
+  myself. It may be many more months yet before I am cleared: that I
+  shall be, in time, there exists no doubt, and I shall then gladly
+  bear personal testimony to the fact that it was I myself who was
+  with you. Meanwhile, perhaps the following statement will suffice:
+  which I declare upon my honour to be true.
+
+  "I was hiding at Crewe, when I received a letter from a friend at
+  Evesham, bidding me go to him without delay. I had no scruple in
+  complying, not being known at all in Worcestershire, and I started
+  by one of the Liverpool trains. I had a portmanteau with me
+  containing papers principally, and this I missed on arriving at
+  Birmingham. The looking for it caused me to lose the Worcester
+  train, but I went on by the next. Upon getting out there, I
+  addressed the first person I saw after crossing the line--yourself.
+  I inquired of you when the next train would start for Evesham. Not
+  for two hours, you told me: so I set off to walk, after getting
+  some light refreshment. Barely had I left Worcester when, through
+  the dusk of evening, I thought I saw that the road before me
+  branched off two ways. I did not know which to take, and ventured
+  to stop a gig, then bowling up behind me, to ask. As you answered
+  me I recognized you for the gentleman to whom I had spoken at the
+  station. You offered to take me a few miles on my road, and I got
+  into the gig. I found that you would have to go out of your way to
+  do this, and I expressed concern; you laughed my apologies off,
+  saying you should probably have chosen the way in any case, as it
+  was more sheltered. You drove me as far as your road lay, told me
+  that after I got out of the cross-lanes my way would be a straight
+  one, and I left you with hearty thanks--which I repeat now. I may
+  as well tell you that I reached Evesham without mishap--in process
+  of time. The storm was so bad, the wind so fierce, that I was fain
+  to turn out of the lane close upon leaving you, and shelter myself
+  for an hour or two under a hay-rick, hoping it would abate. How it
+  was possible for mortal man to see enough of me that night in your
+  gig to mistake me for some one else, I am at a loss to understand.
+  I remember that carriage passing us in the narrow line, the people
+  in it shouted out to you: it must have been they, I conclude, who
+  mistook me, for I do not think we saw another soul. You are at full
+  liberty to show them this letter: but I must ask you not to make it
+  absolutely public. I have purposely elaborated its details. I
+  repeat my sacred declaration that every word of it is true--and I
+  heartily regret that I cannot yet testify to it personally.
+
+  "R. W."
+
+This letter set the matter at rest. We never doubted that it was
+genuine, or anything but a plain narrative of absolute facts. But the
+one great question remained--where was William Brook?
+
+It was not answered. The disappearance, which had been a mystery at the
+beginning, seemed likely to remain a mystery to the end.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Another autumn had come round. Ellin Delorane, feeble now, sat in the
+church-porch, the graveyard lying around her under the hot September
+sun, soon herself to be laid there. Chancing to take that way round from
+buying some figs at Salmon's for Hugh and Lena, I saw her, and dashed up
+the churchyard path.
+
+"You seem to have set up a love for this lively spot, Ellin! You were
+sitting here the last time I passed by."
+
+"The sun is hot yet, and I get tired, so I come across here for a rest
+when out this way," she answered, a sweet smile on her wan face and a
+hectic on her thin cheeks. "Won't you stay with me for a little while,
+Johnny?"
+
+"Are you better, Ellin?" I asked, taking my place on the opposite bench,
+which brought my knees near to hers, for the porch was not much more
+than big enough for a coffin to pass through.
+
+She gently shook her head as she glanced across at me, a steadfast look
+in her sad brown eyes. "Don't you see how it is, Johnny? That I shall
+never be better in this world?"
+
+"Your weakness may take a turn, Ellin; it may indeed. And--_he_ may come
+back yet."
+
+"He will never come back: rely upon that," she quietly said. "He is
+waiting for me on the Eternal shores."
+
+Her gaze went out afar, over the gravestones and the green meadows
+beyond, almost (one might fancy) into the blue skies, as if she could
+see those shores in the distant horizon.
+
+"Is it well to lose hope, Eileen mavourneen?"
+
+"The hope of his returning died out long ago," she answered. "Those
+dreams that visited me so strangely last year, night after night, night
+after night, seemed to take _that_ from me. Perhaps they came to do it.
+You remember them, Johnny?"
+
+"I cannot think, Ellin, how you could put faith in a parcel of dreams!"
+
+"It was not in the dreams I put faith--exactly. It was in the mysterious
+influence--I hope I don't speak profanely--which caused me to have the
+dreams. A silent, undetected influence that I understood not and never
+grasped--but it was there. Curious dreams they were," she added, after
+a pause; "curious that they should have come to me. William was always
+lost, and I, with others, was always searching for him--and never, never
+found him. They lasted, Johnny, for weeks and months; and almost from
+the time of their first setting-in, the impression, that I should never
+see him again, lay latent in my heart."
+
+"Do they visit you still?"
+
+"No. At least, they have changed in character. Ever since the night that
+he seems to have been really lost, the 19th of October. How you look at
+me, Johnny!"
+
+"You speak so strangely."
+
+"The subject is strange. I was at Worcester, you know, at Mary West's,
+and we thought he had come. That night I had the pleasantest dream. We
+were no longer seeking for him; all the anxiety, the distress of that
+was gone. We saw him; he seemed to be with us--though yet at a distance.
+When I awoke, I said in my happiness, 'Ah, those sad dreams will visit
+me no more, now he is found.' I thought he was, you see. Since then,
+though the dreams continue, he is never lost in them. I see him always;
+we are often talking, though we are never very close together. I will be
+indoors, perhaps, and he outside in the garden; or maybe I am toiling up
+a steep hill and he stands higher up. I seem to be _always going towards
+him_ and he to be waiting for me. And though I never quite reach him,
+they are happy dreams. It will not be very long first now."
+
+I knew what she meant--and had nothing to say to it.
+
+"Perhaps it may be as well, Johnny," she went on in speculative thought.
+"God does all things for the best."
+
+"Perhaps what may be as well?"
+
+"That he should never have come back to marry me. I do not suppose I
+should have lived long in any case; I am too much like mamma. And to
+have been left a widower--perhaps--no, it is best as it is."
+
+"You don't give yourself a chance of getting better, Ellin--cherishing
+these gloomy views."
+
+"Gloomy! They are not gloomy. I am as happy as I can be. I often picture
+to myself the glories of the world I am hastening to; the lovely
+flowers, the trees that overshadow the banks of the pure crystal river,
+whose leaves are for the healing of the nations, and the beautiful
+golden light shed around us by God and the Lamb. Oh, Johnny, what a rest
+it will be after the weary sorrow here--and the weakness--and the pain!"
+
+"But you should not wish to leave us before your time."
+
+"I do not wish it; it is God who is taking me. I think if I had a wish
+it would be to stay here as long as papa stays. For I know what my death
+will be to him. And what it will be to you all," she generously added,
+holding out her hands to me, as the tears filled her eyes.
+
+I held them for a minute in mine. Ellin took up her parasol, preparatory
+to moving away; but laid it down again.
+
+"Johnny, tell me--I have often thought I should like to ask you--what do
+_you_ think could have become of William? Have you ever picked up an
+idea, however faint, of anything that could tend to solve the mystery?"
+
+It was a hard question to answer, and she saw my hesitation.
+
+"I cannot admit that I have, Ellin. When looking at the affair in one
+light, I whisper to myself, 'It might have been this way;' when looking
+at it in another, I say, 'It might have been that.' Difficulties and
+contradictions encompass it on all sides. One impediment to elucidation
+was the length of time that elapsed before we began the search in
+earnest. Had we known from the first that he was really lost, and gone
+to work then, we might have had a better chance."
+
+Ellin nodded assent. "Marianne Ashton still maintains that it was
+William she saw that day at the railway-station."
+
+"I know she does. She always will maintain it."
+
+"Has it ever struck you, Johnny, in how rather remarkable a way any
+proof that it was he, or not he, seems to have been withheld?"
+
+"Well, we could not get at any positive proof, one way or the other."
+
+"But I mean that proof seems to _have been withheld_," repeated Ellin.
+"Take, to begin with, the traveller's luggage: but for its being lost
+(and we do not know that it was ever found), the name, sure to have been
+on it, would have told whether its owner was William Brook, or not. Then
+take Marianne Ashton: had she gained the platform but a few seconds
+earlier, she would have met the traveller face to face, avoiding all
+possibility of mistake either way. Next take the meeting of the two gigs
+that evening when Gregory West was returning from Spetchley. Gregory, a
+stranger to Worcester until recently, did not know William Brook; but
+had Philip West himself gone to Spetchley--as he ought to have done--he
+would have known him. Again, had Philip's groom, Brian, been there, he
+would have known him: he comes from this neighbourhood, you know. Brian
+was going with the gig that afternoon, but just as it was starting
+Philip got a message from a client living at Lower Wick, and he had to
+send Brian with the answer, so Gregory went alone. You must see how very
+near proof was in all these moments, yet it was withheld."
+
+Of course I saw it. And there was yet another instance: Had the Squire
+only pulled up when we passed the gig in Dip Lane, instead of driving on
+like the wind, we should have had proof that it was, or was not, Brook.
+
+"If it was he," breathed Ellin, "it must have been that night he died.
+He would not, else, keep away from Timberdale."
+
+My voice dropped to a lower key than hers. "Ellin! Do you really think
+it was he with St. George?"
+
+"Oh, I cannot say that. If any such thought intrudes itself, I drive it
+away. I do not like St. George, but I would not be unjust to him."
+
+"I thought St. George was one of your prime favourites."
+
+"He was never that. He used to be very kind to me, especially after
+William went away, and I liked him for it. But latterly I have taken a
+most unreasonable dislike to him--and really without any justifiable
+cause. He worries me--but it is not that."
+
+"Worries you!"
+
+"In pressing me to be his wife," she sighed. "Of course I ought to be
+grateful: he tells me, he tells papa, that with a new life and new
+scenes, which he would carry me to, my health might be re-established.
+Poor papa! Only the other day he said to me, 'My dear, don't you think
+you might bring yourself to try it,' and I was so silly as to burst into
+tears. The tears came into papa's eyes too, and he promised never to
+suggest it to me again."
+
+The tears were trickling down her cheeks, now as she spoke. "What a
+world of crosses and contradiction it is!" she cried, smiling through
+them as she rose. "And, Johnny, all this is between ourselves,
+remember."
+
+Yes, it was between ourselves. We strolled across the churchyard to a
+tomb that stood in a corner facing the western sun. It was of white
+marble, aromatic shrubs encircling it within ornamental railings, and
+an inscription on it to her who lay beneath--"Maria, the beloved wife
+of John Delorane."
+
+Ellin lingered on through the frosts of winter. Except that she grew
+thinner and weaker and her cheeks brighter, there really did not seem
+to be much the matter. Darbyshire saw her every day, other medical men
+occasionally, but they could not save her. When the snowdrops were
+peeping from the ground, and the violets nestled in their mossy
+shelters, and the trees and hedges began to show signs of budding,
+tokens of the renewal of life after the death of winter, Ellin passed
+away to that other life, where there is no death and the flowers bloom
+for ever. And another inscription was added to the white tombstone in
+the churchyard--"Ellin Maria, the only child of John and Maria
+Delorane."
+
+"You should have seen St. George at the funeral," said Tom Coney to us,
+as we turned aside after church one hot summer's day to look at the new
+name on grave, for we were away from Crabb Cot when she died. "His face
+was green; yes, green--hold your tongue, Johnny!--green, not yellow; and
+his eyes had the queerest look. You were right, Todhetley; you used to
+say, you know, that St. George was wild after poor Ellin."
+
+"Positive of it," affirmed Tod.
+
+"And he can't bear the place now she's gone out of it," continued
+Tom Coney. "Report says that he means to throw up his post and his
+prospects, and run away for good."
+
+"Not likely," dissented Tod, tossing his head. "A strong man like St.
+George does not die of love nowadays, or put himself out of good things,
+either. You have been reading romances, Coney."
+
+But Tom Coney was right. When the summer was on the wane St. George bade
+a final adieu to Timberdale. And if it was his love for Ellin, or her
+death, that drove him away, he made no mention of it. He told Timberdale
+that he was growing tired of work and meant to travel. As he had a good
+income, Timberdale agreed that it was only natural he should grow tired
+of work and want to travel. So he said adieu, and departed: and Mr.
+Delorane speedily engaged another head-clerk in his place, who was to
+become his partner later.
+
+St. George wrote to Sir. Delorane from Jamaica, to which place he
+steamed first, to take a look at his cousins. The letter contained a few
+words about William Brook. St. George had been instituting inquiries,
+and he said that, by what he could learn, it was certainly William Brook
+who was drowned in Kingston harbour the day before he ought to have
+sailed for England in the _Dart_. He, St. George, felt perfectly assured
+of this fact, and also that if any man had sailed in the _Idalia_
+under Brook's name, it must have been an impostor who had nefariously
+substituted himself. St. George added that he was going "farther
+afield," possibly to California: he would write again from thence if
+he arrived without mishap.
+
+No other letter ever came from him. So whether the sea swallowed him up,
+as, according to his report, it had swallowed his rival, none could
+tell. But it would take better evidence than that, to convince us
+William Brook had not come home in the _Idalia_.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+And that is all I have to tell. I know you will deem it most
+unsatisfactory. Was it William Brook in the gig, or was it not? We found
+no trace of him after that stormy night: we have found none to this day.
+And, whether that was he, or was not he, what became of him? Questions
+never, as I believe, to be solved in this life.
+
+There was a peculiar absence of proof every way, as Ellin remarked;
+nothing but doubt on all sides. Going over the matter with Darbyshire
+the other evening, when, as I have already told you, he suggested that
+I should relate it, we could not, either of us, see daylight through
+it, any more than we saw it at the time of its occurrence.
+
+There was the certainty (yes, I say so) that Brook landed at Liverpool
+the evening of the 18th of October; he would no doubt start for home the
+morning of the 19th, by rail, which would take him through Birmingham to
+Worcester; there was also what the shopwoman in Bold Street said, though
+hers might be called negative testimony, as well as the lady's in the
+train. There was Mrs. James Ashton's positive belief that she saw him
+arrive that afternoon at Worcester by the Birmingham train, _shake
+hands_ with St. George and talk with him: and there was our recognition
+of him an hour or two later in St. George's gig in Dip Lane----
+
+"Hold there, Johnny," cried Darbyshire, taking his long clay pipe from
+his mouth to interrupt me as I went over the items. "You should say
+_supposed_ recognition."
+
+"Yes, of course. Well, all that points to its having been Brook: you
+must see that, Mr. Darbyshire. But, if it was in truth he, there's a
+great deal that seems inexplicable. Why did he set off to _walk_ from
+Worcester to Timberdale--and on such a night!--why not have gone on by
+rail? It is incredible."
+
+"Nay, lad, we are told he--that is, the traveller--set off to walk to
+Evesham. St. George says he put him down in Dip Lane; and Lockett, you
+know, saw somebody, that seems to answer the description, turn from the
+lanes into the Evesham road."
+
+I was silent, thinking out my thoughts. Or, rather, not daring to think
+them out. Darbyshire put his pipe in the fender and went on.
+
+"If it was Brook and no stranger that St. George met at Worcester
+Station, the only possible theory I can form on that point is this,
+Johnny: that St. George then proposed to drive him home. He may have
+said to him, 'You walk on, and I will get my gig and overtake you
+directly:' it is a lame theory, you may say, lad, but it is the only one
+I can discern, and I have thought of the matter more than you suppose.
+St. George started for home earlier than he had meant to start, and this
+may have been the reason: though _he_ says it was because he saw it was
+going to be so wild a night. Why they should not have gone in company to
+the Hare-and-Hounds, and started thence, in the gig together, is another
+question."
+
+"Unless Brook, being done up, wished not to show himself at Worcester
+that day--to get on at once to Timberdale."
+
+Darbyshire nodded: the thought, I am sure, was not strange to him. "The
+most weighty question of all remains yet, lad: If St. George took up
+Brook in his gig, what did he do with him? _He_ would not want to be put
+down in Dip Lane to walk to Evesham."
+
+He caught up his churchwarden pipe, relighted it at the fire, and puffed
+away in silence. Presently I spoke again.
+
+"Mr. Darbyshire, I do not like St. George. I never did. You may not
+believe me, perhaps, but the first time I ever saw his face--I was
+a little fellow--I drew back startled. There was something in its
+expression which frightened me."
+
+"One of your unreasonable dislikes, Johnny?"
+
+"Are they unreasonable? But I have not taken many such dislikes in my
+life as that one was. Perhaps I might say _any_ such."
+
+"St. George was liked by most people."
+
+"I know he was. Any way, my dislike remained with me. I never spoke of
+it; no, not even to Tod."
+
+"Liking him or disliking him has nothing to do with the main
+question--what became of Brook. There were the letters too, sent by the
+traveller in answer to St. George's advertisements."
+
+"Yes, there were the letters. But--did it ever occur to you to notice
+that not one word was said in those letters, or one new fact given, that
+we had not heard before? They bore out St. George's statement, but they
+afforded no proof that his statement was true."
+
+"That is, Mr. Johnny, you would insinuate, putting it genteelly, that
+St. George fabricated the answers himself."
+
+"No, not that he did, only that there was nothing in the letters to
+render it impossible that he did."
+
+"After having fabricated the pretty little tale that it was a stranger
+he picked up, and what the stranger said to him, and all the rest of it,
+eh, Johnny?"
+
+"Well"--I hesitated--"as to the letters, it seemed to me to be an
+unaccountable thing that the traveller could not let even one person see
+him in private, to hear his personal testimony: say Mr. Delorane, or a
+member of the Brook family. The Squire went hot over it: he asked St.
+George whether the fellow thought men of honour carried handcuffs in
+their pockets. Again, the stranger said he should be at liberty to come
+forward later, but he never has come."
+
+Darbyshire smoked on. "I'd give this full of gold," he broke the silence
+with, touching the big bowl of the clay pipe, "to know where Brook
+vanished to."
+
+My restless fingers had strayed to his old leaden tobacco jar, on the
+table by me, pressing down its heavy lid and lifting it again. When I
+next spoke he might have thought the words came out of the tobacco, they
+were so low.
+
+"Do you think St. George had a grudge against Brook, Mr.
+Darbyshire?--that he wished him out of the way?"
+
+Darbyshire gave me a look through the wreathing smoke.
+
+"Speak out, lad. What have you on your mind?"
+
+"St. George said, you know, that he stopped the gig in Dip Lane at the
+turning which would lead to Evesham, for Brook--I mean the traveller--to
+get out. But I thought I heard it stop before that. I was almost sure of
+it."
+
+"Stop where?"
+
+"Just about opposite the gap in the hedge; hardly even quite as far as
+that. We had not reached the turning to Evesham ourselves when I heard
+this. The gig seemed to come to a sudden standstill. I said so to Tod at
+the time."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Why should he have stopped just at the gap?"
+
+"How can I tell, lad?"
+
+"I suppose he could not have damaged Brook? Struck him a blow to stun
+him--or--or anything of that?"
+
+"And if he had? If he (let us put it so) _killed_ him, Johnny, what did
+he do with--what was left of him? What could he do with it?"
+
+Darbyshire paused in his smoking. I played unconsciously with the jar.
+He was looking at me, waiting to be answered.
+
+"I suppose--if that pond had been dragged--Dip Pond--if it were to be
+dragged now--that--that--nothing would be found----"
+
+"Hush, lad," struck in Darbyshire, all hastily. "Walls have ears, people
+tell us: and we must not even whisper grave charges without sufficient
+grounds; grounds that we could substantiate."
+
+True: and of course he did right to stop me.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+But we cannot stay rebellious thought: and no end of gruesome ideas
+connected with that night in Dip Lane steal creepingly at times into my
+mind. If I am not mistaken they steal also into Darbyshire's.
+
+All the same they may be but phantoms of the imagination, and St.
+George may have been a truthful, an innocent man. You must decide for
+yourselves, if you can, on which side the weight of evidence seems to
+lie. I have told you the story as it happened, and I cannot clear up
+for you what has never yet been cleared for Timberdale. It remains an
+unsolved mystery.
+
+
+
+
+SANDSTONE TORR.
+
+
+I.
+
+What I am going to tell of took place before my time. But we shall get
+down to that by-and-by, for I had a good deal to do with the upshot when
+it came.
+
+About a mile from the Manor, on the way to the Court (which at that time
+belonged to my father) stood a very old house built of grey stone, and
+called Sandstone Torr: "Torr," as every one knew, being a corruption of
+Tower. It was in a rather wild and solitary spot, much shut in by trees.
+A narrow lane led to it from the highway, the only road by which a
+carriage could get up to it: but in taking the field way between the
+Court and Dyke Manor, over stiles and across a running rivulet or two,
+you had to pass it close. Sandstone Torr was a rambling, high, and ugly
+old building, once belonging to the Druids, or some ancient race of that
+kind, and said to have been mighty and important in its day. The points
+chiefly remarkable about it now were its age, its lonesome grey walls,
+covered with lichen, and an amazingly lofty tower, that rose up from the
+middle of the house and went tapering off at the top like an aspiring
+sugar loaf.
+
+Sandstone Torr belonged to the Radcliffes. Its occupier was Paul
+Radcliffe, who had inherited it from his father. He was a rather
+unsociable man, and seemed to find his sole occupation in farming what
+little land lay around the Torr and belonged to it. He might have
+mixed with the gentry of the county, as far as descent went, for the
+Radcliffes could trace themselves back for ages--up to the Druids, I
+think, the same as the house: but he did not appear to care about it.
+Who his wife had been no one knew. He brought her home one day from
+London, and she kept herself as close as he did, or closer. She was dead
+now, and old Radcliffe lived in the Torr with his only son, and a man
+and maid servant.
+
+Well, in those days there came to stay at Dyke Manor a clergyman, named
+Elliot, with his daughter Selina. Squire Todhetley was a youngish man
+then, and he and his mother lived at the Manor together. Mr. Elliot was
+out of health. He had been overworked for the past twenty years in the
+poor London parish of which he was curate; and old Mrs. Todhetley asked
+them to come down for a bit of a change. Change indeed it brought to Mr.
+Elliot. He died there. His illness, whatever it was, took a sudden and
+rapid stride onwards, and before he had been at Dyke Manor three weeks
+he was dead.
+
+Selina Elliot--we have heard the Squire say it many a time--was the
+sweetest-looking girl that ever the sun shone on. She was homeless now.
+The best prospect before her was that of going out as governess. The
+Elliots were of good descent, and Selina had been thoroughly well
+educated; but of money she had just none. Old Mrs. Todhetley bid her not
+be in any hurry; she was welcome to stay as long as she liked at Dyke
+Manor. So Selina stayed. It was summer weather then, and she was out and
+about in the open air all day long: a slight girl, in deep mourning,
+with a shrinking air that was natural to her.
+
+One afternoon she came in, her bright face all aglow, and her shy eyes
+eager. Soft brown eyes they were, that had always a sadness in them.
+I--a little shaver--can remember that, when I knew her in later years.
+As she sat down on the stool at Mrs. Todhetley's feet, she took off her
+black straw hat, and began to play nervously with its crape ends.
+
+"My dear, you seem to be in a heat," said Mrs. Todhetley; a stout old
+lady, who sat all day long in her easy-chair.
+
+"Yes, I ran home fast," said Selina.
+
+"Home from whence? Where have you been?"
+
+"I was--near the Torr," replied Selina, with hesitation.
+
+"Near the Torr, child! That's a long way for you to go strolling alone."
+
+"The wild roses in the hedges there are so lovely," pleaded Selina.
+"That's why I took to go there at first."
+
+"Took to go there!" repeated the old lady, thinking it an odd phrase.
+"Do you see anything of the Torr people? I hope you've not been making
+intimate with young Stephen Radcliffe," she added, a thought darting
+into her mind.
+
+"Stephen? that's the son. No, I never saw him. I think he is away from
+home."
+
+"That's well. He is by all accounts but a churlish lout of a fellow."
+
+Selina Elliot bent her timid face over the hat, smoothing its ribbons
+with her restless fingers. She was evidently ill at ease. Glancing up
+presently, she saw the old lady was shutting her eyes for a doze: and
+that hastened her communication.
+
+"I--I want to tell you something, please, ma'am. But--I don't like to
+begin." And, with that, Selina burst into unexpected tears, and the
+alarmed old lady looked up.
+
+"Why, what ails you, child? Are you hurt? Has a wasp been at you?"
+
+"Oh no," said Selina, brushing the tears away with fingers that trembled
+all over. "I--if you please--I think I am going to live at the Torr."
+
+The old lady wondered whether Selina was dreaming. "At the Torr!" said
+she. "There are no children at the Torr. They don't want a governess at
+the Torr."
+
+"I am going there to be with Mr. Radcliffe," spoke Selina, in her
+throat, as if she meant to choke.
+
+"To be with old Radcliffe! Why, the child's gone cranky! Paul Radcliffe
+don't need a governess."
+
+"He wants to marry me."
+
+"Mercy upon us!" cried the old lady, lifting both hands in her
+amazement. And Selina burst into tears again.
+
+Yes, it was true. Paul Radcliffe, who was fifty years of age, if a day,
+and had a son over twenty, had been proposing marriage to that bright
+young girl! They had met in the fields often, it turned out, and Mr.
+Radcliffe had been making his hay while the sun shone. Every one went on
+at her.
+
+"It would be better to go into a prison than into that gloomy Sandstone
+Torr--a young girl like you, Selina," said Mrs. Todhetley. "It would be
+sheer madness."
+
+"Why, you'd never go and sacrifice yourself to that old man!" cried the
+Squire, who was just as outspoken and impulsive and good-hearted then as
+in these latter years. "He ought to be ashamed of himself. It would be
+like June and December."
+
+But all they said was of no use in the end. It was not that Selina, poor
+girl, was in love with Mr. Radcliffe--one could as well have fancied
+her in love with the grizzly old bear, just then exhibiting himself at
+Church Dykely in a travelling caravan. But it was her position. Without
+money, without a home, without a resource of any kind for the future,
+save that of teaching for her bread, the prospect of becoming mistress
+of Sandstone Torr was something fascinating.
+
+"I do so dislike the thought of spending my whole life in teaching!"
+she pleaded in apology, the bitter tears streaming down her face. "You
+cannot tell what it is to feel dependent."
+
+"I'd rather sweep chimneys than marry Paul Radcliffe if I were a pretty
+young girl like you," stormed the old lady.
+
+"Since papa died you don't know what the feeling has been," sobbed
+Selina. "Many a night have I lain awake with the misery of knowing that
+I had no claim to a place in the wide world."
+
+"I am sure you are welcome to stay here," said the Squire.
+
+"Yes; as long as I am here myself," added his mother. "After that--well,
+I suppose it wouldn't be proper for you to stay."
+
+"You are all kindness; I shall never meet with such friends again; and I
+know that I am welcome to stay as long as I like," she answered in the
+saddest of tones. "But the time of my departure must come sometime; and
+though the world lies before me, there is no refuge for me in it. It is
+very good of Mr. Radcliffe to offer to make me his wife and to give me
+a home at the Torr."
+
+"Oh, is it, though!" retorted the Squire. "Trust him for knowing on
+which side his bread's buttered."
+
+"He is of good descent; he has a large income----"
+
+"Six hundred a-year," interrupted the Squire, slightingly.
+
+"Yes, I am aware that it cannot appear much to you," she meekly said;
+"but to me it seems unbounded. And that is apart from the house and
+land."
+
+"The house and land must both go to Stephen."
+
+"Mr. Radcliffe told me that."
+
+"As to the land, it's only a few acres; nothing to speak of," went on
+the Squire. "I'd as soon boast of my gooseberry bushes. And he can leave
+all his money to Stephen if he likes. In my opinion, the chances are
+that he will."
+
+"He says he shall always behave fairly by me," spoke poor Selina.
+
+"Why, you'd have a step-son older than yourself, Selina!" put in the old
+lady. "And I don't like him--that Stephen Radcliffe. He's no better than
+he should be. I saw him one day whipping a poor calf almost to death."
+
+Well, they said all they could against it; ten thousand times more than
+is written down here. Selina wavered: she was not an obstinate girl, but
+tractable as you please. Only--she had no homestead on the face of the
+earth, and Mr. Radcliffe offered her one. He did not possess youth,
+it is true; he had never been handsome: but he was of irreproachable
+descent--and Selina had a little corner of ambition in her heart; and,
+above all, he had a fairly good income.
+
+It was rather curious that the dread of this girl's life, the one dread
+above all other dreads, was that of _poverty_. In the earlier days of
+her parents, when she was a little girl and her mother was alive, and
+the parson's pay was just seventy pounds a-year, they had had such a
+terrible struggle with poverty that a horror of it was implanted in the
+child's mind for ever. Her mother died of it. She had become weaker and
+weaker, and perished slowly away for the want of those comforts that
+money alone could have bought. Mr. Elliot's stipend was increased later:
+but the fear of poverty never left Selina: and now, by his death, she
+was again brought face to face with it. That swayed her; and her choice
+was made.
+
+Old Mrs. Todhetley and the Squire protested that they washed their hands
+of the marriage. But they could only wash them gingerly, and, so to say,
+in private. For, after all, excepting that Paul Radcliffe was more than
+old enough to be Selina's father, and had grizzly hair and a grown-up
+son, there was not so much to be said against it. She would be Mrs.
+Radcliffe of Sandstone Torr, and might take her standing in the county.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sandstone Torr, dull and gloomy, and buried amidst its trees, was enough
+to put a lively man in mind of a prison. You entered it by a sort of
+closed-in porch, the outer door of which was always chained back in the
+daytime. The inner door opened into a long, narrow passage, and that
+again to a circular stone hall with a heavy ceiling, just like a large
+dark watch-box. Four or five doors led off from it to different passages
+and rooms. This same kind of round place was on all the landings,
+shut in just as the hall was, and with no light, except what might be
+afforded from the doors of the passages or rooms leading to it. It was
+the foundation of the tower, and the house was built round it. All the
+walls were of immense thickness: the rooms were low, and had beams
+running across most of them. But the rooms were many in number, and
+the place altogether had a massive, grand air, telling of its past
+importance. It had one senseless point in it--there was no entrance to
+the tower. The tower had neither staircase nor door of access. People
+said what a grand view might be obtained if you could only get to the
+top of it, or even get up to look through the small slits of windows in
+its walls. But the builder had forgotten the staircase, and there it
+ended.
+
+Mr. Radcliffe took his wife straight home from the church-door. Selina
+had never before been inside the Torr, and the gloominess of its aspect
+struck upon her unpleasantly. Leading her down the long passage into the
+circular hall, he opened one of its doors, and she found herself in a
+sitting-room. The furniture was good but heavy; the Turkey carpet was
+nearly colourless with age, but soft to the feet; the window looked out
+only upon trees. A man-servant, who had admitted them, followed them in,
+asking his master if he had any orders.
+
+"Send Holt here," said Mr. Radcliffe. "This is the parlour, Selina."
+
+A thin, respectable woman of middle age made her appearance. She looked
+with curiosity at the young lady her master had brought in: at her
+wedding-dress of grey silk, at the pretty face blushing under the white
+straw bonnet.
+
+"Mrs. Radcliffe, Holt. Show your mistress her rooms."
+
+The woman curtsied, and led the way through another passage to the
+stairs; and into a bedroom and sitting-room above, that opened into one
+another.
+
+"I've aired 'em well, ma'am," were the first words she said. "They've
+never been used since the late mistress's time, for master has slept in
+a little chamber near Master Stephen's. But he's coming back here now."
+
+"Is this the drawing-room?" asked Selina, observing that the furniture,
+though faded, was prettier and lighter than that in the room downstairs.
+
+"Dear no, ma'am! The drawing-room is below and on t'other side of the
+house entirely. It's never gone into from one month's end to another.
+Master and Mr. Stephen uses nothing but the parlour. We call this the
+Pine Room."
+
+"The Pine Room!" echoed Selina. "Why?"
+
+"Because it looks out on them pines, I suppose," replied Holt.
+
+Selina looked from the window, and saw a row of dark pines waving
+before the higher trees behind them. The view beyond was completely shut
+in by these trees; they were very close to the house: it almost seemed
+as though a long arm might have touched them from where she stood.
+Anything more dull than this aspect could not well be found. Selina
+leaned from the window to look below: and saw a gravel-path with some
+grass on either side it, but no flowers.
+
+It was a week later. Mr. Radcliffe sat in the parlour, busily examining
+some samples of new wheat, when there came a loud ring at the outer
+bell, and presently Stephen Radcliffe walked in. The father and son
+resembled each other. Both were tall and strongly built, and had the
+same rugged cast of features: men of few words and ungenial manners. But
+while Mr. Radcliffe's face was not an unpleasing one, Stephen's had a
+most sullen--some might have said evil--expression. In his eyes there
+was a slight cast, and his dull brown hair was never tidy. Some time
+before this, when the father and son had a quarrel, Stephen had gone off
+into Cornwall to stay with his mother's relations. This was his first
+appearance back again.
+
+"Is it you, Stephen!" cried Mr. Radcliffe, without offering to shake
+hands: for the house was never given to ceremony.
+
+"Yes, it's me," replied Stephen, who generally talked more like a boor
+than a gentleman, particularly in his angry moods. "It's about time I
+came home, I think, when such a notice as this appears in the public
+papers."
+
+He took a newspaper from his pocket, and laid it before his father,
+pointing with his fore-finger to an announcement. It was that of Mr.
+Radcliffe's marriage.
+
+"Well?" said Mr. Radcliffe.
+
+"Is that true or a hoax?"
+
+"True."
+
+Stephen caught the paper up again, tore it in two, and flung it across
+the room.
+
+"What the devil made you go and do such a thing as that?"
+
+"Softly, Ste. Keep a civil tongue in your head. I am my own master."
+
+"At your age!" growled Stephen. "There's no fool like an old fool."
+
+"If you don't like it, you can go back to where you came from," said Mr.
+Radcliffe quietly, turning the wheat from one of the sample-bags out on
+the table.
+
+Stephen went to the window, and stood there looking at that agreeable
+prospect beyond--the trees--his hands in his pockets, his back to his
+father, and swearing to himself awfully. It would not do to quarrel
+implacably with the old man, for his money was at his own disposal: and,
+if incensed too greatly, he might possibly take the extreme step of
+leaving it away from him. But Stephen Radcliffe's heart was good to turn
+his father out of doors there and then, and appropriate the money to
+himself at once, if he only had the power. "No fool like an old fool!"
+he again muttered. "Where _is_ the cat?"
+
+"Where's who?" cried Mr. Radcliffe, looking up from his wheat.
+
+"The woman you've gone and made yourself a world's spectacle with."
+
+"Ste, my lad, this won't do. Keep a fair tongue in your head, as I
+bid you; or go where you may make it a foul one. For by Heaven!"--and
+Mr. Radcliffe's passion broke out and he rose from his seat
+menacingly--"I'll not tolerate this."
+
+Stephen hardly ever remembered his father to have shown passion before.
+He did not like it. They had gone on so very quietly together, until
+that quarrel just spoken of, and Stephen had had his own way, and ruled,
+so to say, in all things, for his father was easy, that this outbreak
+was something new. It might not do to give further provocation then.
+
+He was standing as before in sullen silence, his hands in his trousers'
+pockets and the skirts of his short brown velveteen coat thrown back,
+and Mr. Radcliffe had sat down to the bags again, when the door opened,
+and some one came in. Stephen turned. He saw a pretty young girl in
+black, with some books in her delicate hands. Just for an instant he
+wondered who the young girl could be: and then the thought flashed
+over him that "the woman" his father had married might have a grown-up
+daughter. Selina had been unpacking her trunks upstairs, and arranging
+her things in the drawers and closets. She hesitated on her way to the
+book-case when she saw the stranger.
+
+"My son Stephen, Selina. Ste, Mrs. Radcliffe."
+
+Stephen Radcliffe for a moment forgot his sullenness and his temper.
+He did nothing but stare. Was his father playing a joke on him? He had
+pictured the new wife (though he knew not why) as a woman of mature
+age: this was a child. As she timidly held out the only hand she could
+extricate from the load of books, he saw the wedding-ring on her
+finger. Meeting her hand ungraciously and speaking never a word, he
+turned to the window again. Selina put the books down, to be disposed
+in their shelves later, and quitted the room.
+
+"This is even worse folly than I dreamed of," began Stephen, facing his
+father. "She's nothing but a child."
+
+"She is close upon twenty."
+
+"Why, there may be children!" broadly roared out Stephen. "You must have
+been mad when you did such a deed as this."
+
+"Mad or sane, it's done, Stephen. And I should do it again to-morrow
+without asking your leave. Understand that."
+
+Yes, it was done. Rattling the silver in his pockets, Stephen Radcliffe
+felt that, and that there was no undoing it. Here was this young
+step-mother planted down at the Torr; and if he and she could not hit
+it off together, it was he who would have to walk out of the house.
+For full five minutes Stephen mentally rehearsed all the oaths he
+remembered. Presently he spoke.
+
+"It was a fair trick, wasn't it, that you should forbid my marrying,
+and go and do the same thing yourself!"
+
+"I did not object to your marrying, Ste: I objected to the girl.
+Gibbon's daughter is not one to match with you. You are a Radcliffe."
+
+Stephen scoffed. Nobody had ever been able to beat into him any sense
+of self-importance. Pride of birth, pride in his family were elements
+unknown to Stephen's nature. He had a great love of money to make up
+for it.
+
+"What's good for the goose is good for the gander," he retorted,
+plunging into a communication he had resolved to make. "You have been
+taking a wife on your score, and I have taken one on mine."
+
+Mr. Radcliffe looked keenly at Stephen. "You have married Gibbon's
+girl?"
+
+"I have."
+
+"When? Where?"
+
+"In Cornwall. She followed me there."
+
+The elder man felt himself in a dilemma. He did care for his son, and
+he resented this alliance bitterly for Stephen's sake. Gibbon was
+gamekeeper to Sir Peter Chanasse, and had formerly been outdoor servant
+at the Torr; and this daughter of his, Rebecca--or Becca, as she was
+commonly called--was a girl quite beneath Stephen. Neither was she a
+lovable young woman in herself; but hard, and sly, and bony. How it was
+that Stephen had fancied her, Mr. Radcliffe could not understand. But
+having stolen a march on Stephen himself, in regard to his own marriage,
+he did not feel much at liberty to resent Stephen's. It was done,
+too--as he had just observed of his own--and it could not be undone.
+
+"Well, Stephen, I am more vexed for your sake than I care to say. It
+strikes me you will live to repent it."
+
+"That's my look out," replied Stephen. "I am going to bring her home."
+
+"Home! Where?"
+
+"Here."
+
+Mr. Radcliffe was silent; perhaps the assertion startled him.
+
+"I don't want Gibbon's daughter here, Stephen. There's no room for her."
+
+"Plenty of room, and to spare."
+
+So there was; for the old house was large. But Mr. Radcliffe had not
+been thinking of space.
+
+"I can't have her. There! You may make your home where you like."
+
+"This is my home," said Stephen.
+
+"And it may be still, if you like. But it's not hers. Two women in a
+house, each wanting to be mistress, wouldn't do. Now no noise, Ste,
+_I won't have Gibbon's girl here_. I've not been used to consort with
+people who have been my servants."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is one thing to make a resolution, and another to keep it. Before
+twelve months had gone by, Mr. Radcliffe's firmly spoken words had
+come to naught; and Stephen had brought his wife into the Torr and two
+babies--for Mrs. Stephen had presented him with two at once. Selina was
+upstairs then with an infant of her own, and very ill. The world thought
+she was going to die.
+
+The opportunity was a grand one for Madam Becca, and she seized upon it.
+When Selina came about again, after months spent in confinement, she
+found, so to say, no place for her. Becca was in her place; mistress,
+and ruler, and all. Stephen behaved to her like the lout he was; Becca,
+a formidable woman of towering height, alternately snapped at, and
+ignored her. Old Radcliffe did not interfere: he seemed not to see that
+anything was amiss. Poor Selina could only sit up in that apartment
+that Holt had called the Pine Room, and let her tears fall on her
+baby-boy, and whisper all her griefs into his unconscious ear. She was
+refined and timid and shrinking: but once she spoke to her husband.
+
+"Treat you with contempt?--don't let you have any will of your
+own?--thwart you in all ways?" he repeated. "Who says it, Selina?"
+
+"Oh, it is so; you may see that it is, if you only will notice," she
+said, looking up at him imploringly through her tears.
+
+"I'll speak to Stephen. I knew there'd be a fuss if that Becca came
+here. But you are not as strong to bustle about as she is, Selina: let
+her take the brunt of the management off you. What does it matter?"
+
+What did it matter?--that was Mr. Radcliffe's chief opinion on the
+point: and had it been only a question of management it would not have
+mattered. He spoke to Stephen, telling him that he and his wife must
+make things pleasanter for Mrs. Radcliffe, than, as it seemed, they were
+doing. The consequence was, that Stephen and Becca took a convenient
+occasion of attacking Selina; calling her a sneak, a tell-tale, and a
+wolf in sheep's clothing, and pretty nearly frightening her into another
+spell of illness.
+
+From that time Selina had no spirit to retaliate. She took all that
+was put upon her--and it was a great deal--and bore it in silence and
+patience. She saw that her marriage, taking one thing with another, had
+turned out to be the mistake her friends had foretold that it would be.
+Mr. Radcliffe, growing by degrees into a state of apathy as he got
+older, was completely under the dominion of Stephen. He did not mean to
+be unkind to his wife: he just perceived nothing; he was indifferent to
+all that passed around him: had they set fire to Selina's petticoats
+before his eyes, he'd hardly have seen the blaze. Now and again Selina
+would try to make friends with Holt: but Holt, though never uncivil,
+had a way of throwing her off. And so, she lived on, a cowed,
+broken-spirited woman, eating away her heart in silence. Selina
+Radcliffe had found out that there were worse evils in the world than
+poverty.
+
+She might have died then but for her boy. You never saw a nicer little
+fellow than he--that Francis Radcliffe. A bright, tractable, loving boy;
+with laughing blue eyes, and fair curls falling back from his pretty
+face. Mr. and Mrs. Stephen hated him. Their children, Tom and Lizzy,
+pinched and throttled him: but the lad took it all in good part, and
+had the sweetest temper imaginable. He loved his mother beyond telling,
+and she made him as gentle and nearly as patient as she was. Virtually
+driven from the parlour, except at meal-times, their refuge was the Pine
+Room. There they were unmolested. There Selina educated and trained him,
+doing her best to show him the way to the next world, as well as to fit
+him for this.
+
+One day when he was about nine years old, Selina was up aloft, in the
+little room where he slept; which had a better view than some of the
+rooms had, and looked out into the open country. It was snowy weather,
+and she caught sight of the two boys in the yard below, snowballing each
+other. Opening the window to call Francis in--for he always got into the
+wars when with Tom, and she had learnt to dread his being with him--she
+saw Stephen Radcliffe crossing from the barn. Suddenly a snowball
+took Stephen in the face. It came from Tom; she saw that; Francis was
+stooping down at the time, collecting material for a fresh missive.
+
+"Who flung that at me?" roared out Stephen, in a rage.
+
+Tom disclaimed all knowledge of it; and Stephen Radcliffe seized upon
+Francis, beating him shamefully.
+
+"It was not Francis," called out Selina from the window, shivering at
+the sight; for Stephen in his violence might some time, as she knew,
+lame the lad. "Its touching you was an accident; I could see that; but
+it was not Francis who threw it."
+
+The cold, rarefied air carried her words distinctly to the ear of
+Stephen. Holding Francis by one hand to prevent his escape, he told Mrs.
+Radcliffe that she was a liar, adding other polite epithets and a few
+oaths. And then he began pummelling the lad again.
+
+"Come in, Francis! Let him come in!" implored the mother, clasping her
+hands in her bitter agony. "Oh, is there no refuge for him and for me?"
+
+She ran down to their sanctum, the Pine Room. Francis came up, sore all
+over, and his face bleeding. He was a brave little lad, and he strove
+to make light of it, and keep his tears down. She held him to her, and
+burst into sobs while trying to comfort him. That upset him at once.
+
+"Oh, my darling, try and bear! My poor boy, there's nothing left for
+us both but to bear. The world is full of wrongs and tribulation:
+but, Francis, it will all be made right when we get to heaven."
+
+"Don't cry, mamma. It didn't hurt me much. But, indeed, the snowball
+was not mine."
+
+At ten years old the boys were sent to school. Young Tom, allowed to
+have his own way, grew beyond every one's control, even his father's;
+and Stephen packed him off to school. Selina besought her husband to
+send Francis also. Why not, replied Mr. Radcliffe; the boy must be
+educated. And, in spite of Stephen's opposition, Francis was despatched.
+It was frightfully lonely and unpleasant for Selina after that, and she
+grew to have a pitiful look on her face.
+
+The school was a sharp one, and Francis got on well; he seemed to
+possess his grandfather Elliot's aptitude for learning. Tom hated it.
+After each of the half-yearly holidays, it took Stephen himself to get
+him to school again: and before he was fourteen he capped it all by
+appearing at home uncalled for, a red-hot fugitive, and announcing an
+intention of going to sea.
+
+Tom carried his point. After some feats of skirmishing between him
+and his father, he was shipped off as "midshipman" on board a fine
+merchantman bound for Hong Kong. Stephen Radcliffe might never have
+given a consent, but for the certainty that if he did not give it, Tom
+would decamp from the Torr, as he did from school, and go off as a
+common seaman before the mast. It was strange, with his crabbed nature,
+how much he cared for those two children!
+
+"You'll have that other one home now," said sullen Stephen to his
+father. "No good to be paying for him there."
+
+And most likely it would have been so; but fate, or fortune, intervened.
+Francis had a wind-fall. A clergyman, who had known Mr. Elliot, died,
+and left Francis a thousand pounds. Selina decided that it should be
+spent, or at least a portion of it, in completing his education in a
+more advanced manner--though, no doubt, Stephen would have liked to get
+hold of the money. Francis was sent up to King's College in London,
+and to board at the house of one of the masters. In this way a few more
+years passed on. Francis chose the Bar as a profession, and began to
+study law.
+
+"The Bar!" sneered Stephen. "A penniless beggar like Francis Radcliffe!
+Put a pig to learn to spell!"
+
+A bleak day in winter. The wind was howling and crying round Sandstone
+Torr, tearing through the branches of the almost leafless trees,
+whirling the weather-cock atop of the lofty tower, playing madly on the
+window-panes. If there was one spot in the county that the wind seemed
+to favour above all other spots, it was the Torr. It would go shrieking
+in the air round about there like so many unquiet spirits.
+
+In the dusk of evening, on a sofa beside the fire in the Pine Room lay
+Mrs. Radcliffe, with a white, worn face and hollow eyes. She was slowly
+dying. Until to-day she had not thought there was any immediate danger:
+but she knew it all now, and that the end was at hand.
+
+So it was not that knowledge which had caused her, a day or two ago, to
+write to London for Francis. Some news brought in by Stephen Radcliffe
+had unhinged and shocked her beyond expression. Francis was leading a
+loose, bad life, drinking and gambling, and going to the deuce headlong,
+ran the tales, and Stephen repeated them indoors.
+
+That same night she wrote for Francis. She could not rest day or night
+until she could see him face to face, and say--Is this true, or untrue?
+He might have reached the Torr the previous day; but he did not. She was
+lying listening for him now in the twilight gloom amidst the blasts of
+that shrieking wind.
+
+"If God had but taken my child in infancy!" came the chief thought of
+her troubled heart. "If I could only know that I should meet him on the
+everlasting shores!"
+
+"Mother!"
+
+She started up with a yearning cry. It was Francis. He had arrived, and
+come upstairs, and his opening of the door had been drowned by the wind.
+A tall, slender, bright-faced young fellow of twenty, with the same
+sunny hair as in his childhood, and a genial heart.
+
+Francis halted, and stood in startled consternation. The firelight
+played on her wasted face, and he saw--what was there. In manners he was
+still almost a boy; his disposition open, his nature transparent.
+
+She made room for him on the sofa; sitting beside him, and laying her
+weary head for a moment on his shoulder. Francis took a few deep breaths
+while getting over the shock.
+
+"How long have you been like this, mother? What has brought it about?"
+
+"Nothing in particular; nothing fresh," she answered. "I have been
+getting nearer and nearer to it for years and years."
+
+"Is there no hope?"
+
+"None. And oh, my darling, but for you I should be so glad to die.
+Sitting here in my loneliness for ever, with only heaven to look forward
+to, it seems that I have learnt to see a little already of what its rest
+will be."
+
+Francis pushed his hair from his brow, and left his hand there. He had
+loved his mother intensely, and the blow was cruel.
+
+Quietly, holding his other hand in hers, she spoke of what Stephen
+Radcliffe had heard. Francis's face turned to scarlet as he listened.
+But in that solemn hour he could not and would not tell a lie.
+
+Yes, it was true; partly true, he said. He was not always so steady as
+he ought to be. Some of his acquaintances, young men studying law like
+himself, or medicine, or what not, were rather wild, and he had been the
+same. Drink?--well, yes; at times they did take more than might be quite
+needful. But they were not given to gambling: that was false.
+
+"Francis," she said, her heart beating wildly with its pain, "the worst
+of all is the drink. If once you suffer yourself to acquire a love for
+it, you may never leave it off. It is so insidious----"
+
+"But I don't love it, mother; I don't care for it--and I am sure you
+must know that I would tell you nothing but truth now," he interrupted.
+"I have only done as the others do. I'll leave it off."
+
+"Will you promise me that?"
+
+"Yes, I will. I do promise it."
+
+She carried his hand to her lips and kissed it. Francis had always kept
+his promises.
+
+"It is so difficult for young fellows without a home to keep straight in
+London," he acknowledged. "There's no good influence over us; there's no
+pleasant family circle where we can spend our evenings: and we go out,
+and get drawn into this and that. It all comes of thoughtlessness,
+mother."
+
+"You have promised me, Francis."
+
+"Oh yes. And I will perform."
+
+"How long will it be before you are called to the Bar?" she asked, after
+a pause.
+
+"Two years."
+
+"So much as that?"
+
+"I think so. How the wind howls!"
+
+Mrs. Radcliffe sighed; Francis's future seemed not to be very clear.
+Unless he could get on pretty quickly, and make a living for himself--
+
+"When I am gone, Francis," she said aloud, interrupting her own
+thoughts, "this will not be any home for you."
+
+"It has not been one for me for some years now, mother."
+
+"But if you do not get into work soon, and your own funds come to an
+end, you will have no home but this to turn to."
+
+"If I attempted to turn to it, Stephen would soon make it too hot for
+me, I expect."
+
+"That might not be all; not the worst," she quickly answered, dropping
+her voice to a tone of fear, and glancing around as one in a fever.
+
+Francis looked round too. He supposed she was seeking something.
+
+"It is always scaring me, Francis," she whispered. "There are times when
+I fancy I am going to see it enacted before my eyes. It puts me into a
+state of nervous dread not to be described."
+
+"See what enacted?" he asked.
+
+"I was sitting here about ten days ago, Francis, thinking of
+you, thinking of the future, when all at once a most startling
+prevision--yes, I call it so--a prevision came upon me of some dreadful
+ill in store for you; ill wrought by Stephen. I--I am not sure but
+it was--that--that he took your life," she added, scarcely above her
+breath, and in tones that made Francis shiver.
+
+"Why, what do you mean, mother?"
+
+"Every day, every day since, every night and nearly all night, that
+strange conviction has lain upon me. I know it will be fulfilled: when
+the hand of death is closing on us, these previsions are an instinct. As
+surely as that I am now disclosing this to you, Francis, so surely will
+you fall in some way under the iron hand of Stephen."
+
+"Perhaps you were dreaming, mother dear," suggested Francis: for he had
+his share of common sense.
+
+"It will be in this house; the Torr," she went on, paying no attention
+to him; "for it is always these rooms and the dreary trees outside
+that seem to lie before me. For that reason, I would not have you live
+here----"
+
+"But don't you think you may have been dreaming?" repeated Francis,
+interrupting the rest.
+
+"I was as wide awake as I am now, Francis, but I was deep in thought.
+It stole upon me, this impression, without any sort of warning, or any
+train of ideas that could have led to it; and it lies within me, a sure
+and settled conviction. _Beware of Stephen._ But oh, Francis! even
+while I give you this caution I know that you will not escape the
+evil--whatever it may turn out to be."
+
+"I hope I shall," he said, rather lightly. "I'll try, at any rate."
+
+"Well, I have warned you, Francis. Be always upon your guard. And keep
+away from the Torr, if you can."
+
+Holt, quite an aged woman now, came in with some tea for her mistress.
+Francis took the opportunity to go down and see his father. Mr.
+Radcliffe, in a shabby old coat, was sitting in his arm-chair at the
+parlour fire. He looked pleased to see Francis, and kept his hand for
+a minute after he had shaken it.
+
+"My mother is very ill, sir," said Francis.
+
+"Ay," replied the old man, dreamily. "Been so for some time now."
+
+"Can nothing be done to--to--keep her with us a little longer, father?"
+
+"I suppose not. Ask Duffham."
+
+"What the devil!--is it you! What brings _you_ here?"
+
+The coarse salutation came from Stephen. Francis turned to see him enter
+and bang the door after him. His shoes were dirty, his beaver gaiters
+splashed, and his hair was like a tangled mop.
+
+"I came down to see my father and mother," answered Francis, as he held
+out his hand. But Stephen did not choose to see it.
+
+Mrs. Stephen, in a straight-down blue cloth gown and black cap garnished
+with red flowers, looking more angular and hard than of yore, came in
+with the tea-tray. She did as much work in the house as a servant. Lizzy
+had been married the year before, and lived in Birmingham with her
+husband, who was curate at one of the churches there.
+
+"You'll have to sleep on the sofa to-night, young man," was Mrs.
+Stephen's snappish salutation to Francis. "There's not a bed in the
+house that's aired."
+
+"The sofa will do," he answered.
+
+"Let his bed be aired to-morrow, Becca," interposed the old man. And
+they stared in astonishment to hear him say it.
+
+Francis sat down to the tea-table with Stephen and his wife; but neither
+of them spoke a word to him. Mr. Radcliffe had his tea in his arm-chair
+at the fire, as usual. Afterwards, Francis took his hat and went out. He
+was going to question the doctor; and the wind came rushing and howling
+about him as he bore onwards down the lane towards Church Dykely.
+
+In about an hour's time he came back again with red eyes. He said it was
+the wind, but his subdued voice sounded as though he had been crying.
+His father, with bent head, was smoking a long pipe; Stephen sat at the
+table, reading the sensational police reports in a low weekly newspaper.
+
+"Been out for a stroll, lad?" asked old Radcliffe--and it was the first
+voluntary question he had put for months. Stephen, listening, could not
+think what was coming to him.
+
+"I have been to Duffham's," answered Francis. "He--he--" with a stopping
+of the breath, "says that nothing can be done for my mother; that a few
+days now will see the end of it."
+
+"Ay," quietly responded the old man. "Our turns must all come."
+
+"_Her_ turn ought not to have come yet," said Francis, nearly breaking
+down.
+
+"No?"
+
+"I have been looking forward at odd moments to a time when I should be
+in work, and able to give her a happy home with me, father. It is very
+hard to come here and find _this_."
+
+Old Radcliffe took a long whiff; and, opening his mouth, let the smoke
+curl upwards. "Have a pipe, Francis?"
+
+"No, thank you, sir. I am going up to my mother."
+
+As he left the room, Stephen, having finished the police reports, was
+turning the paper to see what it said about the markets, when his father
+put down his pipe and began to speak.
+
+"Only a few days, he says, Ste!"
+
+"What?" demanded Stephen in his surly and ungracious tones.
+
+"She's been ailing always; and has sat up there away from us, Ste. But
+we shall miss her."
+
+"Miss her!" retorted Ste, leaving the paper, and walking to the fire.
+"Why, what good has she been? _Miss_ her? The house'll have a good
+riddance of her," he added, under his breath.
+
+"It'll be my turn next, Ste. And not long first, either."
+
+Stephen took a keen look at his father from beneath his overhanging,
+bushy eyebrows, that were beginning to turn grey. All this sounded very
+odd.
+
+"When you and me and Becca's left alone here by ourselves, we shall be
+as easy as can be," he said.
+
+"What month is it, Ste?"
+
+"November."
+
+"Ay. You'll have seen the last o' me before Christmas."
+
+"Think so?" was Stephen's equable remark. The old man nodded; and there
+came a pause.
+
+"And you and Becca'll be glad to get us out, Ste."
+
+Stephen did not take the trouble to gainsay it. He was turning about in
+his thoughts something that he had a mind to speak of.
+
+"They've been nothing but interlopers from the first--she and him. I
+expect you to do what's right by me, father."
+
+"Ay, I shall do what's right," answered the old man.
+
+"About the money, I mean. It must _all_ come to me, father. I was heir
+to it before you ever set eyes on her; and her brat must not be let
+stand in my way. Do you hear?"
+
+"Yes, I hear. It'll be all right, Ste."
+
+"Take only a fraction from the income, and how would the Torr be kept
+up?" pursued Stephen, plucking up his spirits at the last answer. "He
+has got his fine profession, and he can make a living for himself out of
+it: some o' them counsellors make their thousands a-year. But he must
+not be let rob _me_."
+
+"He shan't rob you, Ste. It will be all right."
+
+And covetous Stephen, thus reassured and put at ease, strolled into
+the kitchen, and ordered Becca to provide his favourite dish, toasted
+cheese, for supper.
+
+The "few days" spoken of by Mr. Duffham, were slowly passing. There was
+not much difference to be observed in Selina; except that her voice grew
+weaker. She could only use it at intervals. But her face had a beautiful
+look of peace upon it, just as though she were three parts in heaven. I
+have heard Duffham say so many a time since; I, Johnny Ludlow.
+
+On the fifth day she was so much better that it seemed little short of
+a miracle. They found her in the Pine Room early, up and dressed: when
+Holt went in to light the fire, she was looking over the two books
+that lay on the round table. One of them was the Bible; the other was
+a translation of the German tale "Sintram," which Francis had brought
+her when he came down the last summer. The story had taken hold of her
+imagination, and she knew it nearly by heart.
+
+Down went Holt, and told them that the mistress (for, contradictory
+though it may seem, Selina had been always accorded that title) had
+taken a "new lease of life," and was getting well. Becca, astonished,
+went stalking up: perhaps she was afraid it might be true. Selina had
+"Sintram" in her hand as she sat: her eyes looked bright, her cheeks
+pink, her voice was improved.
+
+"Oh," said Becca. "What have you left your bed for at this early hour?"
+
+"I feel so well," Selina answered with a smile, letting the book lie
+open on the table. "Won't you shake hands with me?--and--and kiss me?"
+
+Now Becca had never kissed her in all the years they had lived together,
+and she did not seem to care about beginning now. "I'll go down and beat
+you up an egg and a spoonful of wine," said she, just touching the tips
+of Selina's fingers, in response to the held-out hand: and, with that,
+went away.
+
+Stephen was the only one who did not pay the Pine Room a visit that day.
+He heard of the surprising change while he was feeding the pigs: for
+Becca went out and told him. Stephen splashed some wash over the side
+of the trough, and gave a little pig a smack with the bucket, and that
+was all his answer. Old Radcliffe sat an hour in the room; but he never
+spoke all the time: so his company could not be considered as much.
+
+Selina crept as far as the window, and looked out on the bare pines and
+the other dreary trees. Most trees are dreary in November. Francis saw a
+shiver take her as she stood, leaning on the window-frame; and he went
+to give her his arm and bring her back again. They were by themselves
+then.
+
+"A week, or so, of this improvement, mother, and you will be as you used
+to be," said he cheerfully, seating her on the sofa and stirring up the
+fire. "We shall have our home together yet."
+
+She turned her face full on his, as he sat down by her; a
+half-questioning, half-wondering look in her eyes.
+
+"Not in this world, Francis. Surely _you_ are not deceived!" and his
+over-sanguine heart went down like lead.
+
+"It is but the flickering of the spirit before it finally quits the
+weary frame; just as you may have seen the flame shoot up from an
+expiring candle," she continued. "The end is very near now."
+
+A spasm of pain rose in his throat. She took his hands between her own
+feeble ones.
+
+"Don't grieve, Francis; don't grieve for me! Remember what my life has
+been."
+
+He did remember it. He remembered also the answer Duffham gave when
+he had inquired what malady it was his mother was dying of. "A broken
+heart."
+
+"Don't forget, Francis--never forget--that it is a journey we must enter
+on, sooner or later."
+
+"An uncertain and unknown journey at the best!" he said. "You have no
+fear of it?"
+
+"Fear! No, but I had once."
+
+She spoke the words in a low, sweet tone, and pointed with a smile to
+the book that still lay open on the table. Francis's eyes fell on the
+page.
+
+    "When death is drawing near,
+    And thy heart shrinks with fear,
+          And thy limbs fail,
+    Then raise thy hands and pray
+    To Him who cheers the way
+          Through the dark vale.
+
+    "Seest thou the eastern dawn?
+    Hears't thou, in the red morn,
+          The angel's song?
+    Oh! lift thy drooping head,
+    Thou who in gloom and dread
+          Hast lain so long.
+
+    "Death comes to set thee free;
+    Oh! meet him cheerily,
+          As thy true friend;
+    And all thy fears shall cease,
+    And in eternal peace
+          Thy penance end."
+
+Francis sat very still, struggling a little with that lump in his
+throat. She leaned forward, and let her head rest upon him, just as she
+had done the other day when he first came in. His emotion broke loose
+then.
+
+"Oh, mother, what shall I do without you?"
+
+"You will have God," she whispered.
+
+Still all the morning she kept up well; talking of this and that, saying
+how much of late the verses, just quoted, had floated in her mind and
+become a reality to her; showing Holt a slit that had appeared in the
+table-cover and needed darning: telling Francis his pocket-handkerchiefs
+looked yellow and should be bleached. It might have been thought she was
+only going out to tea at Church Dykely, instead of entering on the other
+journey she had told of.
+
+"Have you been giving her anything?" demanded Stephen, casting his surly
+eyes on Francis as they sat opposite to each other at dinner in the
+parlour. "Dying people can't spurt up in this manner without drugs to
+make 'em."
+
+Francis did not deign to answer. Stephen projected his fork, and took a
+potato out of the dish. Frank went upstairs when the meal was over. He
+had left his mother sitting on the sofa, comparatively well. He found
+her lying on the bed in the next room, grappling with death. She lifted
+her feeble arms to welcome him, and a ray of joyous light shone on her
+face. Francis made hardly one step of it to the bed.
+
+"Oh, my darling, it will be all right!" she breathed. "I have prayed for
+you, and I know--I know I have been heard. You will be helped to put
+away that evil habit; temptation may assail, but it will not finally
+overcome you. And, Francis, when----" Her voice failed.
+
+"I no longer hear what you say, mother," cried Francis in an agony.
+
+"Yes, yes," she repeated, as if in answer to something he had said.
+"Beware of Stephen."
+
+The hands and face alike fell. Francis rang the bell violently, and Holt
+came up. All was over.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Stephen attended the funeral with the others. Grumbling wofully at
+having to do it, because it involved a new suit of black clothes.
+"They'll be ready for the old man, though," was his consoling
+reflection: "he won't be long."
+
+He was even quicker than Stephen thought. On the very day week that they
+had come in from leaving Selina in the grave, Mr. Radcliffe was lying
+as lifeless as she was. A seizure carried him off. Francis was summoned
+again from London before he had well got back to it. Stephen could not,
+at such a season, completely ignore him.
+
+He did not foresee the blow that was to come thundering down. When Mr.
+Radcliffe's will came to be opened, it was found that his property was
+equally divided between the two sons, half and half: Stephen of course
+inheriting the Torr; and Squire Todhetley being appointed trustee for
+Francis. "And I earnestly beg of him to accept the trust," ran the
+words, "for the sake of Selina's son."
+
+Francis caught the glare of Stephen as they were read out. It was of
+course Stephen himself, but it looked more like a savage wild-cat. That
+warning of his mother's came into Francis's mind with a rush.
+
+
+II.
+
+It stood on the left of the road as you went towards Alcester: a
+good-looking, red-brick house, not large, but very substantial.
+Everything about it was in trim order; from the emerald-green outer
+venetian window-blinds to the handsome iron entrance-gates between the
+enclosing palisades; and the garden and grounds had not as much as
+a stray worm upon them. Mr. Brandon was nice and particular in all
+matters, as old bachelors generally are; and he was especially so in
+regard to his home.
+
+Careering up to this said house on the morning of a fine spring day,
+when the green hedges were budding and the birds sang in the trees,
+went a pony-gig, driven by a gentleman. A tall, slender young fellow of
+seven-and-twenty, with golden hair that shone in the sun and eyes as
+blue and bright as the sky. Leaving the pony to be taken care of by a
+labouring boy who chanced to be loitering about, he rang the bell at the
+iron gates, and inquired of the answering servant whether Mr. Brandon
+was at home.
+
+"Yes, sir," was the answer of the man, as he led the way in. "But I am
+not sure that he can see you. What name?" And the applicant carelessly
+took a card from his waistcoat-pocket, and was left in the drawing-room.
+Which card the servant glanced at as he carried it away.
+
+"Mr. Francis Radcliffe."
+
+People say there's sure to be a change every seven years. Seven years
+had gone by since the death of old Mr. Radcliffe and the inheritance by
+Francis of the portion that fell to him; three hundred a-year. There
+were odd moments when Frank, in spite of himself, would look back at
+those seven years; and he did not at all like the retrospect. For he
+remembered the solemn promise he had made to his mother when she was
+dying, to put away those evil habits which had begun to creep upon him,
+more especially that worst of all bad habits that man, whether young
+or old, can take to--_drinking_--and he had not kept the promise.
+He had been called to the Bar in due course, but he made nothing by
+his profession. Briefs did not come to him. He just wasted his time
+and lived a fast life on the small means that were his. He pulled up
+sometimes, turned his back on folly, and read like a house on fire:
+but his wild companions soon got hold of him again, and put his good
+resolutions to flight. Frank put it all down to idleness. "If I had work
+to do, I should do it," he said, "and that would keep me straight." But
+at the close of this last winter he had fallen into a most dangerous
+illness, resulting from the draughts of ale, and what not, that he had
+made too free with, and he got up from it with a resolution never to
+drink again. Knowing that the resolution would be more easy to keep if
+he turned his back on London and the companions who beset him, down he
+came to his native place, determined to take a farm and give up the law.
+For the second time in his life some money had come to him unexpectedly;
+which would help him on. And so, after a seven years' fling, Frank
+Radcliffe was going in for a change.
+
+He had never stayed at Sandstone Torr since his father's death. His
+brother Stephen's surly temper, and perhaps that curious warning of
+his mother's, kept him out of it. He and Stephen maintained a show of
+civility to one another; and when Frank was in the neighbourhood (but
+that had only happened twice in the seven years), he would call at the
+Torr and see them. The last time he came down, Frank was staying at a
+place popularly called Pitchley's Farm. Old Pitchley--who had lived
+on it, boy and man, for seventy years--liked him well. Frank made
+acquaintance that time with Annet Skate; fell in love with her, in fact,
+and meant to marry her. She was a pretty girl, and a good girl, and had
+been brought up to be thoroughly useful as a farmer's daughter: but
+neither by birth nor position was she the equal of Frank Radcliffe. All
+her experience of life lay in her own secluded, plain home: in regard
+to the world outside she was as ignorant as a young calf, and just as
+mild and soft as butter.
+
+So Frank, after his spell of sickness and reflection, had thrown up
+London, and come down to settle in a farm with Annet, if he could get
+one. But there was not a farm to be let for miles round. And it was
+perhaps a curious thing that while Frank was thinking he should have to
+travel elsewhere in search of one, Pitchley's should turn up. For old
+Pitchley suddenly died. Pitchley's Farm belonged to Mr. Brandon. It was
+a small compact farm; just the size Frank wanted. A large one would have
+been beyond his means.
+
+Mr. Brandon sat writing letters at the table in his library, in his
+geranium-coloured Turkish cap, with its purple tassel, when his servant
+went in with the card.
+
+"Mr. Francis Radcliffe!" read he aloud, in his squeaky voice. "What, is
+he down here again? You can bring him in, Abel--though I'm sure I don't
+know what he wants with me." And Abel went and brought him.
+
+"We heard you were ill, young man," said Mr. Brandon, peering up into
+Frank's handsome face as he shook hands, and detecting all sorts of
+sickly signs in it.
+
+"So I have been, Mr. Brandon; very ill. But I have left London and its
+dissipations for good, and have come here to settle. It's about time I
+did," he added, with the candour natural to him.
+
+"I should say it was," coughed old Brandon. "You've been on the wrong
+tack long enough."
+
+"And I have come to you--I hope I am first in the field--to ask you to
+let me have the lease of Pitchley's Farm."
+
+Mr. Brandon could not have felt more surprised had Frank asked for a
+lease of the moon, but he did not show it. His head went up a little,
+and the purple tassel took a sway backwards.
+
+"Oh," said he. "_You_ take Pitchley's Farm! How do you think to stock
+it?"
+
+"I shall take to the stock at present on it, as far as my means will
+allow, and give a bond for the rest. Pitchley's executors will make it
+easy for me."
+
+"What are your means?" curtly questioned old Brandon.
+
+"In all, they will be two thousand pounds. Taking mine and Miss Skate's
+together."
+
+"That's a settled thing, is it, Master Francis?"--alluding to the
+marriage.
+
+"Yes, it is," said Frank. "Her portion is just a thousand pounds,
+and her friends are willing to put it on the farm. Mine is another
+thousand."
+
+"Where does yours come from?"
+
+"Do you recollect, Mr. Brandon, that when I was a little fellow at
+school I had a thousand pounds left me by a clergyman--a former friend
+of my grandfather Elliot?"
+
+Mr. Brandon nodded. "It was Parson Godfrey. He came down once or twice
+to the Torr to see your mother and you."
+
+"Just so. Well, his widow has now recently died; she was considerably
+younger than he; and she has left me another thousand. If I can have
+Pitchley's Farm, I shall be sure to get on at it," he added in his
+sanguine way. For, if ever there was a sanguine, sunny-natured fellow
+in this world, it was Frank Radcliffe.
+
+Old Brandon pushed his geranium cap all aside and gave a flick to the
+tassel. "My opinion lies the contrary way, young man: that you will be
+sure not to get on at it."
+
+"I understand all about farming," said Frank eagerly. "And I mean to be
+as steady as steady can be."
+
+"To begin with a debt on the farm will cripple the best man going, sir."
+
+"Oh, Mr. Brandon, don't turn against me!" implored Frank, who was
+feeling terribly in earnest. "Give me a chance! Unless I can get some
+constant work, some _interest_ to occupy my hands and my mind, I might
+be relapsing back to the old ways again from sheer ennui. There's no
+resource but a farm."
+
+Mr. Brandon did not seem to be in a hurry to answer. He was looking
+straight at Frank, and nodding little nods to himself, following out
+some mental argument. Frank leaned forward in his chair, his voice low,
+his face solemn.
+
+"When my poor mother was dying, I promised her to give up bad habits,
+Mr. Brandon. I hope--I think--I fully intend to do so now. Won't you
+help me?"
+
+"What do you wish me to understand by 'bad' habits, young man?" queried
+Mr. Brandon in his hardest tones. "What have been yours?"
+
+"Drink," said Frank shortly. "And I am ashamed enough to have to say
+it. It is not that I have been a constant drinker, or that I have
+taken _much_, in comparison with what very many men drink; but I have,
+sometimes for weeks together, taken it very recklessly. _That_ is what
+I meant by speaking of my bad habits, Mr. Brandon."
+
+"Couldn't speak of a worse habit, Frank Radcliffe."
+
+"True. I should have pulled up long ago but for those fast companions
+I lived amongst. They kept me down. Once amidst such, a fellow has no
+chance. Often and often that neglected promise to my mother has lain
+upon me, a nightmare of remorse. I have fancied she might be looking
+down upon earth, upon _me_, and seeing how I was fulfilling it."
+
+"If your mother was not looking down upon you, sir, your Creator was."
+
+"Ay. I know. Mr. Brandon"--his voice sinking deeper in its solemnity,
+and his eyes glistening--"in the very last minute of my mother's
+life--when her soul was actually on the wing--she told me that she
+_knew_ I should be helped to throw off what was wrong. She had prayed
+for it, and seen it. A conviction is within me that I shall be--has been
+within me ever since. I think this--now--may be the turning-point in my
+life. Don't deny me the farm, sir."
+
+"Frank Radcliffe, I'd let you have the farm, and another to it, if I
+thought you were sincere."
+
+"Why--you _can't_ think me not sincere, after what I have said!" cried
+Frank.
+
+"Oh, you are sincere enough at the present moment. I don't doubt that.
+The question is, will you be sincere in keeping your good resolutions in
+the future?"
+
+"I hope I shall. I believe I shall. I will try with all my best
+energies."
+
+"Very well. You may have the farm."
+
+Frank Radcliffe started up in his joy and gratitude, and shook Mr.
+Brandon's hands till the purple tassel quivered. He had a squeaky voice
+and a cold manner, and went in for coughs and chest-aches, and all kinds
+of fanciful disorders; but there was no more generous heart going than
+old Brandon's.
+
+Business settled, the luncheon was ordered in. But Frank was a good deal
+too impatient to stay for it; and drove away in the pony-gig to impart
+the news to all whom it might concern. Taking a round to the Torr first,
+he drove into the back-yard. Stephen came out.
+
+Stephen looked quite old now. He must have been fifty years of age. Hard
+and surly as ever was he, and his stock of hair was as grizzled as his
+father's used to be before Frank was born.
+
+"Oh, it's you!" said Stephen, as civilly as he could bring his tongue to
+speak. "Whose chay and pony is that?"
+
+"It belongs to Pitchley's bailiff. He lent it me this morning."
+
+"Will you come in?"
+
+"I have not time now," answered Frank. "But I thought I'd just drive
+round and tell you the news, Stephen. I'm going to have Pitchley's
+Farm."
+
+"Who says so?"
+
+"I have now been settling it with Mr. Brandon. At first, he seemed
+unwilling to let me have it--was afraid, I suppose, that I and the farm
+might come to grief together--but he consented at last. So I shall get
+in as soon as I can, and take Annet with me. You'll come to our wedding,
+Stephen?"
+
+"A fine match _she_ is!" cried cranky Stephen.
+
+"What's the matter with her?"
+
+"I don't say as anything's the matter with her. But you have always
+stuck up for the pride and pomp of the Radcliffes: made out that nobody
+was good enough for 'em. A nice comedown for Frank Radcliffe that'll
+be--old Farmer Skate's girl."
+
+"We won't quarrel about it, Stephen," said Frank, with his good-humoured
+smile. "Here's your wife. How do you do, Mrs. Radcliffe?"
+
+Becca had come out with a wet mop in her hands, which she proceeded to
+wring. Some of the splashes went on Frank's pony-gig. She wore morning
+costume: a dark-blue cotton gown hanging straight down on her thin,
+lanky figure; and an old black cap adorning her hard face. It was a
+great contrast: handsome, gentlemanly, well-dressed, sunny Frank
+Radcliffe, barrister-at-law; and that surly boor Stephen, in his rough
+clothes, and his shabby, hard-working wife.
+
+"When be you going back to London?" was Becca's reply to his salutation,
+as she began to rinse out the mop at the pump.
+
+"Not at all. I have been telling Stephen. I am going into Pitchley's
+Farm."
+
+"Along of Annet Skate," put in Stephen; whose queer phraseology had been
+indulged in so long that it had become habitual. "Much good they'll do
+in a farm! He'd like us to go to the wedding! No, thank ye."
+
+"Well, good-morning," said Frank, starting the pony. They did not give
+him much encouragement to stay.
+
+"Be it true, Radcliffe?" asked Becca, letting the mop alone for a
+minute. "Be he a-going to marry Skate's girl, and get Pitchley's Farm?"
+
+"I wish the devil had him!" was Stephen's surly comment, as he stalked
+off in the wake of the receding pony-gig, giving his wife no other
+answer.
+
+No doubt Stephen was sincere in his wish, though it was hardly polite to
+avow it. For the whole of Frank's life, he had been a thorn in the flesh
+of Stephen: in the first years, for fear their father should bequeath to
+Frank a share of the inheritance; in the later years, because Frank had
+had the share! That sum of three hundred a-year, enjoyed by Frank, was
+coveted by Stephen as money was never yet coveted by man. Looking at
+matters with a distorted mind, he considered it a foul wrong done him;
+as no better than a robbery upon him; that the whole of the money was
+his own by all the laws of right and wrong, and that not a stiver of
+it ought to have gone to Frank. Unable, however, to alter the state of
+existing things, he had sincerely hoped that some lucky chance--say the
+little accident of Frank's drinking himself to death--would put him in
+possession of it; and all the rumours that came down from London about
+Frank's wild life rejoiced him greatly. For if Frank died without
+children, the money went to Stephen. And it may as well be mentioned
+here, that old Mr. Radcliffe had so vested the three hundred a-year that
+Frank had no power over the capital and was unable to squander it. It
+would go to his children when he died; or, if he left no children, to
+Stephen.
+
+Never a night when he went to bed, never a morning when he got up, but
+Stephen Radcliffe's hungry heart gave a dismal groan to that three
+hundred a-year he had been deprived of. In truth, his own poor three
+hundred was not enough for him. And then, he had expected that the six
+would all be his! He had, he said, to work like a slave to keep up the
+Torr, and make both ends meet. His two children were for ever tugging at
+his purse-strings. Tom, quitting the sea, had settled in a farm in
+Canada; but he was always writing home for help. Lizzy would make her
+appearance at home at all kinds of unseasonable times; and tell pitiful
+stories of the wants of her scanty ménage at Birmingham, and of her
+little children, and of the poor health and short pay of her husband
+the curate. Doubtless Stephen had rather a hard life of it and could
+very well have done with a doubled income. To hear that Frank was going
+to settle down to a sober existence and to marry a wife, was the worst
+news of all to Stephen, for it lessened his good chances finely.
+
+But he had only the will to hinder it, not the power. And matters and
+the year went swimmingly on. Francis entered into possession of the
+farm; and just a week before Midsummer Day, he married Annet Skate and
+took her home.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The red June sunset fell full on Pitchley's Farm, staining the windows a
+glowing crimson. Pitchley's Farm lay in a dell, about a mile from Dyke
+Manor, on the opposite side to Sandstone Torr. It was a pretty little
+homestead, with jessamine on the porch, and roses creeping up the frames
+of the parlour-windows. Just a year had gone by since the wedding, and
+to-morrow would be the anniversary of the wedding-day. Mr. and Mrs.
+Francis Radcliffe were intending to keep it, and had bidden their
+friends to an entertainment. He had carried out his resolution to be
+steady, and they had prospered fairly well. David Skate, one of Annet's
+brothers, a thorough, practical farmer, was ever ready to come over, if
+wanted, and help Francis with work and counsel.
+
+Completely tired with her day's exertions, was Annet, for she had been
+making good things for the morrow, and now sat down for the first time
+that day in the parlour--a low room, with its windows open to the
+clustering roses, and the furniture bright and tasty. Annet was of
+middle height, light and active, with a delicate colour on her cheeks,
+soft brown eyes, and small features. She had just changed her cotton
+gown for one of pink summer muslin, and looked as fresh as a daisy.
+
+"How tired I am!" she exclaimed to herself, with a smile. "Frank would
+scold me if he knew it."
+
+"Be you ready for supper, ma'am?" asked a servant, putting in her head
+at the door. The only maid kept: for both Frank and his wife knew that
+their best help to getting on was economy.
+
+"Not yet, Sally. I shall wait for your master."
+
+"Well, I've put it on the table, ma'am; and I'm just going to step
+across now to Hester Bitton's, and tell her she'll be wanted here
+to-morrow."
+
+Annet went into the porch, and stood there looking out for her husband,
+shading her eyes with her hand from the red glare. Some business
+connected with stock took him to Worcester that day, and he had started
+in the early morning; but Annet had expected him home earlier than this.
+
+There he was, riding down the road at a sharpish trot; Annet heard
+the horse's hoofs before she saw him. He waved his hand to her in the
+distance, and she fluttered her white handkerchief back again. Thorpe,
+the indoor man, appeared to take the horse.
+
+Francis Radcliffe had been changing for the better during the past
+twelvemonth. Regular habits and regular hours, and a mind healthily
+occupied, had done great things for him. His face was bright, his blue
+eyes were clear, and his smile and his voice were alike cheering as he
+got off the horse and greeted his wife.
+
+"You are late, Frank! It is ever so much past eight."
+
+"Our clocks are fast: I've found that out to-day, Annet, But I could not
+get back before."
+
+He had gone into the parlour, had kissed her, and was disincumbering his
+pockets of various parcels: she helping him. Both were laughing, for
+there seemed to be no end to them. They contained articles wanted for
+the morrow: macaroons, and potted lampreys, and lots of good things.
+
+"Don't say again that I forget your commissions, Annet."
+
+"Never again, Frank. How good you are! But what is in this one? it feels
+soft."
+
+"That's for yourself," said Frank. "Open it."
+
+Cutting the string, the paper flew apart, disclosing a baby's cloak of
+white braided cashmere. Annet laughed and blushed.
+
+"Oh, Frank! How could you?"
+
+"Why, I heard you say you must get one."
+
+"Yes--but--not just yet. It may not be wanted, you know."
+
+"Stuff! The thing was in Mrs. What's-her-name's window in High Street,
+staring passers-by in the face; so I went in, and bought it."
+
+"It's too beautiful," murmured Annet, putting it reverently into the
+paper, as if she mistook it for a baby. "And how has the day gone,
+Frank? Could you buy the sheep?"
+
+"Yes; all right. The sheep--Annet, who _do_ you think is coming here
+to-morrow? Going to honour us as one of the guests?"
+
+At the break in the sentence, Frank had flung himself into a chair, and
+thrown his head back, laughing. Annet wondered.
+
+"Stephen! It's true. He had gone to Worcester after some sheep himself.
+I asked whether we should have the pleasure of seeing them here, and he
+curtly said that he was coming, but couldn't answer for Mrs. Radcliffe.
+Had the Pope of Rome told me he was coming, I should not have been more
+surprised."
+
+"Stephen's wife took no notice of the invitation."
+
+"Writing is not in her line: or in his either. Something must be in the
+wind, Annet: neither he nor his wife has been inside our doors yet."
+
+They sat down to supper, full of chat: as genial married folks always
+are, after a day's separation. And it was only when the house was at
+rest, and Annet was lighting the bed-candle, that she remembered a
+letter lying on the mantel-piece.
+
+"Oh, Frank, I ought to have given it to you at once; I quite forgot it.
+This letter came for you by this morning's post."
+
+Frank sat down again, drew the candle to him, and read it. It was from
+one of his former friends, a Mr. Briarly; offering on his own part and
+on that of another former friend, one Pratt, a visit to Pitchley's Farm.
+
+Instincts arise to all of us: instincts that it might be well to trust
+to oftener than we do. A powerful instinct, _against_ the offered visit,
+rushed into the mind of Francis Radcliffe. But the chances are, that, in
+the obligations of hospitality, it would not have prevailed, even had
+the chance been afforded him.
+
+"Cool, I must say!" said Frank, with a laugh. "Look here, Annet; these
+two fellows are going to take us by storm to-morrow. If I don't want
+them, says Briarly, I must just shut the door in their faces."
+
+"But you'll be glad to see them, won't you, Frank?" she remarked in her
+innocence.
+
+"Yes. I shall like well enough to see them again. It's our busy time,
+though: they might have put it off till after harvest."
+
+As many friends went to this entertainment at Pitchley's Farm as liked
+to go. Mr. Brandon was one of them: he walked over with us--with me, and
+Tod, and the Squire, and the mater. Stephen Radcliffe and his wife were
+there, Becca in a black silk with straps of rusty velvet across it.
+Stephen mostly sat still and said nothing, but Becca's sly eyes were
+everywhere. Frank and his wife, well dressed and hospitable, welcomed
+us all; and the board was well spread with cold meats and dainties.
+
+Old Brandon had a quiet talk with Annet in a corner of the porch. He
+told her he was glad to find Frank seemed likely to do well at the farm.
+
+"He tries his very best, sir," she said.
+
+"Ay. Somehow I thought he would. People said 'Frank Radcliffe has his
+three hundred a-year to fall back upon when he gets out of Pitchley's':
+but I fancied he might stay at Pitchley's instead of getting out of it."
+
+"We are getting on as well as we can be, sir, in a moderate way."
+
+"A moderate way is the only safe way to get on," said Mr. Brandon,
+putting his white silk handkerchief corner-wise on his head against the
+sun. "That's a true saying, He who would be rich in twelve months is
+generally a beggar in six. You are helping Frank well, my dear. _I_ have
+heard of it: how industrious you are, and keep things together. It's not
+often a good old head like yours is set upon young shoulders."
+
+Annet laughed. "My shoulders are not so very young, sir. I was
+twenty-four last birthday."
+
+"That's young to manage a farm, child. But _you've_ had good training;
+you had an industrious mother"--indicating an old lady on the lawn in a
+big lace cap and green gown. "I can tell you what--when I let Frank
+Radcliffe have the lease, I took into consideration that you were coming
+here as well as he. Why!--who are these?"
+
+Two stylish-looking fellows were dashing up in a dog-cart; pipes in
+their mouths, and portmanteaus behind them. Shouting and calling
+indiscriminately about for Frank Radcliffe; for a man to take the horse
+and vehicle, that they had contrived to charter at the railway terminus;
+for a glass of bitter beer apiece, for they were confoundedly dry--there
+was no end of a commotion.
+
+They were the two visitors from London, Briarly and Pratt. Their tones
+moderated somewhat when they saw the company. Frank came out; and
+received a noisy greeting that might have been heard at York. One of
+them trod on Mr. Brandon's corns as he went in through the porch. Annet
+looked half frightened.
+
+"Come to stay here!--gentlemen from London!--Frank's former friends!"
+repeated old Brandon, listening to her explanation. "Fine friends, I
+should say! Frank Radcliffe,"--laying hold of him as he was coming back
+from giving directions to his servant--"how came you to bring those men
+down into your home?"
+
+"They came of their own accord, Mr. Brandon."
+
+"Friends of yours, I hear?"
+
+"Yes, I knew them in the old days."
+
+"Oh. Well--_I_ should not like to go shouting and thundering up to a
+decent house with more aboard me than I could carry. Those men have both
+been drinking."
+
+Frank was looking frightfully mortified. "I am afraid they have," he
+said. "The heat of the day and the dust on the journey must have caused
+them to take more than they were aware of. I'm very sorry. I assure you,
+Mr. Brandon, they are really quiet, good fellows."
+
+"May be. But the sooner you see their backs turned, the better, young
+man."
+
+From that day, the trouble set in. Will it be believed that Frank
+Radcliffe, after keeping himself straight for ever so much more than a
+year, fell away again? Those two visitors must have found their quarters
+at Pitchley's Farm agreeable, for they stayed on and on, and made no
+sign of going away. They were drinkers, hard and fast. They drank,
+themselves, and they seduced Frank to drink--though perhaps he did not
+require much seduction. Frank's ale was poured out like water. Dozens of
+port, ordered and paid for by Briarly, arrived from the wine-merchant's;
+Pratt procured cases of brandy. From morning till night liquor was under
+poor Frank's nose, tempting him to sin. _Their_ heads might be strong
+enough to stand the potions; Frank's was not. It was June when the new
+life set in; and on the first of September, when all three staggered in
+from a day's shooting, Frank was in a fever and curiously trembling from
+head to foot.
+
+By the end of the week he was strapped down in his bed, a raving madman;
+Duffham attending him, and two men keeping guard.
+
+Duffham made short work with Briarly and Pratt. He packed them and their
+cases of wine and their portmanteaus off together; telling them they
+had done enough mischief for one year, and he must have the house quiet
+for both its master and mistress. Frank's malady was turning to typhus
+fever, and a second doctor was called in from Evesham.
+
+The next news was, that Pitchley's Farm had a son and heir. They called
+it Francis. It did not live many days, however: how was a son and heir
+likely to live, coming to that house of fright and turmoil? Frank's
+ravings might be heard all over it; and his poor wife was nearly
+terrified out of her bed.
+
+The state of things went on. October came in, and there was no change.
+It was not known whether Annet would live or die. Frank was better in
+health, but his mind was gone.
+
+"There's one chance for him," said Duffham, coming across to Dyke Manor
+to the Squire: "and that is, a lunatic asylum. At home he cannot be
+kept; he is raving mad. No time must be lost in removing him."
+
+"You think he may get better in an asylum?" cried the Squire, gloomily.
+
+"Yes. I say it is his best chance. His wife, poor thing, is horrified at
+the thought: but there's nothing else to be done. The calmness of an
+asylum, the sanatory rules and regulations observed there, will restore
+him, if anything will."
+
+"How is _she_?" asked the Squire.
+
+"About as ill as she can be. She won't leave her bed on this side
+Christmas. And the next question is, Squire--where shall he be placed?
+Of course we cannot act at all without your authority."
+
+The Squire, you see, was Frank Radcliffe's trustee. At the present
+moment Frank was dead in the eye of the law, and everything lay with the
+Squire. Not a sixpence of the income could any one touch now, but as he
+pleased to decree.
+
+After much discussion, in which Stephen Radcliffe had to take his share,
+according to law and order, Frank was conveyed to a small private asylum
+near London. It belonged to a Dr. Dale: and the Evesham doctor strongly
+recommended it. The terms seemed high to us: two hundred pounds a-year:
+and Stephen grumbled at them. But Annet begged and prayed that money
+might not be spared; and the Squire decided to pay it. So poor Frank was
+taken to town; and Stephen, as his nearest male relative--in fact, his
+only one--officially consigned him to the care of Dr. Dale.
+
+And that's the jolly condition things were in, that Christmas, at
+Pitchley's Farm. Its master in a London madhouse, its mistress in her
+sick-bed, and the little heir in Church Dykely churchyard. David Skate,
+like the good brother he was, took up his quarters at the farm, and
+looked after things.
+
+It was in January that Annet found herself well enough to get upon her
+legs. The first use she made of them was to go up to London to see her
+husband. But the sight of her so much excited Frank that Dr. Dale begged
+her not to come again. It was, he said, taking from Frank one chance of
+his recovery. So Annet gave her promise not to do so, and came back to
+Pitchley's sobbing and sighing.
+
+Things went on without much change till May. News came of Frank
+periodically, chiefly to Stephen Radcliffe, who was the recognized
+authority in Dr. Dale's eyes. On the whole it was good. The improvement
+in him, though slow, was gradual: and Dr. Dale felt quite certain now of
+his restoration. In May, the cheering tidings arrived that Frank was
+all but well; and Stephen Radcliffe, who went to London for a fortnight
+about that time and saw Frank twice, confirmed it.
+
+Stephen's visit up arose in this way. One Esau D. Stettin (that's how
+he wrote his name), who owned land in Canada, came to this country on
+business, and brought news to the Torr of Tom Radcliffe. Tom had every
+chance of doing well, he said, and was quite steady--and this was true.
+Mr. and Mrs. Stephen were almost as glad to hear it as if a fortune
+had been left them. But, to ensure his doing well and to make his farm
+prosperous, Tom wanted no end of articles sent out to him: the latest
+improvements in agricultural implements; patent wheelbarrows, and all
+the rest of it. For Stephen to take the money out of his pocket to
+purchase the wheelbarrows was like taking the teeth from his head; but
+as Esau D. Stettin--who was above suspicion--confirmed Tom's need of
+the things, Stephen decided to do it. He went up to London, to buy the
+articles and superintend their embarkation, and it was during that time
+that he saw Frank. Upon returning to the Torr, he fully bore out Dr.
+Dale's opinion that Frank was recovering his mind, was, in fact, almost
+well; but he privately told the Squire some other news that qualified
+it.
+
+Frank's health was failing. While his mind was resuming its tone, his
+body was wasting. He was, Ste said, a mere shadow; and Dr. Dale feared
+that he would not last very long after complete sanity set in.
+
+How sorry we all were, I need not say. With all his failings and his
+instability, every one liked Frank Radcliffe. They kept it from Annet.
+She was but a shadow herself: had fretted her flesh to fiddlestrings;
+and Duffham's opinion was that she stood a good chance of dwindling
+away till nothing was left of her but a shroud and a coffin.
+
+"Would it be of any use my going up to see him, poor fellow?" asked the
+Squire, sadly down in the mouth.
+
+"Not a bit," returned Stephen. "Dale would be sure not to admit you: so
+much depends on Frank's being kept free from excitement. Why, he wanted
+to deny me, that Dale; but I insisted on my right to go in. I mean to
+see him again, too, before many days are over."
+
+"Are you going to London again?" asked the Squire, rather surprised. It
+was something new for Stephen Radcliffe to be a gad-about.
+
+"I shall have to go, I reckon," said Stephen, ungraciously. "I've to see
+Stettin before he sails."
+
+Stephen Radcliffe did go up again, apparently much against his will, to
+judge by the ill words he gave to it. And the report he brought back of
+Frank that time was rather more cheering.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Squire was standing one hot morning in the yard in his light buff
+coat, blowing up Dwarf Giles for something that had gone wrong in the
+stables, when a man was seen making his way from the oak-walk towards
+the yard. The June hay-making was about, and the smell of the hay was
+wafted across to us on the wings of the summer breeze.
+
+"Who's that, Johnny?" asked the pater: for the sun was shining right in
+his eyes.
+
+"It--it looks like Stephen Radcliffe, sir."
+
+"You may tell him by his rusty suit of velveteen," put in Tod; who stood
+watching a young brood of ducklings in the duck-pond, and the agonies of
+the hen that had hatched them.
+
+Stephen Radcliffe it was. He had a stout stick in his hand, and his
+face was of a curious leaden colour. Which, with him, took the place
+of paleness.
+
+"I've had bad news, Mr. Todhetley," he began, in low tones, without any
+preliminary greeting. "Frank's dead."
+
+The Squire's straw hat, which he chanced to have taken off, dropped on
+the stones. "Dead! Frank!" he exclaimed in an awestruck tone. "It can't
+be true."
+
+"Just the first thought that struck me when I opened the letter," said
+Stephen, drawing one from his pocket. "Here it is, though, in black and
+white."
+
+His hands shook like anything as he held out the letter. It was from one
+of the assistants at Dale's--a Mr. Pitt: the head doctor, under Dale,
+Stephen explained. Frank had died suddenly, it stated, without warning
+of any kind, so that there was no possibility of apprising his friends;
+and it requested Mr. Radcliffe to go up without delay.
+
+"It is a dreadful thing!" cried the Squire.
+
+"So it is, poor fellow," agreed Stephen. "I never thought it was going
+to end this way; not yet awhile, at any rate. For him, it's a happy
+release, I suppose. He'd never ha' been good for anything."
+
+"What has he died of?" questioned Tod.
+
+The voice, or the question, seemed to startle Stephen. He looked sharply
+round, as if he hadn't known Tod was there, an ugly scowl on his face.
+
+"I expect we shall hear it was heart disease," he said, facing the
+Squire and turning his back upon Tod.
+
+"Why do you say that, Mr. Radcliffe? Was anything the matter with his
+heart?"
+
+"Dale had some doubts of it, Squire. He thought that was the cause of
+his wasting away."
+
+"You never told us that."
+
+"Because I never believed it. A Radcliffe never had a weak heart yet.
+And it's only a thought o' mine: he might have died from something else.
+Laid hands on himself, maybe."
+
+"For goodness' sake don't bring up such an ill thought as that," cried
+the pater explosively. "Wait till you know."
+
+"Yes, I must wait till I know," said Stephen, sullenly. "And a precious
+inconvenience it is to me to go up at this moment when my hay's just
+cut! Frank's been a bother to me all his life, and he must even be a
+bother now he's dead."
+
+"Shall I go up for you?" asked the Squire: who in his distress at the
+sudden news would have thought nothing of offering to start for
+Kamschatka.
+
+"No good if you did," growled Stephen, folding up the letter that the
+pater handed back to him. "They'd not as much as release him to be
+buried without me, I expect. I shall bring him down here," added
+Stephen, jerking his head in the direction of the churchyard.
+
+"Yes, yes, poor fellow--let him lie by his mother," said the Squire.
+
+Stephen said a good-morrow, meant for the whole of us; and had rounded
+the duck-pond on his exit, when he stopped, and turned back again to the
+pater.
+
+"There'll be extra expenses, I suppose, up at Dale's. Have I your
+authority to discharge them?"
+
+"Of course you have, Mr. Radcliffe. Or let Dale send in the account to
+me, if you prefer it."
+
+He went off without another word, his head down; his thick stick held
+over his shoulder. Tho Squire rubbed his face, and wondered what on
+earth was the next thing to do in this unhappy crisis.
+
+Annet was in Wales with her mother at some seaside place. It would be a
+dreadful shock to her. Getting the address from David Skate, the Squire
+wrote to break it to them in the best manner he could. But now, a
+mischance happened to that letter. Welsh names are difficult to spell;
+the pater's pen put L for Y, or X for Z, something of that sort; and the
+letter went to a wrong town altogether, and finally came back to him
+unopened. Stephen Radcliffe had returned then.
+
+Stephen did not keep his word, instead of bringing Frank down, he left
+him in London in Finchley Cemetery. "The heat of the weather," he
+pleaded by way of excuse when the Squire blew him up. "There was some
+delay; an inquest, and all that; and unless we'd gone to the expense of
+lead, it couldn't be done; Dale said so. What does it signify? He'll lie
+as quiet there as he would here."
+
+"And was it the heart that was wrong?" asked the pater.
+
+"No. It was what they called 'effusion on the brain,'" replied Stephen.
+"Dale says it's rather a common case with lunatics, but he never feared
+it for Frank."
+
+"It is distressing to think his poor wife did not see him. Quite a
+misfortune."
+
+"Well, we can't help it: it was no fault of ours," retorted Stephen:
+who had actually had the decency to put himself into a semblance of
+mourning. "The world 'ud go on differently for many of us, Squire, if
+we could foresee things."
+
+And that was the end of Francis Radcliffe!
+
+"Finchley Cemetery!" exclaimed Mr. Brandon, when he heard it. "That
+Stephen Radcliffe has been at his stingy tricks again. You can bury
+people for next to nothing there."
+
+Poor Annet came home in her widow's weeds, In health she was better;
+and might grow strong in time. There was no longer any suspense: she
+knew the worst; that was in itself a rest. The great doubt to be
+encountered now was, whether she could keep on Pitchley's Farm. Mr.
+Brandon was willing to risk it: and David Skate took up his abode at the
+farm for good, and would do his best in all ways. But the three hundred
+a-year income, that had been the chief help and stay of herself and
+Frank, was gone.
+
+It had lapsed to Stephen. Nothing could be said against that in law, for
+old Mr. Radcliffe's will had so decreed it; but it seemed a very cruel
+thing for every shilling to leave her, an injustice, a wrong. The tears
+ran down her pale face as she spoke of it one day at Pitchley's to the
+Squire: and he, going in wholesale for sympathy, determined to have a
+tussel with Stephen.
+
+"You can't _for shame_ take it all from her, Stephen Radcliffe," said
+the Squire, after walking over to Sandstone Torr the next morning. "You
+must not leave her quite penniless."
+
+"I don't take it from her," replied Stephen, rumpling up his grizzled
+hair. "It comes to me of right. It is my own."
+
+"Now don't quibble, Stephen Radcliffe," said the Squire, rubbing his
+face, for he went into a fever as usual over his argument, and the day
+was hot. "The poor thing was your brother's wife, and you ought to
+consider that."
+
+"Francis was a fool to marry her. An unsteady man like him always is a
+fool to marry."
+
+"Well, he did marry her: and I don't see that he was a fool at all for
+it. I wish I'd got the whip-hand of those two wicked blades who came
+down here and turned him from his good ways. I wonder how they'll answer
+for it in heaven."
+
+"Would you like to take a drop of cider?" asked Stephen.
+
+"I don't care if I do."
+
+The cider was brought in by Eunice Gibbon: a second edition, so far as
+looks went, of Mrs. Stephen Radcliffe, whose younger sister she was. She
+lived there as servant, the only one kept. Holt had left when old Mr.
+Radcliffe died.
+
+"Come, Stephen Radcliffe, you must make Annet some allowance," said the
+Squire, after taking a long draught and finding the cider uncommonly
+sour. "The neighbours will cry out upon you if you don't."
+
+"The neighbours can do as they choose."
+
+"Just take this much into consideration. If that little child of theirs
+had lived, the money would have been his."
+
+"But he didn't live," argued Stephen.
+
+"I know he didn't--more's the pity. He'd have been a consolation to her,
+poor thing. Come! you can't, I say, take all from her and leave her with
+nothing."
+
+"Nothing! Hasn't she got the farm-stock and the furniture? She's all
+that to the good. 'Twas bought with Frank's money."
+
+"No, it was not. Half the money was hers. Look here. Unless she gets
+help somewhere, I don't see how she is to stay on at Pitchley's."
+
+"And 'twould be a sight better for her not to stay on at Pitchley's,"
+retorted Stephen. "Let her go back to her mother's again, over in the
+other parish. Or let her emigrate. Lots of folks is emigrating now."
+
+"This won't do, Stephen Radcliffe," said the Squire, beginning to lose
+his temper. "You can't for shame bring every one down upon your head.
+Allow her a trifle, man, out of the income that has lapsed to you: let
+the world have to say that you are generous for once."
+
+Well, not to pursue the contest--which lasted, hot and sharp, for a
+couple of hours, for the Squire, though he kept getting out of one
+passion into another, would not give in--I may as well say at once that
+Stephen at last yielded, and agreed to allow her fifty pounds a-year.
+"Just for a year or so," as he ungraciously put it, "while she turned
+herself round."
+
+And it was so tremendous a concession for Stephen Radcliffe that no one
+believed it at first, the Squire included. It must be intended as a
+thanksgiving for his brother's death, said the world.
+
+"Only, Ste Radcliffe is not the one to offer thanksgivings," observed
+old Brandon. "Take care that he pays it, Squire."
+
+And thus things fell into the old grooves again, and the settling down
+of Frank Radcliffe amongst us seemed but as a very short episode in
+Church Dykely life. Stephen Radcliffe, in funds now, bought an adjoining
+field that was to be sold, and added it to his land: but he and his wife
+and the Torr kept themselves more secluded than ever. Frank's widow took
+up her old strength by degrees, and worked and managed incessantly:
+she in the house, and David Skate out of it; to keep Pitchley's Farm
+together. And the autumn drew on.
+
+The light of the moon streamed in slantwise upon us as we sat round the
+bay-window. Tod and I had just got home for the Michaelmas holidays: and
+we sat talking after dinner in the growing dusk. There was always plenty
+to relate, on getting home from school. A dreadful thing had happened
+this last quarter: one of the younger ones had died at a game of Hare
+and Hounds. I'll tell you of it some time. The tears glistened in Mrs.
+Todhetley's eyes, and we all seemed to be talking at once.
+
+"Mrs. Francis Radcliffe, ma'am."
+
+Old Thomas had opened the door and interrupted us. Annet came in
+quietly, and sat down after shaking hands all round. Her face looked
+pale and troubled. We asked her to stay tea; but she would not.
+
+"It is late to come in," she said, some apology in her tone. "I meant
+to have been here earlier; but it has been a busy day, and I have had
+interruptions besides."
+
+This seemed to imply that she had come over for some special purpose.
+Not another word, however, did she say. She just sat in silence, or
+next door to it: answering Yes and No in an abstracted sort of way when
+spoken to, and staring out into the moonlight like any one dreaming. And
+presently she got up to leave.
+
+We went out with her and walked across the field; the pater, I, and Tod.
+Nearly every blade of the short grass could be seen as distinctly as
+in the day. At the first stile she halted, saying she expected to meet
+David there, who had gone on to Dobbs the blacksmith on some errand
+connected with the horses.
+
+Tod saw a young hare scutter across the grass, and rushed after it, full
+chase. The moon, low in the heavens, as autumn moons mostly are, lighted
+up the perplexity on Annet's face. It _was_ perplexed. Suddenly she
+turned it on the Squire.
+
+"Mr. Todhetley, I am sure you must wonder what I came for."
+
+"Well, I thought you wanted something," said the Squire candidly. "We
+are always pleased to have you; you ought to have stayed tea."
+
+"I did want something. But I really could not muster courage to begin
+upon it. The longer I sat there--like a statue, as I felt--the more my
+tongue failed me. Perhaps I can say it here."
+
+It was a curious thing she had to tell, and must have sounded to the
+Squire's ears like an incident out of a ghost story. The gist of it was
+this: an impression had taken hold of her mind that her husband had not
+been fairly dealt with. In plain words, had not come fairly by his end.
+The pater listened, and could make no sense of it.
+
+"I can't tell how or when the idea arose," she said; "it seems to have
+floated in my mind so long that I do not trace the beginning. At first
+it was but the merest shadow of a doubt; hardly that; but it has grown
+deeper and darker, and I cannot rest for it."
+
+"Bless my heart!" cried the Squire. "Johnny, hold my hat a minute."
+
+"Just as surely as that I see that moon in the sky, sir," she went on,
+"do I seem to see in my mind that some ill was wrought to Frank by his
+brother. Mrs. Radcliffe said it would be."
+
+"Dear me! What Mrs. Radcliffe?"
+
+"Frank's mother. She had the impression of it when she was dying, and
+she warned Frank that it would be so."
+
+"Poor Selina! But--my dear lady, how do you know that?"
+
+"My husband told me. He told me one night when we were sitting alone in
+the parlour. Not that he put faith in it. He had escaped Stephen's toils
+until then, he said in a joking tone, and thought he could take care of
+himself and escape them still. But I fear he did not."
+
+"Now what is it you do fear?" asked the Squire. "Come."
+
+She glanced round in dread, and then spoke with considerable hesitation
+and in a low whisper.
+
+"I fear--that Stephen--may have--murdered him."
+
+"Mercy upon us!" uttered the Squire, recoiling a step or two.
+
+She put her elbow on the stile and raised her hand to her face, showing
+out so pale and distressed under its white net border.
+
+"It lies upon me, sir--a great agony. I don't know what to do."
+
+"But it _could not_ be," cried the Squire, collecting his scared senses.
+"Your imagination must run away with you, child. Frank died up at Dr.
+Dale's; Stephen Radcliffe was down here at the time."
+
+"Yes--I am aware of all that, sir. But--I believe it was as I fear. I
+don't pretend to account for it; to say what Stephen did or how he did
+it--but my fears are dreadful. I have no peace night or day."
+
+The Squire stared at her and shook his head. I am sure he thought her
+brain was touched.
+
+"My dear Mrs. Frank, this must be pure fancy. Stephen Radcliffe is a
+hard and griping man, not sticking at a trick or two where his pocket is
+concerned, but he wouldn't do such a thing as this. No, no; surly as he
+may be, he could not be guilty of murder."
+
+She took her arm off the stile, with a short shiver. David Skate came
+into sight; Tod's footsteps were heard brushing the grass.
+
+"Good-night, sir," she hurriedly said; and was over the stile before we
+could help her.
+
+
+III.
+
+When the rumours first began, I can't tell you. They must have had a
+beginning: but no one recollected when the beginning was. It was said
+that curious noises were heard in the neighbourhood of Sandstone Torr.
+One spoke of it, and another spoke of it, at intervals of perhaps a
+month apart, until people grew _accustomed_ to hearing of the strange
+sounds that went shrieking round the Torr on a windy night. Dovey, the
+blacksmith, going up to the Torr on some errand, declared he had heard
+them at mid-day: but he was not generally believed.
+
+The Torr was so remote from the ordinary routes of traffic, that the
+noises were not likely to be heard often, even allowing that there were
+noises to hear. Shut in by trees, and in a lonely spot, people had no
+occasion to pass it. The narrow lane, by which it was approached from
+Church Dykely, led to nowhere else; on other sides it was surrounded
+by fields. Stephen Radcliffe was asked about these noises; but he
+positively denied having heard any, except those caused by the wind.
+_That_ shrieked around the house as if so many witches were at work, he
+said, and it always had as long as he could remember. Which was true.
+
+Stephen's inheritance of all the money on the death of his young
+half-brother Francis--young, compared with him--seemed to have been
+only the signal for him and his wife to become more unsociable, and
+they were bad enough before. They shut themselves up in the Torr,
+with that sister of hers, Eunice Gibbon, who acted as their servant,
+and saw no one. Neither visitors nor tradespeople were encouraged
+there; they preferred to live without help from any one: butcher or
+baker or candlestick maker. The produce of the farm supplied ordinary
+daily needs, and anything else that might be wanted was fetched from
+the village by Eunice Gibbon--as tall and strapping a woman as Mrs.
+Stephen, and just as grim and silent. Even the postman had orders to
+leave any letters that might arrive, addressed to the Torr, at Church
+Dykely post-office to be called for. Possibly it was a sense of their
+own unfitness for society that caused them to keep aloof from it.
+Stephen Radcliffe had always been a sullen, boorish man, in spite of
+his descent from the ancient Druids--or whatever the high-caste tribes
+might be, that he traced back from; and as to his wife, she was just
+as much like a lady as a pig's like a windmill.
+
+The story of the queer noises gained ground, and in the course of time
+it coursed about pretty freely. One evening in the late spring--but the
+report had been abroad then for months and months--a circumstance caused
+it to be discussed at Dyke Manor. Giles, our groom, strolling out one
+night to give himself an airing, chanced to get near the Torr, and came
+home full of it. "Twere exactly," he declared, "like a lot o' witches
+howling in the air." Just as Stephen Radcliffe had said of the wind.
+The Squire told Giles it must be the owls; the servants thought Mr.
+Radcliffe might be giving his wife a beating; Mrs. Todhetley imagined it
+might be only the bleating of the young lambs. Giles protested it could
+come from neither owls nor lambs: and as to Radcliffe's beating 'Becca,
+he'd be hardly likely to try it on, for she'd beat back again. Tod and
+I were at school, and heard nothing of it till we got home in summer.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Johnny! There's the noise!"
+
+We two had been over to the Court to see the Sterlings; it was only the
+second day of our holidays; and were taking the cross-cut home through
+the fields, which led us past Sandstone Torr. It was the twilight of a
+summer's evening. The stars were beginning to show themselves; in the
+north-west the colours were the most beautiful opal conceivable; the
+round silver moon sailed in the clear blue sky. Crossing the stile by
+the grove of trees that on three sides surrounded the Torr, we had
+reached the middle of the next field, when a sort of faint wailing cry,
+indescribably painful, brought us both to a standstill.
+
+"It must be the noise they talk of," repeated Tod.
+
+Where did it come from? What was it? Standing on the path in the centre
+of the open field, we turned about and gazed around; but could see
+nothing to produce or cause it. It seemed to be overhead, ever so far
+up in the air: an unearthly, imploring cry, or rather a succession of
+cries; faint enough, as if the sound spent itself before it reached us,
+but still distinct; and just as much like what witches might be supposed
+to make, witches in pain, as any cries could be. I'd have given a
+month's pocket-money not to have heard it.
+
+"Is it in the Torr?" exclaimed Tod, breaking the silence. "I don't see
+how that could be, though."
+
+"It is up in the air, Tod."
+
+We stood utterly puzzled; and gazing at the Torr. At as much of it, at
+least, as could be seen--the tops of the chimneys, and the sugar-loaf
+of a tower shooting up to its great height amidst them. The windows of
+the house and its old stone walls, on which the lichen vegetated, were
+hidden by the clustering old trees, in full foliage then.
+
+"Hark! There it is again!"
+
+The same horrible, low, distressing sound, something between a howl and
+a wail; enough to make a stout man shiver in his shoes.
+
+"Is it a woman's cry, Tod?"
+
+"_I_ don't know, lad. It's like a person being murdered and crying out
+for help."
+
+"Radcliffe can't be tanning his wife."
+
+"Not he, Johnny. She'd take care of that. Besides, they've never been
+cat-and-dog. Birds of a feather: that's what they are. Oh, by Jove!
+there it comes again! Just listen to it! I don't like this at all,
+Johnny. It must be witches, and nothing else."
+
+Decidedly it must be. It came from the air. The open fields lay around,
+white and still under the moonlight, and nothing was on their surface of
+any kind, human or animal. Now again! that awful cry, rising on the bit
+of breeze there was, and dying away in pain to a faint echo.
+
+"Let us go to the Torr, Johnny, and ask Radcliffe if he hears it!"
+
+We bounded forward under the cry, which rose again and again
+incessantly; but in nearing the house it seemed to get further off and
+to be higher than ever in the air. Leaping the gate into the lane, we
+reached the front-door, and seized the bell-handle. It brought Mrs.
+Radcliffe; a blue cap and red roses adoring her straggling hair. Holding
+the candle above her head, she peered at us with her small, sly eyes.
+
+"Oh, is it you, young gentlemen? Do you want anything? Will you walk
+in?"
+
+I was about to say No, when Tod pushed me aside and strode up the damp
+stone passage. They did not make fires enough in the house to keep out
+the damp. As he told me afterwards, he wanted to get in to listen. But
+there was no sound at all to be heard; the house seemed as still as
+death. Wherever the cries might come from, it was certainly not from
+inside the Torr.
+
+"Radcliffe went over to Wire-Piddle this afternoon, and he's not back
+yet," she said; opening the parlour-door when we got to the hall. "Did
+you want him? You must ha' been in a hurry by the way you pulled the
+bell."
+
+She put the candle down on the table. Her work lay there--a brown
+woollen stocking about half-way knitted.
+
+"There is the most extraordinary noise outside that you ever heard, Mrs.
+Radcliffe," began Todd, seating himself without ceremony on the
+old-fashioned mahogany sofa. "It startled us. Did you hear it in here?"
+
+"I have heard no noise at all," she answered quietly, taking up the
+stocking and beginning to knit standing. "What was it like?"
+
+"An awful shrieking and crying. Not loud; nearly faint enough for dying
+cries. As it is not in your house--and we did not think it was, or could
+be--it must be, I should say, in the air."
+
+"Ay," she said, "just so. I can tell you what it is, Mr. Joseph: the
+night-birds."
+
+Tod looked at her, plying the knitting-needles so quickly, and looked
+at me, and there was a silence. I wondered what was keeping him from
+speaking. He suddenly bent his head forward.
+
+"Have you heard any talk of these noises, Mrs. Radcliffe? People say
+they are to be heard almost any night."
+
+"I've not heard no talk, but I have heard the noise," she answered,
+whisking out a needle and beginning another of the three-cornered rows.
+"One evening about a month ago I was a-coming home up the lane, and I
+hears a curious kind o' prolonged cry. It startled me at the moment,
+for, thinks I, it must be in this house; and I hastens in. No. Eunice
+said she had heard no cries: as how should she, when there was nobody
+but herself indoors? So I goes out again, and listens," added Mrs.
+Radcliffe, lifting her eyes from the stocking and fixing them on Tod,
+"and then I finds out what it really was--the night-birds."
+
+"The night-birds?" he echoed.
+
+"'Twas the night-birds, Mr. Joseph," she repeated, with an emphatic nod.
+"They had congregated in these thick trees, and was crying like so many
+human beings. I have heard the same thing many a time in Wiltshire when
+I was a girl. I used to go there to stay with aunt and uncle."
+
+"Well, I never heard anything like it before," returned Tod. "It's just
+as though some unquiet spirit was in the air."
+
+"Mayhap it sounds so afore you know what it is. Let me give you young
+gentlemen a drop o' my home-made cowslip wine."
+
+She had taken the decanter of wine and some glasses off the sideboard
+with her long arms, before we could say Yes or No. We are famous for
+cowslip wine down there, but this was extra good. Tod took another glass
+of it, and got up to go.
+
+"Don't be frighted if you hear the noise again, now that you know what
+it is," she said, quite in a motherly way. "For my part I wish some o'
+the birds was shot. They don't do no good to nobody."
+
+"As there is not any house about here, except this, the thought
+naturally arises that the noise may be inside it--until you know to the
+contrary," remarked Tod.
+
+"I wish it was inside it--we'd soon stop it by wringing all their
+necks," cried she. "You can listen," she added, suddenly going into the
+hall and flinging wide every door that opened from it and led to the
+different passages and rooms. "Go to any part of the house you like, and
+hearken for yourselves, young gentlemen."
+
+Tod laughed at the suggestion. The passages were all still and cold, and
+there was nothing to hear. Taking up the candle, she lighted us to the
+front-door. Outside stood the woman-servant Eunice, a basket on her arm,
+and just about to ring, Mrs. Radcliffe inquired if she had heard any
+noise.
+
+"Only the shrieking birds up there," she answered readily. "They be in
+full cry to-night."
+
+"They've been startling these gentlemen finely."
+
+"There bain't nothing to be startled at," said the woman, roughly,
+turning a look of contempt upon us. "If I was the master I'd shoot as
+many as I could get at; and if that didn't get rid of 'em, I'd cut the
+trees down."
+
+"They make a queerer noise than any birds I ever heard before," said
+Tod, standing his ground to say it.
+
+"They does," assented the woman. "That queer, that some folks believes
+it's the shrieks o' the skeleton on the gibbet."
+
+Pleasant! When I and Tod had to pass within a few yards of its corner.
+The posts of the old gibbet were there still, but the skeleton had
+mouldered away long ago. A bit of chain, some few inches long, adhered
+to its fastening in the post still, and rattled away on windy nights.
+
+"What donkeys we were, Johnny, not to know birds' cries when we heard
+them!" exclaimed Tod, as we tumbled over the gate and went flying across
+the field. "Hark! Listen! There it is again!"
+
+There it was. The same despairing sort of wail, faintly rising and dying
+on the air. Tod stood in hushed silence.
+
+"Johnny, I believe that's a human cry!--I could almost fancy," he went
+on, "that it is speaking words. No bird, that ever I met with, native or
+foreign, could make the like."
+
+It died away. But still occurred the obvious question, What was it, and
+where did it come from? With nothing but the empty air above and around
+us, that was difficult to answer.
+
+"It's not in the trees--I vow it," said Tod; "it's not inside the Torr;
+it can't rise up from under the ground. I say, Johnny, is it a case of
+ghost?"
+
+The wailing arose again as he spoke, as if to reprove him for his
+levity. I'd rather have met a ghost; ay, and a real ghost; than have
+carried away that sound to haunt me.
+
+We tore home as fast as our heels could take us, and told of the night's
+adventure. After the pater had blown us up for being late, he treated us
+to a dose of ridicule. Human cries, indeed? Ghosts and witches? I might
+be excused, he said, being a muff; but Joe must be just going back to
+his childhood. That settled Tod. Of all disagreeable things he most
+hated to be ridiculed.
+
+"It must have been the old birds in those trees, after all, Johnny,"
+said he, as we went up to bed. "I think the moon makes people fanciful."
+
+And after a sound night's rest we woke up to the bright sunshine, and
+thought no more of the cries.
+
+That morning, being close to Pitchley's Farm, we called in to see Mrs.
+Frank Radcliffe. But she was not to be seen. Her brother, David Skate,
+just come in to his mid-day dinner, came forward to meet us in his
+fustian suit. Annet had been hardly able to keep about for some time, he
+said, but this was the first day she had regularly broken down so as to
+be in bed.
+
+"It has brought on a touch of fever," said he, pressing the
+bread-and-cheese and cider upon us, which he had ordered in.
+
+"What has?" asked Tod.
+
+"This perpetual torment that she keeps her mind in. But she can't help
+it, poor thing, so it's not fair to blame her," added David Skate. "It
+grows worse instead of better, and I don't see what the end of it is to
+be. I've thought for some time she might go and break up to-day."
+
+"Why to-day?"
+
+"Because it is the anniversary of her husband's death, Master Johnny. He
+died twelve months ago to-day."
+
+Back went my memory to the morning we heard of it. When the pater was
+scolding Dwarf Giles in the yard, and Tod stood laughing at the young
+ducks taking to the water, and Stephen Radcliffe loomed into sight,
+grim and surly, to disclose to us the tidings that the post had brought
+in--his brother Frank's death.
+
+"Has she still that curious fancy in her, David?--that he did not come
+by his death fairly."
+
+"She has it in her, and she can't get it out of her," returned David.
+"Why, Master Johnny, it's nothing but that that's killing her. Ay, and
+that's not too strong a word, sir, for I do believe she'll die of it,
+unless something can be done to satisfy her mind, and give her rest," he
+added earnestly. "She thinks there was foul play used in some way, and
+that Stephen Radcliffe was at the bottom of it."
+
+We had never heard a word about the fancy since that night when Annet
+first spoke of it at the stile, and supposed she had forgotten it long
+ago. The Squire and Mrs. Todhetley had often noticed how ill she looked,
+but they put it down to grief for Francis and to her anxiety about the
+farm.
+
+"No, she has said no more since then," observed David. "She took up an
+idea that the Squire ascribed it to a wandering brain; and so has held
+her peace since."
+
+"Is her brain wandering, do you think?" asked Tod.
+
+"Well, I don't know," returned David, absently making little cuts at
+the edge of the cheese with the knife. "In all other respects she is as
+sane as sane can be; there's not a woman of sounder sense, as to daily
+matters, anywhere. But this odd fancy has got hold of her mind; and it's
+just driving her crazy. She says that her husband appears to her in her
+dreams, and calls upon her to help and release him."
+
+"Release him from what? From his grave in Finchley Cemetery?"
+
+"From what indeed!" echoed David Skate. "That's what I ask her. But she
+persists that, sleeping or waking, his spirit is always hovering near
+her, crying out to her to avenge him. She declares that it is no fancy.
+Of course it is, though."
+
+"I never met with such a case," said Tod, forgetting the good cider in
+his astonishment. "Frank Radcliffe died up at Dr. Dale's in London.
+Stephen could not have had anything to do with his death: he was down
+here at the time."
+
+"Well, Annet has the notion firmly fixed in her mind that he had, and
+there's no turning her," said David. "There will be no turning her this
+side the grave, unless we can free her from it. Any way, the fancy has
+come to such a pitch now, and is telling upon her so seriously, that
+something must be done. If it were not that just the busiest time has
+set in; the hay cut, and the wheat a'most ready to cut, I'd take her to
+London to Dr. Dale's. Perhaps if she heard the account of Frank's death
+from his own lips, and that it was a natural death, it might help her a
+bit."
+
+We went home full of this. The Squire was in a fine way when he heard
+it, and brimming over with pity for Annet. He had grown to like her; and
+he had always looked on Francis as in some degree belonging to him.
+
+"Look here," said he, in his impulsive good nature, "it will never do to
+let this go on: we shall have her in a mad-house too. That's not a bad
+notion of David Skate's; and if he can't leave to take her up to London
+just now, I'll take her."
+
+"She could not go," said Tod. "She is in bed with low fever."
+
+"Then I'll go up by myself," stamped the Squire in his zeal. "And get
+Dr. Dale to write out all the particulars, and hurry down again with
+them to her as fast as the train will bring me. Poor thing! her disease
+must be a sort of mania."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Now, Johnny, mind you don't make a mistake in the omnibus. Use your
+eyes; they are younger than mine."
+
+We were standing at Charing Cross in the hot afternoon sun, looking out
+for an omnibus that would take us westward. The Squire had lost no time
+in starting for London, and we had reached it an hour before. He let me
+come up with him, as Tod had gone to Whitney Hall.
+
+"Here it is, sir. 'Kensington,--Hammersmith,--Richmond.' This is the
+right one."
+
+The omnibus stopped, and in we got; for the Squire said the sun was too
+fierce for the outside; and by-and-by, when the houses became fewer, and
+the trees and fields more frequent, we were set down near Dr. Dale's. A
+large house, standing amidst a huge grass-plat, shut in by iron gates.
+
+"I want to see Dr. Dale," said the pater, bustling in as soon as the
+door was opened, without waiting to be asked.
+
+The servant looked at him and then at me; as if he thought the one or
+the other of us was a lunatic about to be left there. "This way, sir,"
+said he to the Squire and put us into a small square room that had a
+blue and drab carpet, and a stand of plants before the window. A little
+man, with deep-set dark eyes, and the hair all gone from the top of his
+head, soon made his appearance--Dr. Dale.
+
+The Squire plunged into explanations in his usual confusing fashion,
+mixing up many things together. Dr. Dale knitted his brow, trying to
+make sense of it.
+
+"I'm sure I should be happy to oblige you in any way," said he--and he
+seemed to be a very pleasant man. "But I do not quite understand what it
+is you ask of me."
+
+"Such a dreadful thing, you know, if she has to be put in a mad-house
+too!" went on the pater. "A pretty, anxious, hard-working little
+woman she is, as ever you saw, Dr. Dale! We think the account in your
+handwriting might ease her. I hope you won't mind the trouble."
+
+"The account of what?" asked the doctor.
+
+"Only this," explained the Squire, laying hold, in his zeal, of the
+doctor's button-hole. "Just dot down the particulars of Francis
+Radcliffe's death. His death here, you know. I suppose you were an
+eye-witness to it."
+
+"But, my good sir, I--pardon me--I must repeat that I do not understand.
+Francis Radcliffe did not die here. He went away a twelvemonth ago,
+cured."
+
+"Goodness bless me!" cried the Squire, staggering back to a chair when
+he had fully taken in the sense of the words, and staring about him like
+a real maniac. "It cannot be. I must have come to the wrong place."
+
+"This is Dale House, and I am Dr. Dale. Mr. Francis Radcliffe was
+under my charge for some months: I can't tell exactly how many without
+referring to my books; seven or eight, I think; and he then left, cured,
+or nearly so."
+
+"Johnny, hand me my handkerchief; it's in my hat. I can't make top or
+tail of this."
+
+"I did not advise his removal," continued Dr. Dale, who, I do believe,
+thought the Squire was bad enough for a patient. "He was very nearly,
+if not quite well, but another month here would have established his
+recovery on a sure basis. However, his brother insisted on removing him,
+and I had no power to prevent it."
+
+"What brother?" cried the Squire, rubbing his head helplessly.
+
+"Mr. Radcliffe, of Sandstone Torr."
+
+"Johnny, I think we must all be dreaming. Radcliffe of the Torr got a
+letter from you one morning, doctor--in June, I think; yes, I remember
+the hay-making was about--saying Francis had died; here in this house,
+with you: and bidding him come up to see you about it."
+
+"I never wrote any such letter. Francis Radcliffe did not die here."
+
+"Well, it was written for you by one of your people. Not die! Why, you
+held a coroner's inquest on him! You buried him in Finchley Cemetery."
+
+"Nothing of the sort, Mr. Todhetley. Francis Radcliffe was taken from
+this house, by his brother, last June, alive and well."
+
+"Well I never!--this beats everything. Was he not worn away to a
+skeleton before he went?--had he not heart disease?--did he not die of
+effusion on the brain?" ran on the Squire, in a maze of bewilderment.
+
+"He was thin certainly: patients in asylums generally are; but he could
+not be called a skeleton; I never knew that he had heart disease. As to
+dying, he most assuredly did not die here."
+
+"I do think I must be lost," cried the Squire. "I can't find any way
+out of this. Can you let me see Mr. Pitt, your head assistant, doctor?
+Perhaps he can throw some light on it. It was Pitt who wrote the letter
+to Mr. Radcliffe."
+
+"You should see him with pleasure if he were still with me," replied the
+doctor. "But he has left."
+
+"And Frank did not die here!" commented the Squire. "What can be the
+meaning of it?"
+
+The meaning was evidently not to be found there. Dr. Dale said he could
+tell us no more than he had told, if he talked till night--that Francis
+Radcliffe was taken out by his brother. Stephen paid all charges at the
+time, and they went away together.
+
+"And of course, Johnny, he is to be believed," quoth the pater, turning
+himself round and round on the grass-plot, as we were going away, like a
+teetotum. "Dale would not deceive us: he could have no object in doing
+that. What in the world does it all mean?--and where _is_ Francis? Ste
+Radcliffe can't have shipped him off to Canada with the wheelbarrows!"
+
+How the Squire whirled straight off to the train, finding one on the
+point of starting, and got down home again, there's no space to tell of.
+It was between eight and nine, as the station clock told him, but he was
+in too much excitement to let the matter rest.
+
+"Come along, Johnny. I'll have it out with Stephen before I sleep."
+
+And they had it out in that same gloomy parlour at the Torr, where Tod
+and I had been a night or two before; frightfully gloomy to-night, for
+the dusk was drawing on, and hardly a bit of light came in. The Squire
+and Stephen, sitting opposite each other, could not see the outline of
+one another's faces. Ste brazened it out.
+
+"You're making a hullabaloo for nothing," said he, doggedly. "No, it's
+true he didn't die at the mad-house; he died within a week of coming
+out of it. Why didn't I tell the truth about it? Why, because I knew I
+should get a heap o' blame thrown back at me for taking him out--and I
+wished I hadn't took him out; but 'twas no good wishing then. How was
+I to know that the very self-same hour he'd got his liberty, he would
+begin drinking again?--and drink himself into a furious fever, and
+die of it? Could I bring him to life again, do you suppose?"
+
+"What was the meaning of that letter you brought to me, purporting to
+come from Dr. Dale? Answer that, Stephen Radcliffe."
+
+"I didn't bring you a letter from Dr. Dale. 'Twas from Pitt; Dr. Dale's
+head man. You read it yourself. When I found that Frank was getting
+unmanageable at the lodgings, I sent to Pitt, asking if he'd be good
+enough to come and see to him--I knew no other doctor up there; and Pitt
+was the best I could have, as he understood his case. Pitt came and took
+the charge; and I left Frank under him. I couldn't afford to stay up
+there, with my grass waiting to be cut, and all the fine weather wasting
+itself away. Pitt stayed with him; and he died in Pitt's arms; and it
+was Pitt that wrote the letter to tell me of it. You should ha' gone up
+with me, Squire," added Stephen, with a kind of sneer, "and then you'd
+have seen where he was for yourself, and known as much as I did."
+
+"It was an infamous deceit to put upon me, Stephen Radcliffe."
+
+"It did no harm. The deceit only lay in letting you think he died in the
+mad-house instead of out of it. If I'd not thought he was well enough to
+come out, I shouldn't have moved him. 'Twas his fault," sullenly added
+Stephen. "He prayed me to take him away from the place; not to go away
+without him."
+
+"And where was it that he did die?"
+
+"At my lodgings."
+
+"What lodgings?"
+
+"The lodgings I stayed at while I was shipping off the things to Tom. I
+took Frank there, intending to bring him down home with me when I came,
+and surprise you all. Before I could come he was drinking, and as mad
+again as a March hare. Pitt had to strap him down to his bed."
+
+"Are you sure you did not ship him off to Tom also, while you were
+shipping the things?" demanded the Squire. "I believe you are crafty
+enough for it, Stephen Radcliffe--and unbrotherly enough."
+
+"If I'd shipped him off, he could have shipped himself back again, I
+take it," returned Stephen, coolly.
+
+"Where are these lodgings that he died at?"
+
+"In London."
+
+"Whereabouts in London? I didn't suppose they were in New York."
+
+"'Twas near Cow Cross."
+
+"Cow Cross! Where in the name of wonder is Cow Cross?"
+
+"Up towards Smithfield. Islington way."
+
+"You give me the address, Stephen Radcliffe. I insist upon knowing it.
+Johnny, you can see--take it down. If I don't verify this matter to my
+satisfaction, Mr. Radcliffe, I'll have you up publicly to answer for
+it."
+
+Stephen took an old pocket-book out of his coat, went to the window to
+catch what little light came in, and ran his finger down the leaves.
+
+"Gibraltar Terrace, Islington district," read he. "That was all the
+address I ever knew it by."
+
+"Gibraltar Terrace, Islington district," repeated the pater. "Take it
+down, Johnny--here's the back of an old letter. And now, Mr. Radcliffe,
+will you go with me to London?"
+
+"No. I'll be hanged if I do."
+
+"I mean to come to the bottom of this, I can tell you. You shan't play
+these tricks on honest people with impunity."
+
+"Why, what do you suspect?" roared Stephen. "Do you think I murdered
+him?"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what you did," retorted the pater. "Find out a
+man in one lie, and you may suspect him of others. What was the name of
+the people, at these lodgings?"
+
+Stephen Radcliffe, sitting down again, put his hands on his knees,
+apparently considering; but I saw him take an outward glance at the
+Squire from under his grey eyebrows--very grey and bushy they were now.
+He could see that for once in his life the pater was resolute.
+
+"Her name was Mapping," he said. "A widow. Mrs. Mapping."
+
+"Put that down, Johnny. 'Mrs. Mapping, Gibraltar Terrace, Islington
+district.' And now, Mr. Radcliffe, where is Pitt to be found? He has
+left Dale House."
+
+"In the moon, for aught I can tell," was the insolent answer. "I paid
+him for his attendance when we came back from the funeral--and precious
+high his charges were!--and I know nothing of him since."
+
+We said good-night to Stephen Radcliffe with as much civility as could
+be called up under the circumstances, and went home in the fly. The
+next day we steamed up to London again to make inquiries at Gibraltar
+Terrace. It was not that the Squire exactly doubted Stephen's word, or
+for a moment thought that he had dealt unfairly by Frank: nothing of
+that sort: but he was in a state of explosion at the deceit Stephen
+Radcliffe had practised on him; and needed to throw the anger off. Don't
+we all know how unbearable inaction is in such a frame of mind?
+
+Well. Up one street, down another, went we, in what Stephen had called
+the Islington district, but no Gibraltar Terrace could we see or hear
+of. The terrace might have been in Gibraltar itself, for all the sign
+there was of it.
+
+"I'll go down to-morrow, and issue a warrant against Ste Radcliffe,"
+cried the Squire, when we got in, tired and heated, to the Castle and
+Falcon--at which inn, being convenient to the search, he had put up. "I
+will, Johnny, as I'm a living man. It is infamous to send us up here on
+a wild-goose chase, to a place that has no name, and no existence. I
+don't like the aspect of things at all; and he shall be made to explain
+them."
+
+"But I suppose we have not looked in all parts of Islington," I said.
+"It seems a large place. And--don't you think, sir--that it might be as
+well to ascertain where Pitt is? I dare say Dr. Dale knows."
+
+"Perhaps it, would, Johnny."
+
+"Pitt would be able to testify to the truth of what Stephen Radcliffe
+says. We might hear it all from him."
+
+"And need not bother further about this confounded Gibraltar Terrace.
+The thought did not strike me before, Johnny. We'll go up to Dale's the
+first thing after breakfast."
+
+The Squire chartered a cab: he was in too much of a fever to look out
+for an omnibus: and by ten o'clock Dr. Dale's was reached. The doctor
+was not at home, but we saw some one that the servant called Mr.
+Lichfield.
+
+"Pitt?" said Mr. Lichfield--who was a tall, strong young man in a tweed
+suit of clothes, and had black hair parted down the middle--"Oh, he was
+my predecessor here. He has left."
+
+"Where's he gone?" asked the Squire.
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure. Dr. Dale does not know; for I have once or
+twice heard him wonder what had become of Pitt. Pitt grew rather
+irregular in his habits, I fancy, and the doctor discharged him."
+
+"How long ago?"
+
+"About a year, I think. I have not the least idea where Pitt is now:
+would be happy to tell you if I knew."
+
+So, there we were again--baffled. The Squire went back in the cab to
+the Castle and Falcon, rubbing his face furiously, and giving things in
+general a few hard words.
+
+Up to Islington again, and searching up and down the streets and roads.
+A bright thought took the pater. He got a policeman to show him to the
+district sorting-house, went in, and inquired whether such a place as
+Gibraltar Terrace existed, or whether it did not.
+
+Yes. There was one. But it was not in Islington; only on the borders of
+it.
+
+Away we went, after getting the right direction, and found it. A terrace
+of poor houses, in a quiet side-street. In nearly every other window
+hung a card with "Lodgings" on it, or "Apartments." Children played in
+the road: two men with a truck were crying mackerel.
+
+"I say, Johnny, these houses all look alike. What is the number we
+want?"
+
+"Stephen Radcliffe did not give any number."
+
+"Bless my heart! We shall have to knock at every one of them."
+
+And so he did. Every individual door he knocked at, one after the other,
+asking if Mrs. Mapping lived there. At the very last house of all we
+found her. A girl, whose clothes were dilapidated enough to have come
+down from Noah's Ark, got up from her knees, on which she was cleaning
+the door-flag, and told us to go into the parlour while she called Mrs.
+Mapping. It was a tidy threadbare room, not much bigger than a closet,
+with "Lodgings" wafered to the middle pane of the window.
+
+Mrs. Mapping came in: a middle-aged, washed-out lady, with pink cheeks,
+who looked as if she didn't have enough to eat. She thought we had come
+after the lodgings, and stood curtsying, and rubbing her hands down her
+black-silk apron--which was in slits. Apparently a "genteel" person who
+had seen better days. The Squire opened the ball, and her face took a
+puzzled look as she listened.
+
+"Radcliffe?--Radcliffe?" No, she did not recollect any lodger of the
+name. But then, nine times out of ten, she did not know the names of
+her lodgers. She didn't want to know them. Why should she? If the
+gentlemen's names came out incidental, well and good; if not, she never
+presumed to inquire after them. She had not been obliged to let lodgings
+always.
+
+"But this gentleman died here--_died_, ma'am," interrupted the Squire,
+pretty nearly beside himself with impatience. "It's about twelve months
+ago."
+
+"Oh, that gentleman," she said. "Yes, he did die here, poor young man.
+The doctor--yes, his name was Pitt, sir--he couldn't save him. Drink,
+that was the cause, I'm afeard."
+
+The Squire groaned--wishing all drink was at the bottom of the Thames.
+"And he was buried in Finchley Cemetery, ma'am, we hear?"
+
+"Finchley? Well, now yes, I believe it was Finchley, sir," replied Mrs.
+Mapping, considering--and I could see the woman was speaking the truth
+according to her recollection. "The burial fees are low at Finchley,
+sir."
+
+"Then he did die here, ma'am--Mr. Francis Radcliffe?"
+
+"Sure enough he did, sir. And a sad thing it was, one young like him.
+But whether his name was Radcliffe, or not, I couldn't take upon myself
+to say. I don't remember to have heard his name."
+
+"Couldn't you have read it on the coffin-plate?" asked the Squire,
+explosively. "One might have thought if you heard it in no other way,
+you'd see it there."
+
+"Well, sir, I was ill myself at the time, and in a good deal of trouble
+beside, and didn't get upstairs much out of my kitchen below. Like
+enough it was Radcliffe: I can't remember."
+
+"His brother brought him--and lodged here with him--did he not?"
+
+"Like enough, sir," she repeated. "There was two or three of 'em out and
+in often, I remember. Mr. Pitt, and others. I was that ill, myself, that
+some days I never got out of bed at all. I know it was a fine shock to
+me when my sister came down and said the young man was dead. She was
+seeing to things a bit for me during my illness. His rantings had been
+pitiful."
+
+"Could I see your sister, ma'am?" asked the Squire.
+
+"She's gone to Manchester, sir. Her husband has a place there now."
+
+"Don't you recollect the elder Mr. Radcliffe?" pursued the Squire. "The
+young man's brother? He was staying up in London two or three times
+about some shipping."
+
+"I should if I saw him, sir, no doubt. Last year I had rare good luck
+with my rooms, never hardly had 'em empty. The young man who died had
+the first-floor apartments. Well, yes, I do remember now that some
+gentleman was here two or three times from the country. A farmer, I
+think he was. A middle-aged man, sir, so to say; fifty, or thereabouts;
+with grey hair."
+
+"That's him," interrupted the Squire, forgetting his grammar in his
+haste. "Should know the description of him anywhere, shouldn't we,
+Johnny? Was he here at the time of the young man's death, ma'am?"
+
+"No, sir. I remember as much as that. He had gone back to the country."
+
+Mrs. Mapping stood, smoothing down the apron, waiting to hear what we
+wanted next, and perhaps not comprehending the drift of the visit yet.
+
+"Where's that Mr. Pitt to be found?"
+
+"Law, sir! as if I knew!" she exclaimed. "I've never set eyes on him
+since that time. He didn't live here, sir; only used to come in and out
+to see to the sick young man. I never heard where he did live."
+
+There was nothing more to wait for. The Squire slipped half-a-crown into
+the woman's hand as we went out, and she curtsied again and thanked
+him--in spite of the better days. Another question occurred to him.
+
+"I suppose the young man had everything done for him that could be?
+Care?--and nourishment?--and necessary attendance?"
+
+"Surely, sir. Why not? Mr. Pitt took care of that, I suppose."
+
+"Ay. Well, it was a grievous end. Good-morning, ma'am."
+
+"Good-day to you, gentlemen."
+
+The Squire went looming up the street in the dumps; his hands in his
+pockets, his steps slow.
+
+"I suppose, Johnny, if one tried to get at Pitt in this vast London
+city, it would be like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay."
+
+"We have no clue to him, sir."
+
+"No. And I don't know that it would answer any purpose if we did get at
+him. He could only confirm what we've heard. Well, this is fine news to
+take back to poor Annet Radcliffe!"
+
+"I should think she had better not be told, sir."
+
+"She must know it some time."
+
+The Squire sent for David Skate when we got home, and told him what we
+knew; and the two marched to the Torr in the blazing June sun, and held
+an interview with Stephen Radcliffe. Ste was sullen and reserved, and
+(for him) haughty. It was a mistake, of course, as things turned out,
+his having taken Frank from the asylum, he admitted that, admitted he
+was sorry for it, but he had done it for the best. Frank got drinking
+again, and it was too much for him; he died after a few days of
+delirium, and Pitt couldn't save him. That was the long and the short
+of the history; and the Squire and Skate might make the best and the
+worst of it.
+
+The Squire and Skate were two of the simplest of men; honest-minded
+themselves, and unsuspicious of other people. They quitted the Torr for
+the blazing meadows, on their road home again.
+
+"I shall not say anything about this to Annet," observed David Skate.
+"In her present frame of mind it would not do. The fever seems better,
+and she is up, and about her work again. Later perhaps we may tell her
+of it."
+
+"I wish we could have found Pitt," said the Squire.
+
+"Yes, it would be satisfactory to hear what he has to say," replied
+David. "Some of these days, when work is slack, I'll take a run up to
+London and try and search him out. Though I suppose he could not tell
+us much more than the landlady has told."
+
+"There it is," cried the Squire. "Even Johnny Ludlow, with his crotchets
+about people and his likes and dislikes, says he's sure Mrs. Mapping
+might be trusted; that she was relating facts."
+
+So matters subsided, and the weeks and our holidays went on together.
+Stephen Radcliffe, by this act of deceit, added another crooked feather
+to his cap of ills in the estimation of the neighbourhood; though that
+would not be likely to trouble him. Meeting Mr. Brandon one day in the
+road, just out of Church Dykely, Stephen chanced to say that he wished
+to goodness it was in his power to sell the Torr, so that he might be
+off to Canada to his son: _that_ was the land to make money at, by all
+accounts.
+
+"You and your son might cut off the entail, now poor Francis is gone,"
+said old Brandon, thinking what a good riddance it would be if Stephen
+went.
+
+"I don't know who'd buy it--at my price," growled Stephen. "I mean
+to get shut o' them birds, though," he added, as an afterthought.
+"_They're_ not entailed. They've never cried and shrieked as they do
+this summer. I'd as soon have an army of squalling cats around the
+place."
+
+"The noise is becoming a subject of common talk," said old Brandon.
+
+Ste Radcliffe bit his lips and turned his face another way, and emitted
+sundry daggers from his looks. "Let folks concern themselves with their
+own business," said he. "The birds is nothing to them."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Four weeks had gone by, and the moon was nearly at the full again. Its
+light streamed on the hedges, and flickered amidst the waving trees, and
+lay on the fields like pale silver. It was Sunday evening, and we had
+run out for a stroll before supper, Tod and I.
+
+On coming out of church, Duffham had chanced to get talking of the
+cries. He had heard them the previous night. They gave him the shivers,
+he said, they were so like human cries. This put it into our heads to
+go again ourselves, which we had not done since that first time. How
+curiously events are brought about!
+
+Leaping the last stile, the Torr was right before us at the opposite
+side of the large field, the tops of its chimneys and its towering
+sugar-loaf tower showing out white in the moonlight. The wind was high,
+blowing in gusts from the south-west.
+
+"I say, Johnny, it's just the night for witches. Whirr! how it sweeps
+along! They'll ride swimmingly on their broomsticks."
+
+"The wind must have got up suddenly," I answered. "There was none
+to-day. It was too hot for it. Talking of witches and broomsticks, Tod,
+have you read----"
+
+He put his arm out to stop my words and steps, halting himself. We had
+been rushing on like six, had traversed half the field.
+
+"What's that, Johnny?" he asked in a whisper. "There"--pointing onwards
+at right angles. "Something's lying there."
+
+Something undoubtedly was--lying on the grass. Was it an animal?--or a
+man? It did not look much like either. We stood motionless, trying to
+make the shape out.
+
+"Tod! It is a woman."
+
+"Gently, lad! Don't be in a hurry. We'll soon see."
+
+The figure raised itself as we approached, and stood confronting us. The
+last pull of wind that went brushing by might have brushed me down, in
+my surprise. It was Mrs. Francis Radcliffe.
+
+She drew her grey cloak closer round her and put her hand upon Tod's
+arm. He went back half a step: I'm not sure but he thought it might be
+her ghost.
+
+"Do not think me quite out of my mind," she said--and her voice and
+manner were both collected. "I have come here every evening for nearly a
+week past to listen to the cries. They have never been so plain as they
+are to-night. I suppose the wind helps them."
+
+"But--you--were lying on the grass, Mrs. Francis," said Tod; not knowing
+yet what to make of it all.
+
+"I had put my ear on the ground, wondering whether I might not hear it
+plainer," she replied. "Listen!"
+
+The cry again! The same painful wailing sound that we heard that other
+night, making one think of I know not what woe and despair. When it had
+died away, she spoke further, her voice very low.
+
+"People are talking so much about the cries that I strolled on here some
+evenings ago to hear them for myself. In my mind's tumult I can hardly
+rest quiet, once my day's work is done: what does it matter which way I
+stroll?--all ways are the same to me. Some people said the sounds came
+from the birds, some said from witches, some from the ghost of the man
+on the gibbet: but the very first night I came here I found out what
+they were really like--my husband's cries."
+
+"What!" cried Tod.
+
+"And I believe from my very soul that it is his spirit that cries!" she
+went on, her voice taking as much excitement as any voice, only half
+raised, can take. "His spirit is unable to rest. It is here, hovering
+about the Torr. Hush! there it comes again."
+
+It was anything but agreeable, I can assure you, to stand in that big
+white moonlit plain, listening to those mysterious cries and to these
+ghostly suggestions. Tod was listening with all his ears.
+
+"They are the very cries he used to make in his illness at the farm,"
+said Mrs. Radcliffe. "I can't forget _them_. I should know them
+anywhere. The same sound of voice, the same wail of anguish: I could
+almost fancy that I hear the words. Listen."
+
+It did seem like it. One might have fancied that his name was repeated
+with a cry for help. "Help! Frank Radcliffe! Help!" But at such a moment
+as this, when the nerves are strung up to concert pitch, imagination
+plays us all sorts of impossible tricks.
+
+"I'll be shot if it's not like Frank Radcliffe's voice!" exclaimed Tod,
+breaking the silence. "And calling out, too."
+
+"Thank you," said Mrs. Francis. "I shall not be able to bear this long:
+I shall have to speak of it to the world. When I say that you have
+recognized his voice also, they will be less likely to mock at me as
+a lunatic. David did, when I told him. At least, I could make no
+impression on him."
+
+Tod was lying down with his ear to the ground. But he soon got up,
+saying he could not hear so well.
+
+"Did Stephen kill him, do you think?" she asked, in a dread whisper,
+drawing closer to us. "Why, else, should his poor unquiet spirit haunt
+the region of the Torr?"
+
+"It is the first time I ever heard of spirits calling out in a human
+voice," said Tod. "The popular belief is, that they mostly appear in
+dumb show."
+
+He quitted us, as he spoke, and went about the field with slow steps,
+halting often to look and listen. The trees around the Torr in
+particular seemed to attract his attention, by the length of time he
+stared up at them. Or, perhaps, it might be at the tops of the chimneys:
+or perhaps at the tapering tower. We waited in nearly the same spot,
+shivering and listening. But the sounds never came so distinctly again:
+I think the wind had spent itself.
+
+"It is a dreadful weight to have to carry about with me," said poor
+Annet Radcliffe as we walked homewards. "And oh! what will be the
+ending? Will it be heard always?"
+
+I had never seen Tod so thoughtful as he was that night. At supper he
+put down his knife and fork perpetually to fall into a brown study; and
+I am sure he never knew a word of the reading afterwards.
+
+It was some time in the night, and I was fast asleep and dreaming of
+daws and magpies, when something shook my shoulder and awoke me. There
+stood Tod, his nightshirt white as snow in the moonlight.
+
+"Johnny," said he, "I have been trying to get daylight out of that
+mystery, and I think I've done it."
+
+"What mystery? What's the matter?"
+
+"The mystery of the cries. They don't come from Francis Radcliffe's
+ghost, but from Francis himself. His ghost! When that poor soft creature
+was talking of the ghost, I should have split with laughter but for her
+distress."
+
+"From Francis himself! What on earth do you mean?"
+
+"Stephen has got him shut up in that tower."
+
+"Alive?"
+
+"Alive! Go along, Johnny! You don't suppose he'd keep him there if he
+were dead. Those cries we heard to-night were human cries; words; and
+that was a human voice uttering them, as my ears and senses told me; and
+my brain has been in a muddle ever since, all sleep gone clean out of
+it. Just now, turning and twisting possibilities about, the solution of
+the mystery came over me like a flash of lightning. Ste has got Frank
+shut up in the Torr."
+
+He, standing there upright by the bed, and I, digging my elbow into the
+counterpane and resting my cheek on my hand, gazed at one another, the
+perplexity of our faces showing out strongly in the moonlight.
+
+
+IV.
+
+Mr. Duffham the surgeon stood making up pills and powders in his surgery
+at Church Dykely, the mahogany counter before him, the shelves filled
+with glass bottles of coloured liquids behind him. Weighing out grains
+of this and that in the small scales that rested beside the large ones,
+both sets at the end of the counter, was he, and measuring out drops
+with a critical eye. The day promised to be piping-hot, and his summer
+house-coat, of slate-coloured twill, was thrown back on his shoulders.
+Spare and wiry little man though he was, he felt the heat. He was rather
+wondering that no patients had come in yet, for people knew that this
+was the time to catch him, before he started on his rounds, and he
+generally had an influx on Monday morning.
+
+Visitor the first. The surgery-door, standing close to the open front
+one, was tapped at, and a tall, bony woman entered, dressed in a big
+straw bonnet with primrose ribbons, a blue cotton gown and cotton shawl.
+Eunice Gibbon, Mrs. Stephen Radcliffe's sister.
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Duffham," she said, lodging her basket on the
+counter. "I'm frightfully out o' sorts, sir, and think I shan't be right
+till I've took a bottle or two o' physic."
+
+"Sit down," said the doctor, coming in front of the counter, preparatory
+to inquiring into the symptoms.
+
+She sat down in one of the two chairs: and Duffham, after sundry
+questions, told her that her liver was out of order. She answered that
+she could have told him that, for nothing but "liver" was ever the
+matter with her. He went behind the counter again to make up a bottle of
+some delectable stuff good for the complaint, and Eunice sat waiting for
+it, when the surgery-door was pushed open with a whirl and a bang, and
+Tod and I burst in. To see Eunice Gibbon there, took us aback. It seemed
+a very curious coincidence, considering what we had come about.
+
+"Well, young gentlemen," quoth Duffham, looking rather surprised,
+and detecting our slight discomfiture, "does either of you want my
+services?"
+
+"Yes," said Tod, boldly; "Johnny does: he has a headache. We'll wait,
+Mr. Duffham."
+
+Leaning on the counter, we watched the progress of the making-up in
+silence, Duffham exchanging a few words with Eunice Gibbon at intervals.
+Suddenly he opened upon a subject that caused Tod to give me a private
+dig with his elbow.
+
+"And how were the cries last night?" asked Duffham. "Did you hear much
+of them?"
+
+"There was no cries last night," answered Eunice--which brought me
+another dig from Tod. "But wasn't the wind high! It went shrieking round
+the Torr like so many mad cats. Two spoonfuls twice a-day, did you say,
+sir?"
+
+"Three times a-day. I am putting the directions on the bottle. You will
+soon feel better."
+
+"I've been subject to these bilious turns all my life," she said,
+speaking to me and Tod. "But I don't know when I've had as bad a one as
+this. Thank ye, sir."
+
+Taking the bottle of physic, she put it into her basket, said
+good-morning, and went away. Duffham came to the front, and Tod jumped
+on the counter and sat there facing us, his long legs dangling. I had
+taken one of the chairs.
+
+"Mr. Duffham, what do you think we have come about?" began Tod, dropping
+his voice to a mysterious key. "Don't you go and faint away when you
+hear it."
+
+"Faint away!" retorted old Duffham.
+
+"I'll be shot if it would not send some people into a faint! That Gibbon
+woman has just said that no cries were to be heard last night."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, there _were_ cries; plenty of them. And awful cries they were.
+I, and Johnny, and Mrs. Frank Radcliffe--yes, she was with us--stood
+in that precious field listening to them till our blood ran cold.
+_You_ heard them, you know, on Saturday night."
+
+"Well?" repeated Duffham, staring at Tod.
+
+"Look here. We have found it out--and have come over to tell you--and
+to ask you what can be done," went on Tod earnestly, jumping off the
+counter and putting his back against the door to make sure of no
+interruption. "The cries come from Frank Radcliffe. He is not dead."
+
+"What?" shouted Duffham, who had turned to face Tod and stood in the
+middle of the oil-cloth, wondering whether Tod was demented.
+
+"Frank is no more dead than I am. I'd lay my life upon it. Stephen
+Radcliffe has got him shut up in the tower; and the piteous cries are
+his--crying for release."
+
+"Bless my heart and mind!" exclaimed Duffham, backing right against the
+big scales. "Frank Radcliffe alive and shut up in the tower! But there's
+no way to the tower. He could not be got into it."
+
+"I don't care. I know he is there. That huzzy, now gone out, does well
+to say no cries were abroad last night; her business is to throw people
+off the scent. But I tell you, Duffham, the cries never were so loud or
+so piteous, and I heard what they said as distinctly as you can hear me
+speak now. 'Help! Frank Radcliffe! Help!' they said. And I swear the
+voice was Frank's own."
+
+"If ever I heard the like of this!" ejaculated Duffham. "It is really
+not--not to be credited."
+
+"The sound of the cries comes out on the air through the openings in the
+tower," ran on Tod, in excitement. "Oh, he is there, poor fellow, safe
+enough. And to think what long months he has been kept there, Stephen's
+prisoner! Twelve. Twelve, as I'm alive. Now, look you here, Duffham! you
+are staring like an unbeliever."
+
+"It's not altogether that--that I don't believe," said Duffham, whose
+wide-open eyes were staring considerably. "I am thinking what is to be
+done about it--how to set the question at rest."
+
+Tod left the door unguarded and flung himself into the other chair. He
+went over the whole narrative quietly: how Mrs. Frank Radcliffe--who had
+been listening to the cries for a week past--had first put him into a
+puzzle, how he had then heard the words and the voice, and how the true
+explanation came flashing into his mind later. With every sentence,
+Duffham grew more convinced, and at last he believed it as much as we
+did.
+
+"And now how is he to be got out?" concluded Tod.
+
+Holding a council together, we decided that the first step must be
+to get a magistrate's order to search the Torr. That involved the
+disclosure of the facts to the magistrate--whosoever he might be. Mr.
+Brandon was pitched upon: Duffham proposed the Squire at first; but, as
+Tod pointed out, the Squire would be sure to go to work in some hot and
+headlong manner, and perhaps ruin all. Let Stephen Radcliffe get only
+half an inkling of what was up, and he might contrive to convey Frank to
+the ends of the earth.
+
+All three of us started at once, Duffham leaving his patients for that
+one morning to doctor themselves, and found Mr. Brandon at breakfast. He
+had been distracted with face-ache all night, he said, which caused him
+to rise late. The snow-white table-cloth was set off with flowers and
+plate, but the fare was not luxurious. The silver jug held plenty of new
+milk, the silver tea-pot a modicum of the weakest of tea, the silver
+rack the driest of dry toast. A boiled egg and the butter-dish remained
+untouched. One of the windows was thrown up wide to the summer air, and
+to the scent from the clustering flower-beds and the hum of the bees
+dipping over them to sip their sweets.
+
+Breaking off little bits of toast, and eating them slowly, Mr. Brandon
+listened to the tale. He did not take it in. That was check the first.
+And he would not grant a warrant to search the Torr. That was check the
+second.
+
+"Stephen Radcliffe is bad enough in the way of being sullen and
+miserly," said he. "But as to daring such a thing as this, I don't think
+he would. Pass his brother off to the world for dead, and put him into
+his house and keep him there in concealment! No. No one of common sense
+would believe it."
+
+Tod set on again, giving our experience of the past night, earnestly
+protesting that he had recognized Frank's voice, and heard the words it
+said--"Help! Frank Radcliffe!" He added that Annet Radcliffe, Frank's
+widow--or wife, whichever it might turn out to be--had been listening to
+the cries for days past and knew them for her husband's: only she, poor
+daft woman, took them to come from his ghost. Mr. Brandon sipped his tea
+and listened. Duffham followed on: saying that when he heard the cries
+on Saturday night, in passing the Torr on his way from the Court, he
+could then almost have staked his existence upon their being human
+cries, proceeding from some human being in distress, but for the
+apparent impossibility of such a thing. And I could see that an
+impression was at length made on Mr. Brandon.
+
+"If Stephen Radcliffe has done so infamous an act, he must be more
+cruel, more daring than man ever was yet," remarked he, in answer. "But
+I must be more satisfied of it before I sign the warrant you ask for."
+
+Well, there we sat, hammering at him. That is, _they_ did. Being my
+guardian, I did not presume to put in a word edgeways, so far as
+pressing him to act went. In all that he thought right, and in spite of
+his quiet manner and his squeaky voice, old Brandon was a firm man, not
+to be turned by argument.
+
+"But won't you grant this warrant, sir?" appealed Tod for the tenth
+time.
+
+"I have told you, no," he replied. "I will not at the present stage of
+the affair. In any case, I should not grant it without consulting your
+father----"
+
+"He is so hot-headed," burst in Tod. "He'd be as likely as not to go off
+knocking at the Torr door without his hat, demanding Frank Radcliffe."
+
+"Mr. Todhetley was Frank Radcliffe's trustee, and he is your father,
+young man; I do not stir a step in this matter without consulting him,"
+returned old Brandon, coolly persistent.
+
+Well, there was nothing for it now but to go back home and consult
+the pater. It seemed like a regular damper--and we were hot and tired
+besides. Tod in his enthusiasm had pictured us storming the Torr at
+mid-day, armed with the necessary authority, and getting out Frank at
+once.
+
+Mr. Brandon ordered his waggonette--a conveyance he did not like, and
+scarcely ever used himself, leaving it to the servants for their
+errands--and we all drove back to Dyke Manor, himself included. To
+describe the astonishment of the pater when the disclosure was made to
+him would take a strong pen. He rubbed his face, and blustered, and
+stared around, and then told Tod he was a fool.
+
+"I know I am in some things," said Tod, as equably as old Brandon could
+have put it; "but I'm not in this. If Frank Radcliffe is not alive in
+that tower of Stephen's, and calling out nightly for his release, you
+may set me down as a fool to the end of my days, Father."
+
+"Goodness bless us all!" cried the poor bewildered Squire. "Do you
+believe this, Brandon?"
+
+Mr. Brandon did not say whether he believed it or not. Both of them
+shook their heads about granting a warrant: upon which, Tod passionately
+asked whether Francis Radcliffe was to be left in the tower to die. It
+was finally decided that we should go in a body that night to the field
+again, so as to give the two doubters the benefit of hearing anything
+there might be to hear. And Mr. Brandon stayed with us for the day,
+telling his coachman to come back at night with the small pony-gig to
+take him home.
+
+The moon was just as bright as on the previous night, and we started on
+our expedition stealthily. Tod and I went first; Duffham came strolling
+next; and the Squire and Mr. Brandon afterwards. Should Stephen
+Radcliffe or any of his people catch sight of the whole of us moving
+together, he might suspect there was something in the wind.
+
+Annet did not make her appearance, which was a great relief. For we
+could talk without restraint; and it would never have done to let her
+know what we suspected: and so raise wild hopes within her that might
+not be fulfilled. We knew later that her mother was at Pitchley's Farm
+that evening, and it kept Annet at home.
+
+Was Heaven interfering in Frank's behalf? It does interfere for the
+oppressed, you know; ay, more often than we heedless and ungrateful
+mortals think for. Never had the cries been so plain as they were this
+night, though there was no wind to waft them downwards, for the air was
+perfectly still: and the words were distinctly heard. "Help! Help! Frank
+Radcliffe."
+
+"Mercy upon us!" exclaimed the Squire, under his breath. "The voice does
+sound like Frank's."
+
+Mr. Brandon was standing with his hand to his ear. Duffham leaned on his
+gold-headed cane, his face lifted upwards.
+
+Tod stood by in dudgeon; he was angry with them for not having believed
+him at first.
+
+"I think we may grant a search-warrant, Squire," said Mr. Brandon.
+
+"And send old Jones the constable, to execute it," assented the Squire.
+
+Tod flung back his head. "Old Jones! Much use he'd be! Why, father,
+Eunice Gibbon alone could settle old Jones with his shaky legs. She'd
+pitch him out at the first window."
+
+"Jones can take help, Joe."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was the breakfast hour at the Torr, eight o'clock. The meal was being
+taken in the kitchen. Less semblance of gentility than even in the
+former days was kept up; all usages of comfort and refinement had
+departed with old Mr. Radcliffe and Selina. Stephen was swallowing his
+eggs and rashers of bacon quickly. Tuesday is Alcester market-day,
+and he was going in to attend it, expecting to sell some of his
+newly-gathered crop of hay. Mrs. Stephen sat opposite him, eating bacon
+also; and Eunice Gibbon stood at the dresser, mixing some meal for the
+fattening of fowls. Miserly though Stephen was by nature, he liked a
+good table, and took care to have it.
+
+"Could you bring some starch home, master?" asked Eunice, turning her
+head round to speak.
+
+"Why can't you get your starch here?" retorted Stephen.
+
+"Well, it's a farthing less a pound at Alcester than it is at Church
+Dykely," said Eunice. "They've rose it here."
+
+Farthings were farthings in Stephen's eyes, and he supposed he might as
+well bring the starch. "How much is wanted of it?" he growled.
+
+"We'd better have a pound," interposed Becca. "Half pounds don't get the
+benefit of the farthing: you can't split a farthing in two. Shall you be
+home early?" she continued to her husband.
+
+"Don't know. Not afore afternoon."
+
+"Because we shall want some of the starch to-day. There's none to go on
+with, is there, Eunice?"
+
+"Yes, there's a bit. I can make it do."
+
+"You'll have to wait till you get it," remarked Stephen as he pushed his
+plate away and rose from table. "And mind you don't forget to give the
+pigs their dinner."
+
+"What'll be wanted up there to-day?" inquired Becca, pointing towards
+some invisible place over-head, possibly intending to indicate the
+tower.
+
+"Nothing but dinner," said Stephen. "What should there be? I shall be
+back afore tea-time."
+
+He went out at the back-door as he spoke, gave a keen look or two
+around his yard and premises generally, to see that all was right, and
+presently trotted away on horseback. A few minutes later, Jim, the only
+regular man kept, was seen to cross the yard towards the lane with the
+horse and cart.
+
+"Where be you off to, Jim?" demanded Becca, stalking to the door and
+speaking at the top of her voice.
+
+"Master ordered me to go after that load o' manure," called back Jim,
+standing upright in the cart and arresting the horse for a moment.
+
+"What, this morning?"
+
+"It's what he telled me."
+
+"Well, don't go and make a day's work of it," commanded Mrs. Stephen.
+"There's a sight o' things a-waiting to be done."
+
+"I can't be back afore two, hasten as I 'ool," returned Jim, giving the
+horse his head and clattering off.
+
+"I wonder what the master sent him to-day for, when he's away himself?"
+cried Becca to her sister, returning to the table in the kitchen.
+
+"Well, he got a message last night to say that if he didn't send for it
+away to-day it wouldn't be kept for him," said Eunice. "It's a precious
+long way to have to go for a load o' manure!"
+
+"But then we get it for the fetching; there's naught to pay," returned
+Becca.
+
+She had begun to wash up the breakfast-things, and when that was done
+she put the kitchen to rights. Eunice seemed to be at all sorts of jobs,
+indoors and out, and went stalking about in pattens. The furnace had
+been lighted in the brewhouse, for Eunice had a day's washing before
+her. Becca went up to make the beds, and brought down sundry armfuls of
+clothes for the wash. About ten o'clock she appeared in the brewhouse
+with her bonnet and shawl on. Eunice was standing at the tub in her
+pattens, rubbing away at the steaming soap-suds.
+
+"Why, where be you going?" she exclaimed in evident surprise.
+
+"I'm a-going over to Dick's to fetch Beccy," replied Mrs. Stephen. "It's
+a long while since she was here. Ste don't care to see children about
+the place. The child shall stop to dinner with us and can go home by
+herself in the afternoon. What's the matter now, Eunice Gibbon? Don't it
+please ye?"
+
+"Oh, it pleases me well enough," returned Eunice, who was looking
+anything _but_ pleased, and splashing both hands desperately about in
+the water, over one of Stephen's coloured cotton handkerchiefs. "The
+child can come, and welcome, for me. 'Tain't that."
+
+"It's some'at else then," remarked Becca.
+
+"Well, I'd wanted to get a bit o' talk with ye," said Eunice. "That's
+what it is. The master's safe off, and it was a good opportunity for
+it."
+
+"What about?"
+
+Eunice Gibbon took her hands out of the soap-suds and rested them on the
+sides of the tub, while she answered--coming to the point at once.
+
+"I've been a-thinking that I can't stop on here, Becca. I bain't at
+ease. Many a night lately I have laid awake over it. If anything comes
+out about--you know what--we might all of us get into trouble."
+
+"No fear," said Becca.
+
+"Well, I says there is fear. Folks have talked long enough; but it
+strikes me they won't be satisfied with talking much longer: they'll be
+searching out. Only yesterday morning when I was waiting at Duffham's
+while he mixed up the stuff, he must begin upon it. 'Did ye hear the
+cries last night?' says he--or something o' that. 'No,' says I in
+answer; 'there was none to hear, only the wind.' Them two young gents
+from the Manor was there, cocking up their ears at the words. _I_ see
+'em."
+
+Rebecca Radcliffe remained silent. Truth to tell, she and Stephen were
+getting afraid of the cries themselves. That is, of what the cries might
+result in.
+
+"He ought to be got away," resumed Eunice.
+
+"But there's no means o' getting him away."
+
+"Well, I can't feel comfortable, Becca; not safe, you know. So don't you
+and the master be put out if I walks myself off one o' these here first
+fine days. When I come here, I didn't bargain for nothing o' this sort."
+
+"There's no danger of ill turning up," flashed Becca, braving out the
+matter with scorn. "The cries is took to come from the birds: who is to
+pick up any other notion, d'ye suppose? I'll tell ye what it is, Eunice:
+that jaundiced liver of yours is tormenting you. You'll be afeared next
+of your own shadda."
+
+"Perhaps it is," acknowledged Eunice, dropping the argument and resuming
+her rubbing. "I know that precious physic of old Duffham's is upsetting
+me. It's the nausiousest stuff I ever took."
+
+Mrs. Stephen stalked out of the kitchen and betook herself across the
+fields, towards her brother's. Richard Gibbon had succeeded to his late
+father's post of gamekeeper to the Chavasses. The gamekeeper's lodge
+was more than a mile away; and Mrs. Stephen strode off, out of sight,
+unconscious of what was in store for the Torr.
+
+Eunice went on with her washing, deep in thought. She had fully made up
+her mind to quit the Torr; but she meant to break the fact by degrees
+to its master and mistress. Drying her hands for the temporary purpose
+of stirring-up and putting more slack on the furnace fire, she was
+interrupted by a gentle ring at the front-door bell.
+
+"Why, who on earth's that?" she exclaimed aloud. "Oh, it must be Lizzy,"
+with a flash of recollection: "she sent word she should be over to-day
+or to-morrow. How early she have got here!"
+
+Free of all suspicion, glancing at no ill, Eunice went through the
+passages and opened the front-door. Quite a small crowd of people stood
+there, and one or two of them pushed in immediately. Mr. Duffham, Tod,
+I, the Squire, old Jones, and old Jones's man, who was young, and active
+on his legs. The Squire _would_ come, and we were unable to hinder him.
+
+"In the Queen's name!" cried old Jones--who always used that formula on
+state occasions. And Eunice Gibbon screamed long and loud.
+
+To oppose our entrance was not to be thought of. We had entered and
+could not be thrust back again. Eunice took to her heels up the passage,
+and confronted us at the parlour-door with a pair of tongs. Duffham and
+Tod disarmed her. She then flew to the kitchen, sat down, and went into
+hysterics. Old Jones read out the authority for the search, but she only
+screamed the louder.
+
+They left her to get out of the screaming at her leisure, and went up,
+seeking the entrance to the tower. It was found without much difficulty:
+Tod was the one to see it first. A small door (only discovered by
+Stephen Radcliffe since his father's death, as we heard later) led from
+a dark and unused lumber-room to the narrow stairs of the tower. In its
+uppermost compartment, a little, round den, sat Frank Radcliffe, chained
+to the wall.
+
+Not at once could we take in the features of the scene; for, all the
+light came in through the one long narrow opening, a framed loophole
+without glass, that was set in the deep round wall of the tower. A
+mattress was spread on the floor, with a pillow and blankets; one chair
+stood close to a box that served for a table, on which he no doubt eat
+his meals, for there were plates and food on it; another box, its lid
+open, was in a corner, and on the other chair sat Frank. That was every
+earthly article the place contained. It was through that opening--you
+could not call it a window--that Frank's cries for help had gone forth
+to the air. There he sat, the chain round his waist, turning his amazed
+eyes upon us.
+
+And raving mad, you ask? No. He was all skin and bone, and his fair hair
+hung down like that of a wild man of the woods, but he was as sane as
+you or I. He rose up, the chain clanking, and then we saw that it was
+long enough to admit of his moving about to any part of the den.
+
+"Oh, God bless you, Frank!--we have come to release you," burst forth
+the Squire, impetuously seizing both his hands. "God help you, my poor
+lad!" And Frank, what with surprise and the not being over stout, burst
+into joyous tears.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The ingenious scheme of taking possession of Frank, and representing
+him as dead, that he might enjoy all the money, had occurred to Stephen
+Radcliffe when he found Frank was recovering under Dr. Dale's treatment.
+During the visits Stephen paid to London at that time, he and Pitt, Dr.
+Dale's head man, became very intimate: and when Pitt was discharged from
+Dr. Dale's they grew more so. Stephen Radcliffe would not perhaps have
+done any harm to Frank in the shape of poison or a dagger, being no more
+of a killer and slayer of men than were his neighbours; but to keep him
+concealed in the Torr, so as to reap the benefit himself of all the
+money, he looked upon as a very venial crime indeed--quite justifiable,
+so to say. Especially, if he could escape being found out. And this
+fine scheme he perfected and put in practice, and successfully carried
+through.
+
+How much of it he confided to Pitt, or how much he did not, will never
+be known. Certain it was, that Pitt wrote the letter announcing Frank's
+death; though we could not find out that he had helped it in any other
+way. But a very curious coincidence attended the affair; one that aided
+Stephen's plans materially; and but for its happening I do not see that
+they could have succeeded when inquiries were made. In the London house
+where Stephen lodged (Gibraltar Terrace, that I and the Squire had a
+two days' hunt to find) there came to live a young man, who was taken
+ill close upon his entrance with a malady arising from his habits of
+drinking. Pitt, coming often to Gibraltar Terrace then with Stephen
+Radcliffe, took to attend on the young man out of good nature, doing
+for him all that could be done. It was this young man who died, and
+was buried in Finchley Cemetery; and of whose death the landlady with
+the faded face and black silk apron spoke to the Squire, thereby
+establishing in our minds the misapprehension that it was Francis
+Radcliffe. Stephen did not take Frank to the lodgings at all; he brought
+him straight down to the Torr when he was released from Dr. Dale's,
+taking care to get out at a remote country station in the dusk of
+evening, where his own gig, conveyed thither by Becca, was in waiting.
+He laid his plans well, that crafty Stephen! And, once he had got Frank
+securely into that upper den, he might just have kept him there for
+life, but for that blessed outlet in the wall, and no one been any the
+wiser.
+
+Stephen Radcliffe did not bargain for that. It nearly always happens
+that in doing an ill deed we overreach ourselves in some fatal way.
+Knowing that no sound, though it were loud enough to awaken the seven
+sleepers, could penetrate from that upper room through the massive walls
+of the house, and be heard below, Stephen thought his secret was safe,
+and that Frank might call out, if he would, until Doomsday. It never
+occurred to him that the cries could get out through that unglazed
+window in the tower wall, and set the neighbourhood agog with curiosity.
+They did, however: and Stephen, whatever amount of dread it might have
+brought his heart, was unable to stop them. Not until Frank had been for
+some months chained in his den, did it occur to himself to make those
+cries, so hopeless was he of their being heard below to any good
+purpose. But one winter night when the wind was howling outside, and the
+sound of it came booming into his ears through the window, it struck him
+that he might be heard through that very opening; and from that time his
+voice was raised in supplication evening after evening. Stephen could do
+nothing. He dared not brick the opening up lest some suspicion or other
+should be excited outside; he could not remove Frank, for there was no
+other secret room to remove him to, or where his cries would not have
+been heard below. He ordered Frank to be still: he threatened him; he
+once took a horsewhip to him and laid it about his shoulders. All in
+vain. When Frank was alone, his cries for release never ceased. Stephen
+and his household put it upon the birds and the wind, and what not; but
+they grew to dread it: and Stephen, even at this time, of discovery, was
+perpetually ransacking his brains for some safe means of departing for
+Canada and carrying Frank with him. The difficulty lay in conveying
+Frank out of the Torr and away. They might drug him for the bare exit,
+but they could not keep him perpetually drugged; they could not hinder
+him coming in contact with his fellow-men on the journey and transit,
+and Frank had a tongue in his head. No: Stephen saw no hope, no safety,
+but in keeping him where he was.
+
+"But how could you allow yourself to be brought up here?--and fastened
+to a stake in this shameful fashion?" was nearly the first question of
+the Squire when he could collect his senses: and he asked it with just a
+touch of temper, for he was beginning to think that Frank, in permitting
+it, must have been as simple as the fool in a travelling circus.
+
+"He got me up by stratagem," answered Frank, tossing his long hair back
+from his face. "While we were sitting at supper the night we arrived
+here, he began talking about the wonderful discovery he had made of the
+staircase and opening to the tower. Naturally I was interested; and when
+Stephen proposed to show it me at once, I assented gladly. Becca came
+with us, saying she'd carry the candle. We got up here, and were all
+three standing in the middle of the floor, just where we are standing
+now, when I suddenly had a chain--this chain--slipped round my waist,
+and found myself fastened to the wall, a prisoner."
+
+"But why did you come to the Torr at all?" stamped the Squire, while old
+Jones stretched out his hands, as if putting imaginary handcuffs on
+Stephen's. "Why did you not go at once to your own home--or come to us?
+When you knew you were going to leave Dale's, why didn't you write to
+say so?"
+
+"When events are past and gone we perceive the mistakes we have made,
+though we do not see them at the time," answered Frank, turning his blue
+eyes from one to the other of us. "Dr. Dale did not wish me to quit his
+house quite so soon; though I was perfectly well, he said another month
+there would be best for me. I, however, was anxious to get away, more
+eager for it than I can tell you--which was only natural. Stephen
+whispered to me that he would accomplish it, but that I must put myself
+entirely in his hands, and not write to any one down here about it. He
+got me out, sooner than I had thought for: sooner, as he declared, than
+he had thought for himself; and he said we must break the news to Annet
+very cautiously, for she was anything but strong. He proposed to take me
+to the Torr for the first night of my return, and give me a bed there;
+and the following day the communication could be made to Annet at
+Pitchley's Farm, and then I might follow it as soon as I pleased. It all
+seemed to me feasible; quite the right way of going to work; in fact,
+the only way: I thanked Stephen, and came down here with him in all
+confidence."
+
+"Good patience!" cried the Squire. "And you had no suspicions, Frank
+Radcliffe!--knowing what Stephen was!"
+
+"I never knew he would do such a dastardly deed as this. How could I
+know it?"
+
+"Oh, come along!" returned the Squire, beginning to stumble down the
+narrow, dark stairs. "We'll have the law of him."
+
+The key of the chain had been found hanging on a nail outside the door,
+out of poor Frank's reach. He was soon free; but staggered a little when
+he began to descend the stairs. Duffham laid hold of him behind, and Tod
+went before.
+
+"Thank God! thank God!" he broke out with reverent emotion, when the
+bright sun burst upon him through the windows, after passing the dark
+lumber-room. "I feared I might never see full daylight again."
+
+"Have you any clothes?" asked Duffham. "This coat's in rags."
+
+"I'm sure I don't know whether I have or not," replied Frank. "The coat
+is all I have had upon me since coming here."
+
+"Becca's a beast," put in Tod. "And I hope Stephen will have his neck
+stretched."
+
+Eunice Gibbon was nowhere to be seen below. The premises were deserted.
+She had made a rush to her brother's, the gamekeeper's lodge, to warn
+Becca of what was taking place. We started for Dyke Manor, Frank in our
+midst, leaving the Torr, and its household gods, including the cackling
+fowls and the dinnerless pigs, to their fate. Mr. Brandon met us at the
+second field, and he took Frank's hand in silence.
+
+"God bless you, lad! So you have been shut up there!"
+
+"And chained to a stake in the wall," cried the Squire.
+
+"Well, it seems perfectly incredible that such a thing should take place
+in these later days. It reads like an episode of the dark ages."
+
+"Won't we pay out Master Radcliffe for 't!" put in old Jones, at work
+with his imaginary handcuffs again. "I should say, for my part, it 'ud
+be a'most a case o' transportation to Botany Bay."
+
+Frank Radcliffe was ensconced within Dyke Manor (sending Mrs. Todhetley
+into hysterics, for she had known nothing), and Duffham undertook the
+task of breaking it to Frank's wife. Frank, when his hair should have
+been trimmed up a little, was to put himself into a borrowed coat and
+to follow on presently.
+
+Pitchley's Farm and Pitchley's roses lay hot and bright under the
+summer sunshine. Mr. Duffham went straight in, and looked about for its
+mistress. In the sitting-rooms, in the kitchen, in the dairy: he and his
+cane, and could not see her.
+
+"Missis have stepped out, sir," said Sally, who was scrubbing the
+kitchen table. "A fearful headache she have got to-day."
+
+"A headache, has she!" responded Duffham.
+
+"I don't think she's never without one," remarked Sally, dipping her
+brush into the saucer of white sand.
+
+"Where's Mr. Skate?"
+
+"Him? Oh, he be gone over to Alcester market, sir."
+
+"You go and find your mistress, Sally, and say I particularly wish to
+speak with her. Tell her that I have some very good news for her."
+
+Sally left her brush and her sand, and went out with the message. The
+doctor strolled into the best parlour, and cribbed one of the many roses
+intruding their blooming beauty into the open window. Mr. Duffham had to
+exercise his patience. It seemed to him that he waited half-an-hour.
+
+Annet came in at last, saying how sorry she was to have kept him: she
+had stepped over to see their carter's wife, who was ill, and Sally had
+only just found her. She wore her morning gown of black and white print,
+with the small net widow's cap on her bright hair. But for the worn look
+in her face, the sad eyes, she was just as pretty as ever; and Duffham
+thought so.
+
+"Sally says you have some good news for me," she observed with a poor,
+faint smile. "It must be a joke of yours, Mr. Duffham. There's no news
+that could be good for me."
+
+"Wait till you hear it," said he. "You have had a fortune left you! It
+is _so good_, Mrs. Frank Radcliffe, that I'm afraid to tell you. You may
+go into a fit; or do some other foolish thing."
+
+"Indeed no. Nothing can ever have much effect on me again."
+
+"Don't you make too sure of that," said Duffham. "You've never felt
+quite sure about that death of your husband, up at Dales, have you?
+Thought there was something queer about it--eh?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "I have thought it."
+
+"Well, some of us have been looking into it a little. And we find--in
+short, we are not at all sure that--that Frank did die."
+
+"Oh!"--her hands lifting themselves in agitation--"what is it, sir? You
+have come to disclose to me that my husband was murdered."
+
+"The contrariness of woman!" exclaimed Duffham, giving the floor a thump
+with his cane. "Why, Mrs. Frank Radcliffe, I told you as plainly as I
+could speak, that it was _good_ news I brought. So good, that I hardly
+thought you could bear it with equanimity. Your husband was _not_
+murdered."
+
+Poor Annet never answered a word to this. She only gazed at him.
+
+"And our opinion is that Frank did not die at all; at Dale's, or
+elsewhere. Some of us think he is alive still, and--now don't you drop
+down in a heap."
+
+"Please go on," she breathed, turning whiter than her own cap. "I--shall
+not drop down."
+
+"We have _reason_ to think it, Mrs. Frank. To think that he is alive,
+and well, and as sane in mind as you'd wish him to be. We believe it,
+ma'am; we all but know it."
+
+She let her head fall back in the chair. "You, I feel sure, would not
+tell me this unless you had good grounds for it, Mr. Duffham. Oh, if it
+may but be so! But--then--what of those cries that we heard?" she added,
+recollecting them. "I am sure they were his."
+
+"Very likely. Stephen may have had him shut up in the tower, and Frank
+cried out to let the world know he was there. Oh, I dare say that was
+it. I should not wonder, Mrs. Frank, but your husband may be here
+to-day."
+
+She rose from her seat, face lightening, hands trembling. She had caught
+sight through the window of a small knot of people approaching the
+house-door, and she recognized the cut of Frank's fair Saxon face
+amongst them, and the gleam of his golden hair. Duffham knew no more
+till she was in Frank's arms, sobbing and crying.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ring! knock! shake! Shake! knock! ring! It was at the front-door of the
+Torr, and old Jones was doing it. He had gone there to apprehend Stephen
+Radcliffe, a whole posse of us at his tail--where we had no business to
+be--and the handcuffs in his side-pocket.
+
+By the afternoon of the day just told of, the parish was up in arms.
+Had Frank Radcliffe really risen from the dead, it could scarcely have
+caused more commotion. David Skate, for one, was frightened nearly out
+of his senses. Getting in from Alcester market, Sally accosted him, as
+he was crossing the yard, turning round from the pump to do it, where
+she was washing the summer cabbage for dinner.
+
+"The master be in there, sir."
+
+"What master?" asked David, halting on the way.
+
+"Why, the master hisself, Mr. Frank. He be come back again."
+
+To hear that a dead man has "come back" again and is then in the house
+you are about to enter, would astonish most of us. David Skate stared at
+Sally, as if he thought she had been making free with the cider barrel.
+At that moment, Frank appeared at the door, greeting David with a smile
+of welcome. The sun shone on his face, making it look pale, and David
+verily and truly believed he saw Frank's ghost. With a shout and a cry,
+and cheeks all turned to a sickly tremor, he backed behind the pump and
+behind Sally. Sally, all on the broad grin, enjoyed it.
+
+"Why, sir, it be the master hisself. There ain't nothing to be skeered
+at."
+
+"David, don't you know me?" called out Frank heartily; and came forth
+with outstretched hands.
+
+But David did not get his cheeks right again for a good
+quarter-of-an-hour. And he was in a maze of wonder all day.
+
+A warrant had been issued for the apprehension of Stephen Radcliffe of
+the Torr, and old Jones started off to the Torr to execute it. As if
+Stephen was likely to be found there! Ringing the bell, knocking at the
+door, shaking the handle, stood old Jones; the whole string of us behind
+burning to help him. It was not answered, and old Jones went at it
+again. You might have heard the noise over at Church Dykely.
+
+Presently the door was drawn slowly back by Stephen Radcliffe's
+daughter--the curate's wife. She was trembling all over and looking fit
+to drop. Lizzy had come over from Birmingham and learned what had taken
+place. Naturally it scared her. She had always been the best of the
+bunch; and she had, of course, not known the true secret of the cries.
+
+"I want to see Mr. Radcliffe, if you please, ma'am," began old Jones,
+putting his foot inside, so that the door should not be closed again.
+
+"My father is not here," she answered, shaking and shivering.
+
+"Not here!" repeated old Jones, surreptitiously stealing one hand round
+to feel the handcuffs.
+
+"There's no one in the house but myself," she said. "When I got here, an
+hour or two ago, I found the place deserted."
+
+"I should like to see that for myself, ma'am," returned incredulous old
+Jones.
+
+"You can," she answered, drawing back a little. For she saw how futile
+it would be to attempt to keep him out.
+
+Old Jones and some more went in to the search. Not a living creature was
+there but herself and the dog. Stephen Radcliffe had never been back
+since he started for Alcester in the morning.
+
+In fact, Stephen was not to be found anywhere, near or distant. Mrs.
+Stephen was not to be found. Eunice Gibbon was not to be found. They had
+all made themselves scarce. The women had no doubt contrived to convey
+the news to Stephen while he was at Alcester, and he must have lost no
+time in turning his back on Warwickshire.
+
+In a day or two, a rumour arose that Stephen Radcliffe and his wife had
+sailed for Canada. It proved to be true. "So much the better," said
+old Jones, regaling himself, just then, with cold beef in the Squire's
+kitchen. "Let him go! Good shut of bad rubbish!"
+
+Just the sentiments that prevailed generally! Canada was the best place
+for Stephen the crafty. It spared us further sight of his surly face and
+saved the bother of a prosecution. He took only his own three hundred
+a-year with him; the Squire, for Frank, had resumed the receipt of the
+other three. And Lizzy, the daughter, with a heap of little ones at her
+skirts, remained in possession of the Torr until it should be taken. She
+had charge to let it as soon as might be.
+
+Pitchley's Farm resumed its bustle and its sounds of everyday, happy
+life. The crowds that flocked to it to shake hands with Frank and
+welcome his wonderful resuscitation were beyond telling. Frank had sworn
+a solemn oath never to drink again: he never would, God helping him.
+He _knew_ that he never should, he whispered one day to Mr. Brandon, a
+joyous light in his face as he spoke. His mother praying for him in
+dying, had told him that he would overcome; she had _seen_ that he would
+in that last solemn hour, for the prayer had been heard, bringing her
+peace. He had overcome now, he said, and he would and should overcome to
+the end.
+
+And Mr. Brandon, reading the faith and the earnestness, felt as sure of
+it as Frank did.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Frank kept his word. And, two years later, there he was, back at the
+Torr again. For Stephen had died of a severely cold winter in Canada,
+and his son Tom had died, but not of cold, and the Torr was Frank's.
+
+Mrs. Stephen came back again, and took up her abode at her brother's.
+She would enjoy the three hundred a-year for life, by Stephen's will; it
+would then go to her daughter Lizzy--who would want it badly enough with
+her flock of youngsters. Becca and Eunice turned their attention to
+poultry, and sent rare fowls to shows, and gained prizes for them.
+Eunice returned long before Mrs. Stephen. She had never been out of
+England at all; and, finding it safe for her, put in an appearance, one
+winter day, at the gamekeeper's lodge.
+
+Frank began to make alterations at the Torr as soon as he entered it,
+cutting down trees, and trying to render it a little less gloomy. Annet,
+with a calm face of sweet content, was much occupied at that time with a
+young man who was just getting on his legs, propelling him before her
+by the help of some safety reins that she called "backstrings," a fair
+child, who had the frank face and the golden curls of his father. And in
+all the country round about, there was not a gentleman more liked and
+respected than Francis Radcliffe of Sandstone Torr.
+
+
+
+
+CHANDLER AND CHANDLER.
+
+
+I.
+
+Standing at right angles between North Crabb and South Crabb, and from
+two to three miles distant, was a place called Islip. A large village
+or small town, as you might please to regard it; and which has not a
+railroad as yet.
+
+Years and years before my days, one Thomas Chandler, who had served his
+articles to a lawyer in Worcester, set up in practice for himself at
+Islip. At the same time another lawyer, one John Paul, also set up at
+Islip. The two had no wish to rival one another; but each had made his
+arrangements, and neither of them would give way. Islip felt itself
+suddenly elevated to pride, now that it could boast of two established
+lawyers, when until then it had not possessed one, but concluded that
+both of them would come to grief in less than a twelve-month. At the
+twelve-month's end, however, each was bearing steadily onwards, and had
+procured one or two valuable land agencies; in addition to the legal
+practice, which, as yet, was not much. So they kept themselves afloat:
+and if they had sometimes to eat bread-and-cheese for dinner, it was
+nothing to Islip.
+
+In the second or third year, Mr. Chandler took his brother Jacob, who
+had qualified for a solicitor, into the office; and subsequently made
+him a partner, giving him a full half share. Islip thought it was an
+extravagantly generous thing of Mr. Chandler to do, and told him he had
+better be careful. And, after that, the years went on, and the Chandlers
+flourished. The business, what with the land agencies and other things,
+increased so much that it required better offices: and so Mr. Chandler,
+who had always lived on the premises, moved into a larger and a
+handsomer house some doors further up the street. Jacob Chandler had a
+pretty little place called North Villa, just outside Crabb, and walked
+to and fro night and morning. Both were married and had children. Their
+only sister, Mary Ann Chandler, had married a farmer in Gloucestershire,
+Stephen Cramp. Upon his death, a year or two afterwards, she came back
+and settled herself in a small farm near Islip, where she hoped to get
+along, having been left but poorly off. And that is enough by way of
+explanation.
+
+I was only a little shaver, but I remember the commotion well. We were
+staying for the autumn at Crabb Cot; and, one afternoon, I, with Tod and
+the Squire, found myself on the Islip Road. I suppose we were going for
+a walk; perhaps to Islip; but I know nothing about that. All in a moment
+we saw a gig coming along at a frightful pace. The horse had run away.
+
+"Here, you boys, get out of harm's way!" cried the Squire, and bundled
+us over the fence into the field. "Bless my heart and mind, it is
+Chandler!" he added, as the gig drew nearer. "Chandler and his brother!"
+
+Mr. Chandler was driving: we could see that as the gig flew past. He was
+a tall, strong man; and, perched up on the driving-cushion, looked like
+a giant compared with Jacob, who seemed no bigger than a shrimp beside
+him. Mr. Chandler's face wore its usual healthy colour, and he appeared
+to retain all his presence of mind. Jacob sat holding on to the
+driving-cushion with his right hand and to the gig-wing with the left,
+and was just as white as a sheet.
+
+"Dear me, dear me, I hope and trust there will be no accident!" groaned
+the Squire. "I hope Chandler will be able to hold in the horse!"
+
+He set off back to North Crabb at nearly as fleet a pace as the horse,
+Tod after him, and I as fast as my small legs would take me. At the
+first turning we saw what had happened, for there was a group lying in
+the road, and people from the village were running up to it.
+
+The horse had dashed at the bank, and turned them over. He was not hurt,
+the wretched animal. Jacob stood shivering in the highway, quitte pour
+la peur, as the French say; Mr. Chandler lay in a heap.
+
+Jacob's house was within a stone's-throw, and they carried Mr. Chandler
+to it on a hurdle, and sent for Cole. The Squire went in with the rest;
+Tod and I sat on the opposite stile and waited. And if I am able to tell
+you what passed within the doors, it is owing to the Squire's having
+been there and staying to the end. No need was there for Cole to tell
+Thomas Chandler that the end was at hand: he knew it himself. There
+remained no hope for him: no hope. Some complicated injury had been
+done him inwardly, through that fiend of a horse trampling on him; and
+neither Cole nor all the doctors in the world could save him.
+
+He was carried into one of the parlours and laid upon a mattress,
+hastily placed upon the carpet. Somebody got another gig and drove
+fiercely off to fetch his wife and son from Islip. He had two sons only,
+Thomas and George. Thomas, sixteen years old now, was in the office,
+articled to his father; George was at school, too far off to be sent
+for. Mrs. Chandler was soon with him. She had been a farmer's daughter,
+and was a meek, patient kind of a woman, who gave you the idea of never
+having a will of her own. The office clerks went posting about Islip to
+find Tom; he having been out when the gig and messenger arrived.
+
+It chanced that Jacob Chandler's wife had gone abroad that day, taking
+her daughters; so the house was empty, save for the two maid-servants.
+The afternoon wore on. Cole had done what he could (which was nothing),
+and was now waiting in the other parlour with the clergyman; who had
+also done all that was left to do. The Squire stayed in the room;
+Chandler seemed to wish it; they had always liked one another. Mrs.
+Chandler knelt by the mattress, holding the dying hand: Jacob stood
+leaning against the book-case with folded arms and looking the very
+picture of misery: the Squire sat on the other side, nursing his knees.
+
+"There's no time to alter my will, Betsy," panted poor Chandler, who
+could only speak by snatches: "and I don't know that I should alter
+it if I had the time. It was made when the two lads were little ones.
+Everything is left to you without reserve. I know I can trust you to
+do a mother's part by them."
+
+"Always," responded Mrs. Chandler meekly, the silent tears rolling down
+her cheeks.
+
+"You will have enough for comfort. Thoughts have crossed me at times of
+making a fortune for you and the lads: I was working on and laying by
+for it. How little we can foresee the future! God alone knows what that
+will be, and shapes it out. Not a day, not a day can we call our own: I
+see it now. With your own little income, and the interest of what I have
+been able to put by, you can live. There will also be money paid to you
+yearly from the practice----"
+
+He was stopped by want of breath. Could not go on.
+
+"Do not trouble yourself to think of these things," she said, catching
+up a sob, for she did not want to give way before him. "We shall have
+quite plenty. As much as I wish for."
+
+"And when Tom is out of his articles he will take my place, you know,
+and will be well provided for and help you," said Mr. Chandler, taking
+up the word again. "And George you must both of you see to. If he has
+set his heart upon being a farmer instead of a clergyman, as I wished,
+why, let him be one. 'If you are a clergyman, Georgy, you will always
+be regarded as a gentleman,' I said to him the other day when he was
+at home, telling me he wanted to be a farmer. But now that I am going,
+Betsy, I see how valueless these distinctions are. Provided a man
+does his duty in the world and fears God, it hardly matters what his
+occupation in it is. It is for so short a time. Why, it seems only the
+other day that I was a boy, and now my few poor years are over, and I
+am going into the never-ending ages of immortality!"
+
+"It shall all be as you wish, Thomas," she whispered.
+
+"Ay," he answered. "Jacob, come here."
+
+Jacob let his arms drop, and left the book-case to stand close over his
+brother. Mr. Chandler lifted his right hand, and Jacob stooped and took
+it.
+
+"When we drew up our articles of partnership, Jacob, a clause was
+inserted, that upon the death of either of us, the survivor should pay
+a hundred and fifty pounds a-year out of the practice to those the other
+should leave behind him, provided the business could afford it. You
+remember that?"
+
+"Yes," said Jacob. "I wish it had been me to go instead of you, Thomas."
+
+"The business will afford it well, as you know, and more than afford it:
+you might well double it, Jacob. But I suppose you will have to take an
+additional clerk in my place, some efficient man, and he must be paid.
+So we will let it be at the hundred and fifty, Jacob. Pay that sum to my
+wife regularly."
+
+"To be sure I will," said Jacob.
+
+"And when Tom shall be of age he must take my place, you know, and draw
+his full half share. _That_ was always an understood thing between you
+and me, Jacob, if I were taken. Your own son will, I suppose, be coming
+in shortly: so that in later years, when you shall have followed me to
+a better world, the old firm will be perpetuated in them--Chandler and
+Chandler. Tom and Valentine will divide the profits equally, as we have
+divided them."
+
+"To be sure," said Jacob.
+
+"Yes, yes; my mind is at rest on the score of worldly things. I would
+that all dying men could be as much at ease. God bless and prosper you,
+Jacob! You'll give a fatherly eye over Tom and George in my place, and
+lead them in straightforward paths."
+
+"That I will," said Jacob. "I wish with all my heart this dreadful day's
+work had never happened!"
+
+"And so will I too," put in the Squire. "I'll look a bit after your two
+boys myself, Chandler."
+
+Mr. Chandler, drawing his hand from his brother, held it towards the
+Squire. At that moment, a suppressed stir was heard outside, and an
+eager voice. Tom had arrived: having run all the way from Islip.
+
+"Where's papa?--where's he lying? Is he hurt very much?"
+
+Cole appeared, marshalling him in. A well-grown young fellow for
+sixteen, with dark eyes, a fresh colour, and a good-natured face;
+altogether, the image of his father. Cole took a look down at the
+mattress, and saw how very much nearer something was at hand than it
+had been only a few minutes before.
+
+"Hush, Tom," he said, hastily pouring some drops into half a wine-glass
+of water. "Gently, lad. Let me give him this."
+
+Poor Tom Chandler, aghast at what he beheld, was too frightened to
+speak. A sudden stillness fell upon him, and he knelt down by the side
+of his mother. Cole's drops did no good. There could be only a few last
+words.
+
+"I never thought it would end thus--that I should not have time granted
+me for even a last farewell," spoke the dying man in a faint voice and
+with a gasp between every word, as he took Tom's hand. "Tom, my boy, I
+cannot say to you what I would."
+
+Tom gave a great burst as though he were choking, and was still the next
+minute.
+
+"Do your duty, my boy, before God and man with all the best strength
+that Heaven gives you. You must some time lie as I am lying, Tom; it may
+be with as little warning of it as I have had: at the best, this life
+will last such a little while as compared with life eternal. Fear God;
+find your Saviour; love and serve your fellow-creatures. Make up your
+accounts with your conscience morning and evening. And--Tom----"
+
+"Yes, father; yes, father?" spoke poor Tom, entreatingly, as the voice
+died away, and he was afraid that the last words were dying away too and
+would never be spoken.
+
+"Take care of your mother and be dutiful to her. And do you and George
+be loving brothers to each other always: tell him I enjoined it with my
+closing breath. Poor George! if I could but see him! And--and--and----"
+
+"Yes, oh yes, I will; I will indeed! What else, father?"
+
+But there was nothing else. Just two or three faint words as death came
+in, and a final gasp to close them.
+
+"God be with you ever, Tom!"
+
+That was all. And the only other thing I recollect was seeing the
+sister, Mrs. Cramp, come up in a yellow chaise from the Bell at Islip,
+and pass into the house, as we sat on the gate. But she was just too
+late.
+
+You may be sure that the affair caused a commotion. So grave a calamity
+had never happened at North Crabb. Mr. Chandler and his brother had
+started from Islip in their gig to look at some land that was going
+to be valued, which lay a mile or two on the other side Crabb on the
+Worcester Road. They had driven the horse a twelvemonth and never had
+any trouble with him. It was supposed that something must have been
+wrong with the harness. Any way, he had started, kicked, backed, and
+finally run away.
+
+I saw the funeral: standing with Tod in the churchyard amidst many
+other spectators, and reading the inscriptions on the grave-stones
+while we waited. Mr. Chandler had been taken back to his house at
+Islip, and was brought from thence to Crabb to be buried. Tom and
+George Chandler came in the first mourning-coach with their Uncle
+Jacob and his son Valentine. In the next sat two other relatives,
+with the Squire and Mr. Cole.
+
+Changes followed. Mrs. Chandler left the house at Islip, and Jacob
+Chandler and his family moved into it. She took a pretty cottage at
+North Crabb, and Tom walked to the office of a morning and home again
+at night. Valentine, Jacob's only son, was removed from school at once
+to be articled to his father. He was fifteen, just a year younger
+than Tom.
+
+Years passed on. Tom grew to be four-and-twenty, Valentine
+three-and-twenty. Both of them were good-looking young men, tall and
+straight; but Tom had the pleasanter face, address, and manners. Every
+one liked him. Crabb had thought when Tom attained his majority, and got
+his certificate as a solicitor, that his uncle would have taken him into
+partnership. The Squire had said it publicly. Instead of that, old Jacob
+gave him a hundred a-year salary to start with, and said to him, "Now
+we shall go on comfortably, Tom." Tom, who was anything but exacting,
+supposed his uncle wished him to add a year or two to his age and some
+more experience, before taking him in. So he thanked old Jacob for the
+hundred a-year, and was contented.
+
+George Chandler had emigrated to Canada. Which rather gave his mother
+a turn. Some people they knew had gone out there, purchased land, and
+were doing well on it; and George resolved to follow them. George had
+been placed with a good farmer in Gloucestershire and learnt farming
+thoroughly. That accomplished, he began to talk to his mother about
+his prospects. What he would have liked was, to take a farm on his own
+account. But he had no money to stock it, and his mother had none to
+give him. Her income, including the hundred and fifty paid to her from
+the business, was about four hundred pounds, all told: home living
+and her sons' expenses had taken it all, leaving no surplus. "There's
+nothing for me but going to Canada, mother," said George: "I don't see
+any opening for me in England. I shall be sure to get on, over there. I
+am healthy and steady and industrious; and those are the qualities that
+make way in a new country. If the worst comes to the worst, and I do not
+succeed, I can but come back again." His arguments prevailed at length,
+and he sailed for Canada, their friends over there promising to receive
+and help him.
+
+All this while Jacob Chandler had flourished. His practice had gradually
+increased, and he had become a great man. Great in show and expense. It
+was not his fault; it was that of his family: of his own will, he would
+never have put a foot forward out of his plain old groove. Mrs. Jacob
+Chandler, empty-headed, vain, and pretty, had but two thoughts in the
+world: the one to make her way amidst fashionable people, the other to
+marry her daughters well. Originally a small tradesman's daughter in
+Birmingham, she was now ridiculously upstart, and put on more airs and
+graces in an hour than a lady born and bred would in a lifetime. Mrs.
+Jacob Chandler's people had sold brushes and brooms, soaps and pickles:
+she had occasionally stood behind the counter and served out the soap
+with her own hands; and Mrs. Jacob now looked down upon Birmingham
+itself and every one in it.
+
+North Villa had not been given up, though they did move to Islip. Jacob
+Chandler held a long lease of it, and he sub-let it for three or four
+years. At the end of that period it occurred to Mrs. Jacob that she
+should like to keep it for herself, as a sort of country house to retire
+to at will. As she was the grey mare, this was done; though Jacob
+grumbled. So North Villa was furbished up, and some new furniture put
+into it; and the garden, a very nice one, improved: and Mrs. Jacob, with
+one or other or all three of her daughters, might be frequently seen
+driving her pony-carriage with its handsome ponies between North Villa
+and Islip, streamers flying, ribbons fluttering: you would have taken it
+for a rainbow coming along. The girls were not bad-looking, played and
+sang with open windows loud enough to frighten the passers-by, and
+were given to speak to one another in French at table. "Voulez-vouz
+donner-moi la sel, Clementina?" "Voulez-vous passer-moi le moutarde,
+Georgiana?" "Voulez-vous envoyer-moi les poivre, Julietta?" For, as Mrs.
+Jacob would have told you, they had learnt French at school; and to
+converse in it was of course only natural to themselves, and most
+instructive to any visitor who might chance to be present. Added to
+these advantages Mrs. and the Miss Chandlers adored dress, their
+out-of-door toilettes being grander than a queen's.
+
+All this: the two houses and the company received in them; the ponies
+and the groom; the milliners' bills and the dress-makers', made a hole
+in Jacob Chandler's purse. Not too much of a hole in one sense of the
+word; Jacob took care of that: but it prevented him from putting by all
+the money he wished. He made plenty of it: more than the world supposed.
+
+In this manner matters had gone on since the departure of George
+Chandler for Canada. Mrs. Chandler living quietly in her home making
+it a happy one for her son Tom, and treasuring George's letters from
+over the sea: Mrs. Jacob Chandler and her daughters keeping the place
+alive; Valentine getting to be a very fine gentleman indeed; old Jacob
+sticking to business and pocketing his gains. The first interruption
+came in the shape of a misfortune for Mrs. Chandler. She lost a
+good portion of her money through a calamity that you have heard of
+before--the bursting-up of Clement Pell. It left her with very little,
+save the hundred and fifty pounds a-year paid to her regularly by
+Jacob. Added to this was the hundred a-year Tom earned, and which his
+uncle had not increased. And this brings us down to the present time,
+when Tom was four-and-twenty.
+
+Jacob Chandler sat one morning in his own room at his office, when a
+clerk came in and said Mrs. Chandler from Crabb was asking to see him.
+Cordiality had always subsisted between the two families, though they
+were not much together; Mrs. Chandler disliking their show; Mrs. Jacob
+and her daughters intensely despising one who wore black silk for best,
+and generally made her puddings with her own fingers. "So low-lived, you
+know, my dears," Mrs. Jacob would say, with a toss of her bedecked head.
+
+Jacob heard his clerk's announcement with annoyance; the lines on his
+brow grew deeper. He had always been a shrimp of a man, but he looked
+like a shrivelled one now. His black clothes sat loosely upon him; his
+white neckcloth, for he dressed like a parson, seemed too large for his
+thin neck.
+
+"Mrs. Chandler can come in," said he, after a few moments' hesitation.
+"But say I am busy."
+
+She came in, putting back her veil: she had worn a plain-shaped bonnet
+with a white border ever since her husband died. It suited her meek,
+kind, and somewhat homely face, on which the brown hair, streaked with
+grey, was banded.
+
+"Jacob, I am sorry to disturb you, especially as you are busy; but I
+have wanted to speak to you for some time now and have not liked to
+come," she began, taking the chair that stood near the table at which
+he sat. "It is about Tom."
+
+"What about him?" asked Jacob. "Has he been up to any mischief?"
+
+"Mischief! Tom! Why, Jacob, I hardly think there can be such another
+young man as he, for steadiness and good conduct; and, I may say, for
+kindness. I have never heard anything against him. What I want to ask
+you is, when you think of making a change?"
+
+"A change?" echoed Jacob, as if the words puzzled him, biting away at
+the feather of his pen. "A change?"
+
+"Is it not time that he should be taken into the business? I--I
+thought--and Tom I know also thought, Jacob--that you would have done
+it when he was twenty-one."
+
+"Oh, did you?" returned Jacob, civilly.
+
+"He is twenty-four, you know, now, Jacob, and naturally wishes to
+get forward in life. I am anxious that he should; and I think it is
+time--forgive me for saying it, Jacob--that something was settled."
+
+"I was thinking of raising Tom's salary," coolly observed Jacob; "of
+giving him, say, fifty pounds a-year more. Valentine has been bothering
+me to do the same by him; so I suppose I must."
+
+The fixed colour on Mrs. Chandler's thin cheeks grew a shade deeper.
+"But, Jacob, it was his father's wish, you know, that he should be taken
+into partnership, should succeed to his own share of the business; and
+I thought you would have arranged it ere this. An increase of salary is
+not the thing at all: it is not that that is in question."
+
+"Nothing can be so bad for a young man as to make him his own master too
+early," cried Jacob. "I've known it ruin many a one."
+
+"You promised my husband when he was dying that it should be so," she
+gently urged. "Besides, it is Tom's right. I understood that when he
+was of a proper age, he was to come in, in accordance with a previous
+arrangement made between you and poor Thomas."
+
+Jacob bit the end of the pen right off and nearly swallowed it. "Thomas
+left all things in my hands," said he, coughing and choking. "Tom must
+acquire some further experience yet."
+
+"When do you propose settling it, then? How long will it be first?"
+
+"Well, that depends, you know. I shall see."
+
+"Will it be in another year? Tom will be five-and-twenty then."
+
+"Ay, he will: and Val four-and-twenty. How time flies! It seems but the
+other day that they were in jackets and trousers."
+
+"But will it be then--in another year? You have not answered me, Jacob."
+
+"And I can't answer you," returned Jacob. "How can I? Don't you
+understand me when I say I must wait and see?"
+
+"You surely will do what is right, Jacob?"
+
+"Well now, can you doubt it, Betsy? Of course I shall. When did you hear
+from George?"
+
+Mrs. Chandler rose, obliged to be satisfied. To urgently press any
+interest of her own was not in her nature. As she shook hands with Jacob
+she was struck with the sickly appearance of his face.
+
+"Are you feeling quite well, Jacob? You look but poorly."
+
+"I have felt anything but well for a long time," he replied, in a
+fretful tone. "I don't know what ails me: too much work, perhaps, but
+I seem to have strength for nothing."
+
+"You should give yourself a rest, Jacob, and take some bark."
+
+"Ay. Good-day."
+
+Now it came to pass that in turning out of the house, after nodding to
+Tom and Valentine, who sat at a desk side by side in the room to the
+left, the door of which stood open, Mrs. Chandler saw the Squire on the
+opposite side of the street, and crossed over to him. He asked her in
+a joking way whether she had been in to get six and eightpenceworth
+of law. She told him what she had been in for, seeing no reason for
+concealing it.
+
+"Bless me, yes!" cried he, in his impulsive way. "I'm sure it's quite
+time Tom was in the firm. I'll go and talk to Jacob."
+
+And when he got in--making straight across the street with the words,
+and through the passage, and so to the room without halt or ceremony--he
+saw Jacob leaning back in his chair, his hands thrust into his black
+side-pockets, and his head bent on his chest in deep thought. The Squire
+noticed how deep the lines in his brow had grown, just as Mrs. Chandler
+had.
+
+"But you know, Jacob Chandler, that it was an agreement with the dead,"
+urged the Squire, in his eagerness, after listening to some plausible
+(and shuffling) remarks from Jacob.
+
+"An agreement with the dead!" repeated Jacob, looking up at the Squire
+for explanation. They were both standing on the matting near the fender:
+which was filled with an untidy mass of torn and twisted scraps of
+paper. "What do you mean, Squire? I never knew before that the dead
+could make an agreement."
+
+"You know what I mean," cried the Squire, hotly. "Poor Thomas was close
+upon death at the time you and he had the conversation: he wanted but
+two or three minutes of it."
+
+"Oh, ah, yes; that's true enough, so far as it goes, Squire," replied
+Jacob, pulling up his white cravat as if his throat felt cold.
+
+"Well," argued the Squire. "Did not you and he agree that Tom was to
+come in when he was twenty-one? Both of you seemed to imply that there
+existed a previous understanding to that effect."
+
+"There never was a word said about his coming in when he was
+twenty-one," contended Jacob.
+
+"Why, bless my heart and mind, do you suppose my ears were shut, Jacob
+Chandler?" retorted the Squire, beginning to rub his head with his red
+silk handkerchief. "I heard the words."
+
+"No, Squire. Think a bit."
+
+Jacob spoke so calmly that the Squire began to rub up his memory as well
+as his head. He had no cause to suppose Jacob Chandler to be other than
+an honourable man.
+
+"'When Tom shall be of age, he must take my place:' those were I think
+the very words," repeated the Squire. "I can see your poor brother's
+face now as he lay down on the floor and spoke them. It had death in
+it."
+
+"Yes, it had death in it," acquiesced Jacob, in a tone of discomfort.
+"What he said was this, Squire: 'When Tom shall be of an age.' Meaning
+of course a suitable age to justify the step."
+
+"I don't think so: I did not hear it so," persisted the Squire. "There
+was no 'an' in it. 'When Tom shall be of age:' that was it. Meaning
+when he should be twenty-one."
+
+"Oh dear, no; quite a mistake. You can't think my ears would deceive me
+at such a time as that, Mr. Todhetley. And about our own business too."
+
+"Well, you ought to know best, of course, though my impression is that
+you are wrong," conceded the Squire. "Put it that it was as you say:
+don't you think Tom Chandler is now quite old enough for it to be acted
+upon?"
+
+"No, I don't," replied Jacob. "As I have just told his mother, nothing
+can be more pernicious for a young man than to be made his own master
+too early. Nine young fellows out of every ten would get ruined by it."
+
+"Do you think so?" asked the Squire, dubiously.
+
+"I am sure so, Squire. Tom Chandler is steady now, for aught I know to
+the contrary; but just let him get the reins into his hands, and you'd
+see what it would be. That is, what it might be. And I am not going to
+risk it."
+
+"He is as steady-going a young man as any one could wish for; diligent,
+straightforward. Not at all given to spending money improperly."
+
+"Because he has not had it to spend. I have known many a young blade to
+be quiet and cautious while his pockets were empty; and as soon as they
+were filled, perhaps all at once, he has gone headlong to rack and ruin.
+How do we know that it would not be the case with Tom?"
+
+"Well, I--I don't think it would be," said the Squire, with hesitation,
+for he was coming round to Jacob's line of argument.
+
+"But I can't act upon 'thinking,' Squire; I must be sure. Tom will just
+stay on with me at present as he is; so there's an end of it. His salary
+is going to be raised: and I--I consider that he is very well off."
+
+"Well, perhaps he'll be none the worse for a little longer spell
+of clerkship," repeated the Squire, coming wholly round. "And now
+good-morning. I'm rather in a hurry to-day, but I thought it right to
+put in a word for Tom's sake, as I was present when poor Thomas died."
+
+"Good-morning, Mr. Todhetley," answered Jacob, as he sat down to his
+desk again.
+
+But he did not get to work. He bent his head on his neckcloth as before,
+and set on to think. What had just passed did not please him at all: for
+Jacob Chandler was not devoid of conscience; though it was an elastic
+one, and he was in the habit of deadening it at will. It was not his
+intention to take his nephew into partnership at all; then or later.
+Almost ever since the day of his brother's funeral he had looked at
+matters after his own fashion, and soon grew to think that Tom had no
+manner of right to a share in the business; that as Thomas was dead and
+gone, it was all his, and ought to be all his. He and Thomas had shared
+it between them: therefore it was only just and proper that he, the
+survivor, should take it. That's how Jacob Chandler, who was the essence
+of covetousness, had been reasoning, and his mind was made up.
+
+It was therefore very unpleasant to be pounced upon in this way by two
+people in one morning. Their application as regarded Tom himself would
+not have troubled him: he knew how to put disputants off civilly, saying
+neither yes nor no, and promising nothing: but what annoyed him was the
+reminiscence they had called up of his dying brother. Jacob intended to
+get safely into the world above, some day, by hook or by crook; he went
+to church regularly, and considered himself a model of good behaviour.
+But these troublesome visitors had somehow contrived to put before
+his conscience the fact that he might be committing a lifelong act
+of injustice on Tom; and that, to do so, was not the readiest way of
+getting to heaven. Was that twelve o'clock? How the morning had passed!
+
+"Uncle Jacob, I am going over to Brooklands about that lease. Have you
+any particular instructions to give me?"
+
+It was Tom himself who had entered. A tall, good-looking, fresh-coloured
+young man, who had honesty and kindliness written on every line of his
+open face.
+
+Jacob lifted his bent head, and drew his chair nearer his table as if he
+meant to set to work in earnest. But his mouth took a cross look.
+
+"Who told _you_ to go? I said Valentine was to go."
+
+"Valentine has stepped out. He asked me to go for him."
+
+"Where has he stepped to?"
+
+"He did not say," replied Tom, evasively. For he knew quite well where
+Valentine was gone: to the Bell inn over the way. Valentine went to the
+Bell a little too much, and was a little too fond of the Bell's good
+liquor.
+
+"I suppose you can go, then. No, I have no instructions: you know what
+to say as well as I do. We don't give way a jot, mind. Oh, and--Tom!"
+added Jacob, calling him back as he went out.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"I am intending to raise your salary. From the beginning of next month,
+you will have a hundred and fifty a-year."
+
+"Oh, thank you, Uncle Jacob."
+
+Tom spoke as he in his ready good-nature felt--brightly and gratefully.
+Nevertheless, a shade of disappointment did cross his mind, for he
+thought his position in the house ought to be a different one.
+
+"And I am _sure_ it is quite as much as I ought to do for him," argued
+Jacob with his conscience. And he put away unpleasant prickings and set
+to work like a house on fire.
+
+It was one o'clock when Valentine came in. He had an excuse ready for
+his father: the latter, turning out of the clerks' room, chanced to see
+him enter. "He had been down to Tyler's to see if he could get that
+money from them." It was an untruth, for he had stayed all the while at
+the Bell; and his father noticed that his face was uncommonly flushed.
+Old Jacob had had his suspicions before; yes, and spoken of them to
+Valentine: he now motioned him to go before him into the private room.
+
+"You have been drinking, sir!"
+
+"I!--good gracious, no," returned Valentine, boldly, his blue eyes
+fearlessly meeting his father's. "What fancies you do pick up!"
+
+"Valentine, when I was your age I never drank a drop of anything till
+night, and then it was only a glass of beer with my supper. It seems to
+me that young men of the present day think they can drink at all hours
+with impunity."
+
+"I don't drink, father."
+
+"Very well. Take care you do not. It is a habit more easily acquired
+than left off. Look here: I am going to give you fifty pounds a-year
+more. Mind you _make it do_: and do not spend it in waste."
+
+It was not very long after this that Jacob Chandler had a shock: a few
+months, or so. During that time he had been growing thinner and weaker,
+and looked so shrivelled up that there seemed to be nothing left of
+him. Islip, small place though it was, had a market-day--Friday;--when
+farmers would drive or walk in and congregate at the Bell. One
+afternoon, just as the ordinary was over, Jacob went to the inn, as was
+his general custom: he had always some business or other to transact
+with the farmers; or, if not, something to say. His visit to them over,
+he said good-day and left: but the next minute he turned back, having
+forgotten something. Some words fell on his ear as he opened the door.
+
+"Ay. He is not long for this world."
+
+They were spoken by old Farmer Blake--a big, burly, kind-hearted man.
+And Jacob Chandler felt as certain that they were meant to apply to
+himself as though his name had been mentioned. He went into a cold
+shiver, and shut the door again without entering.
+
+Was it true, he asked himself, as he walked across the street to his
+office: was it indeed a fact that he was slowly dying? A great fear fell
+upon him: a dread of death. What, leave all this beautiful sunshine,
+this bright world in which he was so busy, and pass into the cold dark
+grave! Jacob turned sick at the thought.
+
+It was true that he had long been ailing; but not with any specific
+ailment. He could not deny that he was now more like a shadow than a
+man, or that every day seemed to bring him less of strength. Passing
+into his dining-parlour instead of into his private business room, he
+drank two glasses of wine off at once, and it seemed to revive him. He
+was a very abstemious man in general.
+
+Well, if Farmer Blake did say it--stupid old idiot!--it was not obliged
+to be true, reflected Jacob then. People judged by his spareness: he
+wished he could get a little fatter. And so he reasoned and persuaded
+himself out of his fears, and grew sufficiently reassured to transact
+his business, always pressing on a Friday.
+
+But that same evening, Jacob Chandler drove to North Villa in his gig,
+telling his wife he should sleep there for a week or two, for the sake
+of the fresh air. And the next morning, before he went to Islip, he sent
+for the doctor--Cole.
+
+"People are saying you won't live!" repeated Cole, having listened to
+Jacob's confidential communication. "I don't see why you should not
+live. Let's examine you a bit. You should not take up fancies."
+
+Cole could find nothing particular the matter with him. He recommended
+him rest from business, change of air, and a generous diet. "Try it for
+a month," said he.
+
+"I can't try it--except the diet," returned Jacob. "It's all very well
+for you to talk about rest from business, Cole, but how am I to take
+rest? My business could not get on without me. Business is a pleasure to
+me; it's not a pain."
+
+"You want rest from it all the same," said Cole. "You have stuck closely
+to it this many a year."
+
+"My mother died without apparent cause," said Jacob, dreamily. "She
+seemed just to drift out of life. About my age, too."
+
+"That's no reason why you should," argued Cole.
+
+Well, they went on, talking at one another; but nothing came of it. And
+Cole left, saying he would send him in some tonics to take.
+
+By the evening it was known all over the place that Jacob Chandler was
+ill and had sent for Cole. People talked of it the next morning as they
+went to church. Jacob appeared, looking much as usual, and sat down in
+his pew. The next to come in was Mrs. Cramp; who walked over to our
+church sometimes. She stayed to dine with the Lexoms, and went to call
+at North Villa after dinner; finding Mrs. Jacob and the rest of them at
+dessert with a guest or two. Jacob was somewhere in the garden.
+
+Mrs. Cramp found him in the latticed arbour, and sat down opposite to
+him, taking up her brown shot-silk gown, lest the seat should be dusty.
+When she told him it was the hearing of his illness which had brought
+her over to Crabb, he turned cross. He was not ill, he said; only a
+trifle out of sorts, as every one else must be at times and seasons. By
+dint of questioning, Mrs. Cramp, who was a stout, comely woman, fond of
+having her own way, got out of him all Cole had said.
+
+"And Cole is right, Jacob: it is rest and change you want," she
+remarked. "You are sure you do not need it? don't tell me. A stitch in
+times saves nine, remember."
+
+"You know nothing about it, Mary Ann."
+
+"I know that you look thinner and thinner every time I see you. Be wise
+in time, brother."
+
+"Cole told me to go away to the seaside for a month. Why, what should I
+do, mooning for a whole month in a strange place by myself? I should be
+like a fish out of water."
+
+"Take your wife and the girls."
+
+"I dare say! They would only worry me with their fine doings. And look
+at the expense."
+
+"I will go with you if you like, Jacob, rather than you should go alone,
+though it would be an inconvenience to me. And pay my own expenses."
+
+"Mary Ann, I am not going at all; or thinking of it. It would be
+impossible for me to leave my business."
+
+Mrs. Cramp, turning over matters in her mind, determined to put the case
+plainly before him, and did so; telling him that it would be better to
+leave his business for a temporary period now, than to find shortly that
+he must leave it for ever. Jacob sat gazing out straight before him
+at the Malvern Hills, the chain of which lay against the sky in the
+distance.
+
+"If you took my advice, brother, you would retire from business
+altogether. You have made enough to live without it, I suppose----"
+
+"But I have not made enough," he interrupted.
+
+"Then you ought to have made it, Jacob."
+
+"Oughts don't go for much."
+
+"What I mean is, that you ought to have made it, judging by the style in
+which you live. Two houses, a carriage and ponies (besides your gig),
+expensive dress, parties: all that should never be gone into, brother,
+unless the _realized_ income justifies it."
+
+"It is the style we live in that has not let me put by, Mary Ann. I
+don't tell you I have put nothing by: I have put a little by year by
+year; but it is not enough to live upon."
+
+"Then make arrangements for half the proceeds of the business to be
+given over to you. Let the two boys take to it, and----"
+
+"_Who?_" cried Jacob.
+
+"The two boys, Tom and Valentine. It will be theirs some time, you know,
+Jacob: let them have it at once. Tom's name must be first, as it ought
+to be. Valentine----"
+
+"I have no intention of doing anything of the kind," interposed Jacob,
+sharply. "I shall keep the business in my own hands as long as I live.
+Perhaps I may take Valentine into it: not Tom."
+
+Mrs. Cramp sat for a full minute staring at Jacob, her stout hands,
+from which the gloves had been taken, and her white lace ruffles lying
+composedly on her brown gown.
+
+"Not take Tom into the business!" she repeated, in a slow, astonished
+tone. "Why, Jacob, what do you mean?"
+
+"_That_," said Jacob. "Tom will stay on at a good salary: I shall
+increase it, I dare say, every two years, or so; but he will not come
+into the firm."
+
+"You can't mean what you say."
+
+"I have meant it this many a year past, Mary Ann. I have never intended
+to take him in."
+
+"Jacob, beware! No luck ever comes of fraud."
+
+"Of what? _Fraud?_"
+
+"Yes; I say fraud. If you deprive Tom of the place that is justly his,
+it will be a cheat and a fraud, and nothing short of it."
+
+"You have a queer way of looking at things, Mrs. Cramp. Who has kept the
+practice together all these years, but me? and added to it little by
+little, and made it worth double what it was; ay, and more than double?
+It is right--_right_, mind you, Mary Ann--that my own son should succeed
+to it."
+
+"Who made the practice in the first place, and took you into it out of
+brotherly affection, and made you a full partner without your paying a
+farthing, and for seventeen or eighteen years was the chief prop and
+stay of it?" retorted Mrs. Cramp. "Why, poor Thomas; your elder brother.
+Who made him a promise when he was lying dying in that very parlour
+where your wife and children are now sitting, that Tom should take his
+proper place in the firm when he was of age, and his half-share with it,
+according to agreement? Why you. You did, Jacob Chandler."
+
+"That was all a mistake," said Jacob, shuffling his thin legs and
+wrists.
+
+"I will leave you," said Mrs. Cramp. "I don't care to discuss questions
+while you are in this frame of mind. Is this all the benefit you got
+from the parson's sermon this morning, and the text he gave out before
+it? That text: think of it a bit, brother Jacob, and perhaps you'll see
+your way to acting differently. Remember," she added, turning back to
+him for the last word, which she always had, somehow, "that cheating
+never prospers in the long run. It never does, Jacob; never: for where
+it is crafty cheating, hidden away from the sight of man, it is seen
+and noted by God."
+
+Her brown skirts (all the shades of a copper tea-kettle) disappeared
+round the corner by the mulberry-tree, leaving Jacob very angry and
+uncomfortable. Angry with her, uncomfortable in himself. Do what he
+would, he could not get that text out of his mind--and what right
+had she to bring it cropping up to him in that inconvenient way, he
+wondered, or to speak to him about such matters at all. The verse was
+a beautiful verse in itself; he had always thought so: but it was not
+pleasant to be tormented by it--and all through Mary Ann! There it was
+haunting his memory again!
+
+"Keep innocency, and take heed unto the thing that is right: for that
+shall bring a man peace at the last."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Jacob Chandler grew to look a little fresher, though not stouter, as
+the weeks went on: the drive, night and morning, seemed to do him good.
+Meeting Cole one day, he told him he felt stronger, and did not see why
+he should not live to be ninety. With all his heart, Cole answered, but
+most people found seventy long enough.
+
+All at once, without warning, a notice appeared in the local papers,
+stating that Jacob Chandler had taken his son Valentine into
+partnership. Mrs. Chandler read it as she sat at breakfast.
+
+"What does it mean, Tom?" she asked.
+
+"I don't know what it means, mother. We have heard nothing about it at
+the office."
+
+"Tom, you may depend your uncle Jacob _has done it_, and that he does
+not intend to take you in at all," spoke Mrs. Chandler, in her strong
+conviction. "I shall go to him."
+
+She finished her breakfast and went off there and then, catching Jacob
+just as he was turning out of the white gate at North Villa to mount his
+gig: for he still came over to Crabb to sleep. The newspaper was in her
+hand, and she pointed to the advertisement.
+
+"What does it mean, Jacob?" she asked, just as she had a few minutes
+before asked of Tom.
+
+"Mean!" said Jacob. "It can't have more than one meaning, can it? I've
+thought it best to let Val's name appear in the practice, and made over
+to him a small share of the profits. Very small, Betsy. He won't draw
+much more than he has been drawing as salary."
+
+"But what of Tom?" questioned poor Mrs. Chandler.
+
+"Of Tom? Well, what of him?"
+
+"When is he to be taken in?"
+
+"Oh, there's time enough for that. I can't make two moves at once; it
+could not be expected of me, Betsy. My son is my son, and he had to come
+in first."
+
+"But--Jacob--don't you think you ought to carry out the agreement made
+with Tom's father--that you are bound in honour?" debated Mrs. Chandler,
+in her meek and non-insisting way.
+
+"Time enough, Betsy. We shall see. And look there, my horse won't stand:
+he's always fresh in the morning."
+
+Shaking her hand hastily, he stepped up, took the reins from the man,
+and was off in a trice, bowling along at a quicker pace than usual. The
+poor woman, left standing there and feeling half-bewildered, saw Mrs.
+Jacob at one of the open windows, and crossed the lawn to speak.
+
+"I came up about this announcement," she said. "It is so strange a
+thing; we can't understand it at all. Jacob should take Tom into
+partnership. Especially now that he has taken Valentine."
+
+"Do you think so?" drawled Mrs. Jacob; who wore a pink top-knot and
+dirty morning wrapper, and minced her words more than usual, for she
+thought the more she minced them the finer she was. "Dear me! I'm sure I
+don't know anything about it. All well at home, I hope? I won't ask you
+in, for I'm going to be busy. My daughters are invited to a garden-party
+this afternoon, and I must give directions about the trimming of their
+dresses. Good-morning."
+
+Back went Mrs. Chandler, and found her son watching for her at the door,
+waiting to hear what news she brought, before setting out on his usual
+walk.
+
+"Your uncle slips through it like an eel, Tom," she began. "I can make
+nothing of him one way or another. He does not say he will not take you
+in, but he does not say he will. What is to be done?"
+
+"Nothing can be done that I know of, mother," replied Tom; "nothing at
+all. Uncle Jacob holds the power in his own hands, you see. If it does
+not please him to give me my lawful share, we cannot oblige him to do
+it."
+
+"But how unjust it will be if he does not!"
+
+"Yes. _I_ think so. But, it seems to me there's little else but
+injustice in the world," added Tom, with a light smile. "You would say
+so if you were in a lawyer's office and had to dive into the cases
+brought there. Good-bye, mother mine."
+
+Pretty nearly a year went on after this, bringing no change. "Jacob
+Chandler and Son, Solicitors, Conveyancers, and Land Agents," flourished
+in gilt letters on the front-door at Islip, and Jacob Chandler and Son
+flourished inside, in the matter of business. But never a move was made
+to take in Tom. And when Jacob was asked about it, as he was once or
+twice, he civilly shuffled the topic off.
+
+But, before the year had well elapsed, Jacob was stricken down. To look
+at him you would have said he had been growing thinner all that while,
+only that it seemed impossible. This time it was for death. He had not
+much grace given him, either: just a couple of days and a night.
+
+He went to bed one night as well as usual, but the next morning did not
+get up, saying he felt "queer," and sent for Cole. Jacob Chandler was
+a rare coward in illness. That fining-down process he had been going
+through so long had not troubled him: he thought it was only his natural
+constitution: and when real illness set in his fears sprang up.
+
+"You had better stay in bed to-day," said Cole. "I will send you a
+draught to take."
+
+"But what is it that's the matter with me?" asked Jacob.
+
+"I don't know," said Cole.
+
+"Is it ague? Or intermittent fever coming on? See how I am shaking."
+
+"N--o," hesitated Cole, either in doubt, or else because he would not
+say too much. "I'll look in again by-and-by."
+
+Towards midday Jacob thought he'd get up, and see what that would do for
+him. It seemed to do nothing, except make him worse; and he went to bed
+again. Cole looked in three times during the day, but did not say what
+he thought.
+
+In the middle of the night a paroxysm of illness came on again, and a
+servant ran to knock up the doctor. Jacob was shaking the very bed, and
+seemed in awful fear.
+
+And in the morning he appeared to know that he had not many hours to
+live. Knew it by intuition, for Cole had not told him. An express
+went flying to Worcester for Dr. Malden: but Cole knew--and told it
+later--that all the physicians in the county could not save him.
+
+And the state of mind that Jacob Chandler went into with the knowledge,
+might have read many a careless man a lesson. It seemed to him that he
+had a whole peck of suddenly-recollected sins on his head, and misdeeds
+to be accounted for. He remembered Tom Chandler then.
+
+"I have not done by him as I ought; it lies upon me with an awful
+weight," he groaned. "Valentine, you must remedy the wrong. Take him in,
+and give him his proper share. I should like to see Tom. Some one fetch
+him."
+
+Tom had to be fetched from Islip. He came at once, his long legs
+skimming over the ground quickly; and he entered the sick-chamber with
+the cordial smile on his open face, and took his uncle's hand.
+
+"It shall all be remedied, Tom; all the injustice; and you shall have
+your due rights. I see now how unjust it was: I don't know what God's
+thinking of me for it. I wanted to make a good provision for my old age,
+you see; to be able to live at ease; and now there is no old age for me:
+God is taking me before it has come on."
+
+"Don't distress yourself, Uncle Jacob; it will be all right. And I'm
+sure I have not thought much about it."
+
+"But others have," groaned Jacob. "Your mother; and Mary Ann; and--and
+Squire Todhetley. They have all been on at me at times. But I shut my
+ears. Oh dear! I wish God would let me live a few years over again! I'd
+try and be different. What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?"
+
+And that was how he kept on the best part of the day. Then he called out
+that he wanted his will altered. Valentine brought in pen and ink, but
+his father motioned him away and said it must be done by Paul. So Paul
+the lawyer was got over from Islip, and was shut up alone with the
+sick man for a quarter-of-an-hour. Next the parson came, and read some
+prayers. But Jacob still cried out his piteous laments, at having no
+time to redeem the past, until his voice was too weak to speak. At nine
+o'clock in the evening all was over.
+
+The disease that killed him must have been making silent progress for a
+good while, Cole said, when the truth was ascertained: but he had never
+seen it develop itself with so little warning, or prove fatal so quickly
+as in the case of Jacob Chandler.
+
+
+II.
+
+Jacob Chandler, solicitor, conveyancer, and land-agent, had died: and
+his son Valentine (possibly taking a leaf out of the history of Jonas
+Chuzzlewit) determined that he should at least be borne to the grave
+with honours, if he had never had an opportunity to specially bear them
+in life. Crabb churchyard was a show of mutes and plumes, and Crabb
+highway was blocked up with black coaches. As it is considered a
+compliment down with us to get an invitation to a funeral, and a great
+slight on the dead to refuse it, all classes, from Sir John Whitney,
+down to Massock, the brickmaker, and little Farmer Bean, responded to
+Valentine Chandler's notes. Some people said that it was Valentine's
+mother, the new widow, who wished for so much display; and probably they
+were right.
+
+It took place on a Saturday. I can see the blue sky overhead now, and
+the bright sun that shone upon the scene and lighted up the feathers. It
+was thought he must have died rich, and that the three daughters he left
+would have good portions. His son Valentine had the practice: so, at any
+rate, _he_ was provided for. Tom Chandler, the nephew, made one of the
+mourners: and the spectators talked freely enough in an undertone,
+as he passed them in his place when the procession walked up the
+churchyard path. It seemed but the other day, they said, that his poor
+father was buried, killed by that lamentable accident. Time flew. Years
+passed imperceptibly. But Jacob--lying so still under that black and
+white pall, now slowly disappearing within the church--had not done the
+right thing by his dead brother's son. The practice had been made by
+Thomas, the elder brother. Thomas took Jacob into full partnership
+without fee or recompense; and there was an understanding entered into
+between them later (but no legal agreement) that if the life of either
+failed his son should succeed to his post. If Thomas, the elder, died,
+his son Tom was to take his father's place as senior partner in due
+time. Thomas did die; died suddenly; but from that hour to this, Jacob
+had never attempted to carry out the agreement: he had taken his own
+son, Valentine, into partnership, but not Tom. And Crabb knew, both
+North and South, for such things get about curiously, that the injustice
+had troubled Jacob when he was dying, and that he had charged Valentine
+to remedy it.
+
+Sunday morning was not so fine: leaden clouds, threatening rain, had
+overshadowed the summer sky. But all the family mourners came to
+church, Valentine wearing his long crape hatband and shoulder scarf
+(for that was our custom); the widow in her costly mourning, and the
+three girls in theirs. The mourning was furnished, Miss Timmens took
+the opportunity of whispering to Mrs. Todhetley, from a fashionable
+black shop at Worcester: and, to judge by the frillings and furbelows,
+very fashionable indeed the shop must have been. Mrs. Chandler and her
+son Tom sat together in their own pew, Mrs. Cramp, Jacob's sister,
+with them. It chanced that we were staying at Crabb Cot at the time of
+Jacob's death, just as we had been at Thomas's, and so saw the doings
+and heard the sayings, and the Squire was at hand for both funerals.
+
+The next morning, Monday, Valentine Chandler took his place in the
+office as master for the first time, and seated himself in his late
+father's chair in the private room. He and his mother had already held
+some conversation as to arrangements for the future. Valentine said he
+should live at the office at Islip: now that there was only himself
+he should have more to do, and did not want the bother of walking or
+driving to and fro morning and evening. She would live entirely at
+North Villa.
+
+Valentine took his place in his father's room; and the clerks, who had
+been hail-fellow-well-met with him hitherto, put on respect of manner,
+and called him Mr. Chandler. Tom had an errand to do every Monday
+morning connected with the business, and did not enter until nearly
+eleven o'clock. Before settling to his desk, he went in to Valentine.
+
+They shook hands. In times of bereavement we are apt to observe more
+ceremony than at others. Tom sat down: which caused the new master to
+look towards him inquiringly.
+
+"Valentine, I want to have a bit of talk with you. Upon what footing am
+I to be on here?"
+
+"How do you mean?" asked Valentine: who was leaning back in the green
+leather chair with the air of his new importance full upon him, his
+elbows on the low arms, and an ivory paper-knife held between his
+fingers.
+
+"My uncle Jacob told me that from henceforth I was to assume my right
+place here, Valentine. I suppose it will be so."
+
+"What do you call your right place?" cried Valentine.
+
+"Well, my right place would be head of the office," replied Tom,
+speaking, as he always did, cordially and pleasantly. "But I don't wish
+to be exacting. Make me your partner, Valentine, and give me the second
+place in the firm."
+
+"Can't do it, old fellow," said Valentine, in tones which seemed to say
+he would like to joke the matter off. "The practice was my father's, and
+it is now mine."
+
+"But you know that part of it ought to have been mine from the first,
+Valentine. That is, from the time I have been of an age to succeed to
+it."
+
+"I don't know it, I'm sure, Tom. If it 'ought' to have been yours, I
+suppose my father would have given it to you. He was able to judge."
+
+Tom dropped his voice. "He sent for me that last day of his life, you
+know, Valentine. It was to tell me he had not done the right thing by
+me, but that it should be done now: that he had charged _you_ to do it."
+
+"Ah," said Valentine, carelessly, "worn-out old men take up odd
+fancies--fit for a lunatic asylum. My poor father must have been spent
+with disease, though not with age: but we did not know it."
+
+"Will you make me your partner?"
+
+"No, Tom, I can't. The practice was all my father's, and the practice
+must be mine. Look here: on that same day you speak of he sent for John
+Paul to add a codicil to his will. Now it stands to reason that if he
+had wished me to take you into the firm, he would have mentioned it in
+that codicil and bound me down to do it."
+
+"And he did not?"
+
+"Not a word of it. You are quite welcome to read the will. It is a very
+short and simple one: leaving what property he had to my mother, and
+the business and office furniture to me. The codicil Paul wrote was to
+decree that I should pay my mother a certain sum out of the profits.
+Your name is not mentioned in the will at all, from beginning to end."
+
+Tom made no reply. Valentine continued.
+
+"The object of his tying me down to pay over to my mother a portion of
+the profits is, because she has not enough to live on without it. There
+need be no secret about it. I am to give her a third of the income I
+make, whatsoever it may be."
+
+"One final word, Valentine: will you be just and take me in?"
+
+"No, Tom, I cannot. And there's another thing. I don't wish to be mean,
+I'm sure; it's not in my nature: but with all my own expenses upon me
+and this third that I must hand over to my people, I fear I shall not be
+able to continue to give your mother the hundred and fifty a-year that
+my father has allowed her so long."
+
+"You cannot help yourself, Valentine. That much is provided for in the
+original partnership deed, and you are bound by it."
+
+"No," dissented Valentine, flicking a speck off the front of his black
+coat. "My father might have been bound by it, but I am not. Now that the
+two original partners are dead, the deed is cancelled, don't you see. It
+is not binding upon me."
+
+"I think you are mistaken: but I will leave that question for this
+morning. Is your decision, not to give me a share, final?"
+
+"It is."
+
+"Let me make one remark. You say the codicil stipulates that you shall
+pay a third of the profits to your mother--and it is a very just and
+right thing to do. Valentine, rely upon it, that your father's last
+intentions were that, of the other two-thirds left, one of them should
+be mine."
+
+Valentine flushed red. He had a florid complexion at all times,
+something like salmon-colour. Very different from Tom's, which was
+clear and healthy.
+
+"We won't talk any more about it, Tom. How you can get such crotchets
+into your head, I can't imagine. If you sit there till midday, I can say
+no more than I have said: I cannot take you into partnership."
+
+"Then I shall leave you," said Tom, rising. He was a fine-looking young
+fellow, standing there with his arm on the back of the client's chair,
+in which he had sat; tall and straight. His good, honest face had a
+shade of pain in it, as it gazed straight out to Valentine's. He looked
+his full six-and-twenty years.
+
+"Well, I wish you would leave me, Tom," replied Valentine, carelessly.
+"I have heaps to do this morning."
+
+"Leave the office, I mean. Leave you for good."
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"Though your father did not give me the rights that were my just due,
+I remained on, expecting and hoping that he would give them some time.
+It was my duty to remain with him; at least, my mother told me so; and
+perhaps my interest. But the case is changed now. I will not stay with
+you, Valentine, unless you do me justice; I shall leave you now. Now,
+this hour."
+
+"But you can't, Tom. You would put me to frightful inconvenience."
+
+"And what inconvenience--inconvenience for life--are you putting me to,
+Valentine? You take my prospects from me. The position that ought to be
+mine, here at Islip, you refuse to let me hold. This was my father's
+practice; a portion of it, at least, ought to be mine. I will not
+continue to be a servant where I ought to be a master."
+
+"Then you must go," said Valentine.
+
+Tom held out his hand. "Good-bye. I do not part in enmity."
+
+"Good-bye, Tom. I'm sorry: but it's your fault."
+
+Tom Chandler went into the office where he had used to sit, opened his
+desk, and began putting up what things belonged to him. They made a
+tolerable-sized parcel. Valentine, left in his chair of state, sat on in
+a brown study. All the inconvenience that Tom's leaving him would be
+productive of was flashing into his mind. Tom had been, under old Jacob,
+the prop and stay of the business; knew about everything, and had a
+clear head for details. He himself was different--and Valentine was
+never more sure of the fact than at this moment. There are lawyers and
+lawyers. Tom was one, Valentine was another. He, Valentine, had never
+much cared for business; he liked pleasure a great deal better. Indulged
+always by both father and mother, he had grown up self-indulgent. It was
+all very fine to perch himself in that chair and play the master; but he
+knew that, without Tom to direct things, for some time to come he should
+be three-parts lost. But, as to making him a partner and giving him a
+share? "No," concluded Valentine emphatically, "I won't do it."
+
+Tom, carrying his paper parcel, left the house and crossed the road to
+the post-office, which was higher up the street, to post a letter he
+had hastily written. It was addressed to a lawyer at Worcester. A week
+or two before, Tom, being at Worcester, was asked by this gentleman if
+he would take the place of head clerk and manager in his office. The
+question was put jokingly, for the lawyer supposed Tom to be a fixture
+at Islip: but Tom saw that he would have been glad for him to take
+the berth. He hoped it might still be vacant. What with one thing and
+another, beginning with the injustice done him at the old place and
+his anxiety to get into another without delay, Tom felt more bothered
+than he had ever felt in his life. The tempting notion of setting-up
+somewhere for himself came into his mind. But it went out of it again:
+he could not afford to risk any waste of time, with his mother's home
+to keep up, and especially with this threat of Valentine's to stop her
+hundred and fifty pounds a-year income.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Chandler?"
+
+At the sound of the pretty voice, Tom turned short round from the
+post-office window, which was a stationer's, to see a charming girl all
+ribbons and muslins, with sky-blue eyes and bright hair. Tom took the
+hand only half held out to him.
+
+"I beg your pardon, Emma: I was reading this concert bill. The idea of
+Islip's getting up a concert!"
+
+She was the only child of John Paul the lawyer, and had as fair a face
+as you'd wish to see, and a habit of blushing at nothing. To watch her
+as she stood there, the roses coming and going, the dimples deepening,
+and the small white teeth peeping, did Tom good. He was reddening
+himself, for that matter.
+
+"Yes, it is to be given in the large club-room at the Bell to-night,"
+she answered. "Shall you come over for it?"
+
+"Are you going to it, Emma?"
+
+"Oh yes. Papa has taken twelve tickets. A great many people are coming
+in to go with us."
+
+"I shall go also," said Tom decidedly. And at that the roses came again.
+
+"What a large parcel you are carrying!"
+
+Tom held the brown-paper parcel further out at the remark.
+
+"They are my goods and chattels," said he. "Things that I had at the
+office. I have left it, Emma."
+
+"Left the office!" she repeated, looking as though she did not
+understand. "You don't mean _really_ left it?--left it for good?"
+
+"I have left it for good, Emma. Valentine----"
+
+"Here's papa," interrupted Emma, as a stout, elderly gentleman with
+iron-grey hair turned out of the stationer's; neither of them having the
+least idea he was there.
+
+"Is it you, Tom Chandler?" cried Mr. Paul.
+
+"Yes, it is, sir."
+
+"And fine to be you, I should say! Spending your time in gossip at the
+busiest part of the day."
+
+"Unfortunately I have to-day no business to do," returned Tom, smiling
+in the old lawyer's face. "And I was just telling Miss Paul why. I have
+left the office, sir, and am looking out for another situation."
+
+Mr. Paul stared at him. "Why, it is your own office. What's that for?"
+
+"It ought to be my own office in part, as it was my father's before me.
+But Valentine cannot see that, sir. He tells me he will not take me into
+partnership; that I ought not to expect it. I refuse to remain on any
+other terms; and so I have left him for good. These are my rattletraps.
+Odds and ends of things that I am bringing away."
+
+Mr. Paul continued to look at Tom in silence for a minute or two. Tom
+thought he was considering what he should next say. It was not that,
+however. "How well he would suit me! How I should like to take him! What
+a load of work he'd lift off my shoulders!" Those were the thoughts that
+were running rapidly through Mr. Paul's mind.
+
+But he did not speak them. In fact, he had no intention of speaking
+them, or of taking on Tom, much as he would have liked to do it.
+
+"When Jacob Chandler lay dying only yesterday, as it were, he told me
+you would join his son; that the two of you would carry on the practice
+together."
+
+"Yes, he said the same thing to me," replied Tom. "But Valentine refuses
+to carry it out. So I told him I would not be a servant where I ought to
+be a master, and came away."
+
+"And what are you going to do, young man?"
+
+Tom smiled. He was just as much a lawyer as Mr. Paul was. "I should like
+to set up in practice for myself," he answered; "but I do not yet see
+my way sufficiently clear to do so. There may be a chance for me at
+Worcester, as managing clerk. I have written to ask if the place is
+filled up. May I join your party to the concert to-night, sir?" he
+asked.
+
+"I don't mind--if you are going to it," said the old lawyer: "but I
+can't see what young men want at concerts?"
+
+Tom caught Miss Emma's eye and her blushes, and gave her a glance that
+told her he should be sure to come.
+
+But, before the lapse of twenty-four hours, in spite of his
+non-intention, Mr. Paul had taken on Tom Chandler and, looking back in
+later years, it might be seen that it had been on the cards of destiny
+that Tom should be taken.
+
+    "There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
+    Rough-hew them how we will."
+
+Lawyer Paul was still in his dining-room that evening in his handsome
+house just out of Islip, and before any of his expected guests had come,
+when Tom arrived to say he could not make one, and was shown into the
+drawing-room. Feasting his eyes with Miss Emma's charming dress, and
+shaking her hand longer than was at all polite, Tom told her why he
+could not go.
+
+"My mother took me to task severely, Emma. She asked me what I could be
+thinking of to wish to go to a public concert when my uncle was only
+buried the day before yesterday. The truth is, I never thought of that."
+
+"I am so sorry," whispered Emma. "But I am worse than you are. It was
+I who first asked whether you meant to go. And it is to be the nicest
+concert imaginable!"
+
+"I don't care for the concert," avowed Tom. "I--I should like to have
+gone to it, though."
+
+"At least you--you will stay and take some tea," suggested Emma.
+
+"If I may."
+
+"Would you please loose my hand?" went on Emma. "The lace has caught in
+your sleeve-button."
+
+"I'll undo it," said Tom. "What pretty lace it is! Is it Valenciennes?
+My mother thinks there's no lace like Valenciennes."
+
+"It is only pillow," replied Emma, bending her face over the lace and
+the buttons. "After you left this morning, papa said he wished he
+had remembered to ask you where he could get a prospectus of those
+water-works. He----"
+
+"Mrs. and Miss Maceveril," interrupted a servant, opening the door to
+show in some ladies.
+
+So the interview was over; and Tom took the opportunity to go to the
+lawyer's dining-room, and tell him about the water-works.
+
+"You have come over from Crabb to go to this fine concert!" cried Mr.
+Paul, sipping his port wine; which he always took out of a claret-glass.
+Though never more than one glass, he would be half-an-hour over it.
+
+"I have come to say I can't go to it," replied Tom. "My mother thinks it
+would not be seemly so soon after Uncle Jacob's death."
+
+"Quite right of her, too. Why don't you sit down? No wine? Well, sit
+down all the same. I want to talk to you. Will you come into my office?"
+
+The proposal was so sudden, so unexpected, that Tom scarcely knew what
+to make of it. He did not know that Mr. Paul's office wanted him.
+
+"I have been thinking upon matters since I saw you this morning, Tom
+Chandler. I am growing elderly; some people would say old; and the
+thought has often crossed me that it might be as well if I had some one
+about me different from an ordinary clerk. Were I laid aside by illness
+to-morrow the conduct of the business would still lie upon me; and lie
+it must, unless I get a confidential manager, who is a qualified lawyer:
+one who can act in my place without reference to me. I offer you the
+post; and I will give you, to begin with, two hundred a-year."
+
+"I should like it of all things," cried Tom in delight, eyes and face
+sparkling. "I am used to Islip and don't care to leave it. Yes, sir, I
+will come with the greatest pleasure."
+
+"Then that's settled," said old Paul.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Just about two years had gone on, and it was hot summer again. In the
+same room at North Villa where poor Thomas Chandler had died, sat
+Valentine Chandler and his mother. It was evening, and the window was
+open to the garden. In another room, its window also open, sat the three
+girls, Georgiana, Clementina, and Julietta; all of them singing and
+playing and squalling.
+
+"Not talk about business on a Sunday night! You must have grown
+wonderfully serious all on a sudden!" exclaimed Mrs. Chandler, tartly.
+"I never get to see you except on a Sunday: you know that, Valentine."
+
+"It is not often I can get time to come over on a week-day," responded
+Valentine, helping himself to some spirits and water, which had been
+placed on the table after supper. "Business won't let me."
+
+"If all I hear be true, it is not business that hinders you," said Mrs.
+Chandler. "Be quiet, Valentine: I _must_ speak. I have put it off and
+off, disliking to do it; but I must speak at last. Your business, as I
+am told, is falling off alarmingly; that a great deal of it has gone
+over to John Paul."
+
+"Who told you?"
+
+"That is beyond the question, Valentine, and I am not going to make
+mischief. Is it true, or is it not true?"
+
+"A little of the practice went over to Paul when Tom left me. It was not
+much. Some of the clients, you see, had been accustomed to Tom at our
+place, and they followed him. That was a crafty move of John
+Paul's--getting hold of Tom."
+
+"I am not alluding to the odds and ends of practice that left you then,
+Valentine. I speak chiefly of this last year. Hardly a week has passed
+in it but some client or other has left you for Paul."
+
+"If they have, I can't help it," was the careless reply. "How those
+girls squall!"
+
+"I suppose there is no underhand influence at work, Valentine?" she said
+dubiously. "Tom Chandler does not hold out baits for your clients, and
+so fish them away from you?"
+
+"Well, no, I suppose not," repeated the young lawyer, draining his
+glass. "I accused Tom of it one day, and for once in his life he flew
+into a passion, asking me what I had ever seen in him to suspect he
+could be guilty of such a thing."
+
+"No. I fear it is as I have been given to understand, Valentine: that
+the cause lies with you. You spend your time in pleasure instead of
+being at business. When clients go to the office, three times out of
+every five they do not find you. You are not there. You are over at the
+Bell, playing at billiards, or drinking in the bar."
+
+"What an unfounded calumny!" exclaimed Valentine.
+
+"I have been told," continued Mrs. Chandler, sinking her voice, "that
+you are getting to drink frightfully. It is nothing for clients now to
+find you in a state incapable of attending to them."
+
+"Now, mother, I insist upon knowing who told you these lies," spluttered
+Valentine, getting up and striding to the window. "Let anybody come
+forward and prove that he has found me incapable--if he can."
+
+"I heard that Sir John Whitney went in the other day and could make
+neither top nor tail of what you said," continued his mother,
+disregarding his denial. "You are agent for the little bit of property
+he owns here: he chanced to come over from Whitney Hall, and found you
+like that."
+
+"I'll write to Sir John Whitney and ask what he means by saying it."
+
+"He did not say it--that I know of. Others were witnesses of your state
+as well as he."
+
+"If my clerks tell tales out of my office, I'll discharge them from it,"
+burst forth Valentine, too angry to notice the tacit admission his words
+gave. "Not the clerks, you say? Then why don't you----"
+
+"Do be still, Valentine. Putting yourself out like this will do no good.
+I hope it is not true: if you assure me it is not, I am ready to believe
+you. All I spoke for was, to caution you, and to tell you what is being
+said, that you may be on your guard. Leave off going to the Bell; stick
+to business instead: people will soon cease talking then."
+
+"I dare say they will!" growled Valentine.
+
+"If you are always at your post, ready to confer with clients, they
+would have no plea for leaving you and going to Paul. For all our sakes,
+Valentine, you must do this."
+
+"And so I do. If----"
+
+"Hush! The girls are coming in. I hear them shutting the piano."
+
+Valentine dashed out a second supply, and drank it, not caring whether
+it contained most brandy or water. We are never so angry as when
+conscience accuses us: and it was accusing him.
+
+In came the young ladies, laughing, romping, and pushing one another;
+Georgiana, Clementina, and Julietta, arrayed in all the colours of
+the rainbow. The chief difference Sunday made to them was, that their
+smartest clothes came out.
+
+Mrs. Chandler's accusations were right, and Valentine's denials wrong.
+During the past two years he had been drifting downwards. The Bell was
+getting to possess so great a fascination for him that he could not
+keep away from it more than a couple of hours together. It was nothing
+for him to be seen playing billiards in the morning, or lounging in
+the parlour or the bar-room, drinking. One of his clerks would come
+interrupting him with news that some client was waiting at the office,
+and Valentine would put down his cue or his glass, and go flying over.
+But clients, as a rule, don't like this kind of reception: they expect
+to find their legal advisers cool and ready on the spot.
+
+The worst of all was the drink. Valentine had made a friend of it so
+long now, that he did not attempt to do without it. Thought he could
+not. Where he at first drank one glass he went on to drink two glasses,
+and the two gave place to three, or to more. Of course it told upon
+him. It told now and then upon his manner in the daytime: which was
+unfortunate. He could leave his billiards behind him and his glass, but
+he could not leave the effects of what the glass had contained; and it
+was no uncommon thing now for his clients, when he did go rushing in
+to them, to find his speech uncertain and his brains in a muddle. As a
+natural result, the practice was passing over to John Paul as fast as it
+could: and Tom, who was chief manager at Paul's now, had been obliged to
+take on an extra clerk. Every day of his life old Paul told himself how
+lucky his move of engaging Tom had turned out. And this, not for the
+extra business he had gained: a great deal of that might have come
+to him whether Tom was with him or not: but because Tom had eased his
+shoulders of their hard work and care, and because he, the old man, had
+grown to like him so much.
+
+But never a word had Mr. Paul said about raising Tom's salary. Tom
+supposed he did not intend to raise it. And, much as he liked his post,
+and, for many reasons, his stay at Islip, he entertained notions of
+quitting both. Valentine had stopped the income his father had paid to
+Mrs. Chandler; and Tom's two hundred a-year, combined with the trifle
+remaining to her out of her private income, only just sufficed to keep
+the home going.
+
+It chanced that on the very same Sunday evening, when they were talking
+at North Villa of Valentine's doings, Tom broached the subject to his
+mother. They were sitting out of doors in the warm summer twilight,
+sniffing the haycocks in the neighbouring field. Tom spoke abruptly.
+
+"Should you mind my going to London, mother?"
+
+"To London!" cried Mrs. Chandler. "What for?"
+
+"To live."
+
+"You--you are not leaving Mr. Paul, are you?"
+
+"I am thinking of it. You see, mother mine, there is no prospect of
+advancement where I am. It seems to me that I may jog on for ever at two
+hundred a-year----"
+
+"It is enough for us, Tom."
+
+"As things are, yes: but nothing more. If--for instance--if I wanted to
+set up a home of my own, I have no means of doing it. Never shall have,
+at the present rate."
+
+Mrs. Chandler turned and looked at Tom's face. "Are you thinking of
+marrying, Tom?"
+
+"No. It is of no use to think of it. If I thought of it ever so, I
+could not do it. Putting that idea aside, it occurs to me sometimes to
+remember that I am eight-and-twenty, and ought to be doing better for
+myself."
+
+"Do you fancy you could do better in London?"
+
+"I am sure I could. Very much better."
+
+Opening the Bible on her lap, Mrs. Chandler took out the spectacles that
+lay between the leaves, and put them into their case with trembling
+fingers.
+
+"Do whatever you think best, Tom," she said at length, having waited to
+steady her voice. "Children leave their parents' home for one of their
+own; this Book tells us that they should do so. Had Jacob Chandler done
+the right thing by you, you would never have needed to leave Islip: had
+his son done the right thing by me, I should not be the burden to you
+that I am. But now that George has taken to sending me money over from
+Canada----"
+
+"Burden!" interrupted Tom, laughingly. "Don't you talk treason, Mrs.
+Chandler. If I do go to London, you will have to come with me, and see
+the lions."
+
+That night, lying awake, Tom made his mind up. He had been offered a
+good appointment in London to manage a branch office for a large legal
+firm--four hundred a-year salary. And he would never for a moment have
+hesitated to take it, but for not liking to leave old Paul and
+(especially) old Paul's daughter.
+
+Walking to Islip the next morning, he thought a bit about the best way
+of breaking it to Mr. Paul--who would be sure to come down upon him with
+a storm. By midday he had found no opportunity of speaking: people were
+perpetually coming in: and in the afternoon Tom had to go a mile or two
+into the country. In returning he overtook Emma. She was walking along
+the field-path under the hedge, her hat hanging on her arm by its
+strings.
+
+"It is so warm," said she, in apology, as Tom shook hands. "And the
+trees make it shady here. I went over to ask Mary Maceveril to come back
+with me and dine: but they have gone to Worcester for the day."
+
+"So much the better for me," said Tom. "I want to tell you, Emma, that
+I am going to leave."
+
+"To leave!"
+
+"I have had a very good place offered me in London. Mr. Paul knows
+nothing about it yet, for I did not make up my mind till last night, and
+I could not get a minute alone with him this morning."
+
+She had turned her face suddenly to the hedge, seemingly to pick a wild
+rose. Tom saw that the pink roses on her cheek had turned to white ones.
+
+"I shall be very sorry to leave Islip, Emma. But what else can I do?
+Situated as I am now, I cannot even glance at any plans for the future.
+By making this change, I may be able to do so. My salary will be a good
+one and enable me to put by: and the firm I am going to dropped me a
+hint of a possible partnership."
+
+"I wish these dog-roses had no thorns! And I wish they would grow
+double, as the garden roses do!"
+
+"So that I--having considered the matter thoroughly--believe I shall
+do well to make the change. Perhaps then I may begin to indulge dreams
+of a future."
+
+"There! all the petals are off!"
+
+"Let me gather them for you. What is the matter, Emma?"
+
+"Matter? Nothing, sir. What should there be?"
+
+"Here is a beauty. Will you take it?"
+
+"Thank you. I never thought you would leave papa, Mr. Chandler."
+
+"But--don't you perceive my reasons, Emma? What prospect is there for me
+as long as I remain here? What hope can I indulge, or even glance at,
+of--of settling in life?"
+
+"I dare say you don't want to settle."
+
+"I do not put the question to myself, because it is so useless."
+
+"I shall be late for dinner. Good-bye."
+
+She took a sudden flight to the little white side-gate of her house,
+which opened to the field, ran across the garden, and disappeared within
+doors. Tom, catching a glimpse of her face, saw that it was wet with
+tears.
+
+"Yes, it's very hard upon her and upon me," he said to himself. "And all
+the more so that I cannot in honour speak, even just to let her know
+that I care for her."
+
+Continuing his way towards the office, he met Mr. Paul, who was just
+leaving it. Tom turned with him, having to report to him of the business
+he had been to execute.
+
+"I expected you home before this, Chandler."
+
+"Willis was out when I arrived there, and I had to wait for him. His
+wife gave me some syllabub."
+
+"Now for goodness' sake don't mix up syllabubs with law!" cried the old
+gentleman, testily. "That's just you, Tom Chandler. Will Willis do as I
+advise him, or will he not?"
+
+"Yes, he is willing; but upon conditions. I will explain to-morrow
+morning," added Tom, as Mr. Paul laid his hand upon the handle of his
+front-gate, to enter.
+
+"You can come in and explain now: and take some dinner with me."
+
+Emma did not know he was there until she came into the dining-room. It
+gave her a sort of pleasant shock. They were deep in conversation about
+Willis, and she sat down quietly.
+
+"I am glad he has asked me," thought Tom. "It will give me an
+opportunity of telling him about myself after dinner."
+
+Accordingly, when the port wine was on the table and Emma had gone, for
+she never stayed after the cloth was removed, Tom spoke. Old Paul was
+pouring out his one large glass. The communication was over in a few
+words, for Tom did not feel it a comfortable one to make.
+
+"Oh!" said old Paul, after listening. "Want to better yourself, do you?
+Going to London to get four hundred a-year, with a faint prospect of
+partnership? Have had it in your mind some time to make a change? No
+prospects here at Islip? Can only just keep your mother? Perhaps you
+want to keep a wife as well, Tom Chandler?"
+
+Tom flushed like a school-girl. As the old gentleman saw, peering at him
+from under his bushy grey eyebrows.
+
+"I should very much like to be able to do it, sir," boldly replied Tom,
+playing with his wine-glass. "But I can't. I can't as much as think of
+it under present circumstances."
+
+"Who is the young lady? Your cousin Julietta?"
+
+Tom burst into laughter. "No, that it is not, sir."
+
+"Perhaps it is Miss Maceveril? Well, the Maceverils are exclusive
+people. But faint heart, you know, never won fair lady."
+
+Tom shook his head. "I should not be afraid of winning _her_." But it
+was not Miss Maceveril he was thinking of.
+
+"What should you be afraid of?"
+
+"Her friends. They would not listen to me."
+
+"Thinking you are not rich, I suppose?"
+
+"Knowing I am not, sir."
+
+"The young lady may have money."
+
+"There's the evil of it," said Tom, impulsively. "If she had none, it
+would be all straight and smooth for us. I would very soon make a little
+home for her in London."
+
+"It is the first time I ever heard of money being an impediment to
+matrimony," observed old Paul, taking the first sip at his wine.
+
+"Not when the money is on the wrong side, sir."
+
+"Has she much?"
+
+"I don't know in the least. She will be sure to have some: she is an
+only child."
+
+"Then it _is_ Mary Maceveril!" nodded the old man. "You look after her,
+Tom, my boy. She will have ten thousand pounds."
+
+"Miss Maceveril would not look at me, if I wanted her ever so. She is as
+proud as a peacock."
+
+"Tut, tut! Try. Try, boy. Why, what could she want? As my partner, you
+might be a match for even Miss Maceveril."
+
+"Your what, sir?" cried Tom, in surprise, lifting his eyes from the
+blue-and-red checked table-cover.
+
+"I said my partner, Tom. Yes, that is what I intend to make you: have
+intended it for some time. We will have no fly-away London jaunts and
+junkets. Once my partner, of course the world will understand that you
+will be also my successor: and I think I shall soon retire."
+
+Tom had risen from his seat: for once in his life he was agitated. Mr.
+Paul rose and put his hand on Tom's shoulder.
+
+"With this position, and a suitable income to back it, Tom, you are a
+match for Mary Maceveril, or for any other good girl. Go and try her,
+boy; try your luck."
+
+"But--it is of no use," spoke Tom. "You don't understand, sir."
+
+"No use! Go and try,"--pushing him towards the door. "My wife was one
+of the proud Wintertons, you know: how should I have gained her but for
+trying? _I_ did not depreciate myself, and say I'm not good enough for
+her: I went and asked her to have me."
+
+"But suppose it is not Mary Maceveril, sir?--as indeed it is not.
+Suppose it is somebody nearer--nearer home?"
+
+"No matter. Go and try, I say."
+
+"I--do--think--you--understand--me, sir," cried Tom, slowly and
+dubiously. "I--hope there is no mistake!"
+
+"Rubbish about mistake!" cried old Paul, pushing him towards the door.
+"Go and do as I bid you. Try."
+
+He went to look for Emma, and saw her sitting under the acacia tree on
+the bench, which faced the other way. Stepping noiselessly over the
+grass, he put his arms on her shoulders, and she turned round with a
+cry. But Tom would not let her go.
+
+"I am told to come out and _try_, Emma. I want a wife, and your father
+thinks I may gain one. He is going to make me his partner; and he says
+he thinks I am a match for any good girl. And I am not going to London."
+
+She turned pale and red, red and pale, and then burst into a fit of
+tears and trembling.
+
+"Oh, Tom, can it be true! Oh, Tom, Tom!"
+
+And Tom kissed her for the first time in his life. But not for the last.
+
+The news came out to us in a lump. Tom Chandler was taken into
+partnership and was to marry Emma. We wished them good luck. She was not
+to leave her home, for her father would not spare her: she and Tom were
+to live with him.
+
+"I had to do it, you know, Squire," said old Paul, meeting the Squire
+one day. "Only children are apt to be wilful. Not that I ever found
+Emma so. Had I not allowed it, I expect she'd have dutifully saddled
+herself, an old maid, upon me for life."
+
+"She could not have chosen better," cried the Squire, warmly. "If
+there's one young fellow I respect above another, it's Tom Chandler.
+He is good to the back-bone."
+
+"He wouldn't have got her if he were not; you may rely upon that,"
+concluded old Paul, emphatically.
+
+So the wedding took place at Islip in the autumn, and old Paul gave Tom
+a month's holiday, and told him he had better take Emma to Paris; as
+they both seemed, by what he could gather, red-hot to see it.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Drizzle, drizzle, drizzle, came down the rain, dropping with monotonous
+patter on the decaying leaves that strewed the garden. Not the trim
+well-kept garden it used to be, but showing signs of neglect. What with
+the long grass, and the leaves, and the sloppy roads, and the November
+skies, nothing could well look more dreary than the world looked to-day,
+as seen from the windows of North Villa.
+
+Time had gone on, another year, bringing its events and its changes; as
+time always does bring. The chief change, as connected with this little
+record, lay in Valentine Chandler. He had gone to the dogs. That was
+Islip's expression for it, not mine. A baby had come to Tom and Emma.
+
+Little by little, step by step, Valentine had gone down lower and lower.
+Some people, who are given to bad habits, make spasmodic efforts to
+reform; but, so far as Islip could see, Valentine never made any. He
+passed more time at the Bell, or at less respectable public-houses,
+and drank deeper: and at last neglected his business almost entirely.
+Enervated and good for nothing, he would lie in bed till twelve o'clock
+in the day. To keep on the office seemed only a farce. Its profits were
+not enough to pay for its one solitary clerk. Valentine was then pulled
+up by an illness, which confined him to his bed, and left him in a shaky
+state. The practice had quite gone then, and the clerk had gone; and
+Valentine knew that, even though he had had sufficient energy left to
+try to bring them back, no clients would have returned to him.
+
+He was going to emigrate to Canada. His friends hoped he would be
+steady there, and redeem the past: he gave fair promises of it. George
+Chandler (Tom's brother, who was doing very well there now, with a large
+farm about him, and a wife and children) had undertaken to receive
+Valentine and help him to employment. So he would have to begin life
+over again.
+
+It was all so much gall and bitterness to his mother and sisters, and
+had been for a long while. The tears were dropping through the fingers
+of Mrs. Chandler now, as she leaned on her hand and watched the dreary
+rain on the window-panes. With all his faults, she had so loved
+Valentine. She loved him still, above all the trouble he had brought;
+and it seemed, this afternoon, just as though her heart would break.
+
+When the business fell off, of course her income fell off also.
+Valentine was to have paid her a third of the profits, but if he did not
+make any profits, he could not pay her any. She had the private income,
+two hundred a-year, which Jacob had secured to her: but what was that
+for a family accustomed to live in the fashion? There is an old saying
+that necessity has no law: and Mrs. Jacob Chandler and her daughters had
+proved its truth. One of the girls had gone out as a governess; one was
+on a prolonged visit to her aunt Cramp; and Julietta and her mother were
+to move into a smaller house at Christmas. The practice and the other
+business, once Valentine's, and his father's before him, had all gone
+over to the other firm, Paul and Chandler.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what Georgiana means by writing home for money
+amidst all our troubles!" cried Mrs. Chandler, fretfully. "She has
+fifteen pounds a-year salary, and she must make that do."
+
+"She says her last quarter's money is all spent, and she can't possibly
+manage without a new mantle for Sunday," returned Julietta.
+
+"_I_ can't supply it; you know I can't. I am not able to pay my own way
+now. Let her write to Mrs. Cramp."
+
+"It would be of no use, mamma. Aunt Mary Ann will never help us to
+clothes. She says we have had too many of them."
+
+"Well, I don't want to be worried with these matters: it's enough for me
+to think of poor Valentine's things. Only two days now before he starts.
+And what wretched weather it is!"
+
+"Valentine says he shall not take much luggage with him. He saw me
+counting his shirts, and he said they were too many by half."
+
+"And who will supply him with shirts out there, do you suppose?"
+demanded Mrs. Chandler. "You talk nothing but nonsense, Julietta. Where
+_is_ Valentine? He ought to be here, with all this packing to do. He
+must have been gone out these two hours."
+
+"He said he had business at Islip."
+
+Mrs. Chandler looked gloomy at the answer. She hated the very name of
+Islip: partly because they held no longer any part in the place, partly
+because the Bell was in it.
+
+But Valentine had not gone to the Bell this time. His visit was to his
+cousin Tom; and his errand was to beg of Tom to give or lend him a
+fifty-pound note before sailing.
+
+"I shall have next to nothing in my pocket, Tom, when I land," he urged,
+as the two sat together in Tom's private room. "If I get on over there,
+I will pay you back. If I don't--well, perhaps you won't grudge having
+helped me for the last time."
+
+For a moment Tom did not answer. He sat before his desk-table, Valentine
+near him: just as Valentine had one day sat at his desk in his private
+room, and Tom had been the petitioner, not so many years gone by.
+Valentine looked upon the silence as an ill-omen.
+
+"You have all the business that once was mine in your fingers now, Tom.
+It has left me for you."
+
+"But not by any wish or seeking of mine, Valentine; you know that,"
+spoke Tom readily, turning his honest eyes and kindly face on the fallen
+man. "I wish you were in your office still. There's plenty of work for
+both of us."
+
+"Well, I am not in it; and you have got it all. You might lend me such
+a poor little sum as fifty pounds."
+
+"Of course I mean to lend it: but I was thinking. Look here, Valentine.
+I will not give it you now; you cannot want it before sailing: and you
+might lose it on board," he added laughing. "You shall carry with you an
+order upon my brother George for one hundred pounds."
+
+"Will George pay it?"
+
+"I will take care of that. He shall receive a letter from me by the same
+mail that takes you out. Stay, Valentine. I will give you the order
+now."
+
+He wrote what was necessary, sealed it up, and handed it over. Valentine
+thanked him.
+
+"How is Emma?" he asked as he rose. "And the boy?"
+
+"Quite well, thank you: both. Will you not go in and see them?"
+
+"I think not. You can say good-bye for me. I don't much care to trouble
+people."
+
+"God bless you, Valentine," said Tom, clasping his hand. "You will begin
+life anew over there, and may have a happy one yet. One of these days
+you will be coming back to us, a prosperous man."
+
+Valentine went trudging home through the rain, miserable and dispirited,
+and found a visitor had arrived--Mrs. Cramp. His mother and sister
+were upstairs then, busy over his trunks; so Mrs. Cramp had him all to
+herself. She had liked Valentine very much. When he went wrong, it put
+her out frightfully, and since then she had not spared him: which of
+course put out Valentine.
+
+"Yes, it will be a change," he acknowledged, in reply to a remark of
+hers. "A flourishing solicitor here, and a servant there. For that's
+what I shall be over yonder, I conclude; I can't expect to be my own
+master. You don't know how good the business was, Aunt Mary Ann, at the
+time my father died. If I could only have kept it!"
+
+"You could not expect to keep it," said Mrs. Cramp, who sat facing him,
+her bonnet tilted back from her red and comely face, her purple stuff
+gown pulled up above her boots.
+
+"I should have kept it, but for now and then taking a little drop too
+much," confessed poor Valentine: who was deeper in the dumps that day
+than he had ever been before.
+
+"I don't know that," said Mrs. Cramp. "The business was a usurped one."
+
+"A what?" said Valentine.
+
+"There is an overruling Power above us, you know," she went on. "I am
+quite sure, Valentine--I have learnt it by experience--that injustice
+never answers in the long run. It may seem to succeed for a time; but
+it does not last: it cannot and it does not. If a man rears himself on
+another's downfall, causing himself that downfall that he may rise, his
+prosperity rests on no sure foundation. In some way or other the past
+comes home to him; and he suffers for it, if not in his own person,
+in that of his children. Ill-gotten riches bring a curse, never a
+blessing."
+
+"What a growler you are, Aunt Mary Ann!"
+
+"I don't mean it for growling, Valentine. It is true."
+
+"It's not true."
+
+"Not true! The longer I live the more examples I see of it. A man treads
+another down that he may rise himself: and there he stands high and
+flourishing. But wait a few years, and look then. He is gone. Gone, and
+no trace of his prosperity left. And when I mark that, I recall that
+verse in the Psalms of David: 'I went by, and lo, he was gone: I sought
+him, but his place was nowhere to be found.' That verse is a true type
+of real life, Valentine."
+
+"I don't believe it," cried Valentine. "And where's the good of having
+the Psalms at your finger-ends?"
+
+"You do believe it. Why, Valentine, take your own case. Was there ever
+a closer exemplification? Tom was injured; put down; I may say, crushed
+by you and your father. Yes, crushed: crushed out of his rights. _His_
+father made the business; and the half of it, at any rate, ought to have
+been Tom's. Instead of that, your father deposed him and usurped it. He
+repented when he was dying, and charged you to remedy the wrong. But you
+did not; _you_ usurped it. And what has it ended in?"
+
+"Ended in?" cried Valentine vacantly.
+
+"You are--as you are; ruined in character, in purse, in reputation; and
+Tom is respected and flourishing. The business has left you and gone
+to him; not through any seeking of his, but through your own doings
+entirely; the very self-same business that his father made has in the
+natural course of time and events gone back to him--and he is not thirty
+yet. It is retribution, nephew. Justice has been righting herself; and
+man could neither stay nor hinder it."
+
+"What nonsense!" debated Valentine testily. "Suppose I had been steady:
+would the business have left me for Tom then?"
+
+"Yes. In some inscrutable way, that we see not, it would. I am sure of
+it. You would no more have been allowed to triumph to the end on your
+ill-gotten gains, than I could stand if I went out and perched myself on
+yonder weathercock," affirmed Mrs. Cramp, growing warm. "Your father
+kept his place, it is true; but what a miserable man he always was, and
+without any ostensible cause."
+
+"I wonder you don't set up for a parson, Aunt Mary Ann! This is as good
+as a sermon."
+
+"Then carry the sermon in your memory through life, Valentine. Our
+doings, whether they be good or ill, bring back their fruits. In some
+wonderful manner that we cannot understand, events are always shaping
+onwards their own true ends, their appointed destiny, and working out
+the will of Heaven."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+That's all. And the Squire seemed to take a leaf out of Mrs. Cramp's
+book. For ever so long afterwards, he would tell us to read a lesson
+from the history of the Chandlers, and to remember that none can deal
+unjustly in the sight of God without having to account for it sooner or
+later.
+
+
+
+
+VERENA FONTAINE'S REBELLION.
+
+
+I.
+
+You have been at Timberdale Rectory two or three times before; an
+old-fashioned, red-brick, irregularly-built house, the ivy clustering
+on its front walls. It had not much beauty to boast of, but was as
+comfortable a dwelling-place as any in Worcestershire. The well-stocked
+kitchen-garden, filled with plain fruit-trees and beds of vegetables,
+stretched out beyond the little lawn behind it; the small garden in
+front, with its sweet and homely flowers, opened to the pasture-field
+that lay between the house and the church.
+
+Timberdale Rectory basked to-day in the morning sun. It shone upon
+Grace, the Rector's wife, as she sat in the bow-window of their usual
+sitting-room, making a child's frock. Having no little ones of her own
+to work for--and sometimes Timberdale thought it was that fact that made
+the Rector show himself so crusty to the world in general--she had time,
+and to spare, to sew for the poor young starvelings in her husband's
+parish.
+
+"Here he comes at last!" exclaimed Grace.
+
+Herbert Tanerton looked round from the fire over which he was shivering,
+though it was a warm and lovely April day. A glass of lemonade, or some
+such cooling drink, stood on the table at his elbow. He was always
+catching a sore throat--or fancied it.
+
+"If I find the delay has arisen through any neglect of Lee's, I shall
+report him for it," spoke the Rector severely. For, though he had
+condoned that one great mishap of Lee's, the burning of the letter, he
+considered it his duty to look sharply after him.
+
+"Oh but, Herbert, it cannot be; he is always punctual," cried Grace.
+"I'll go and ask."
+
+Mrs. Tanerton left the room, and ran down the short path to the little
+white gate; poor old Lee, the letterman, was approaching it from the
+field. Grace glanced at the church clock--three-quarters past ten.
+
+"A break-down on the line, we hear, ma'am," said he, without waiting to
+be questioned, as he put one letter into her hand. "Salmon has been in
+a fine way all the morning, wondering what was up."
+
+"Thank you," said Grace, glancing at the letter; "we wondered too. What
+a beautiful day it is! Your wife will lose her rheumatism now. Tell her
+I say so."
+
+Back ran Grace. Herbert Tanerton was standing up, impatient for the
+letter he had been specially expecting, his hand stretched out for it.
+
+"Your letter has not come, Herbert. Only one for me. It is from Alice."
+
+"Oh!" returned Herbert, crustily, as he sat down again to his fire and
+his lemonade.
+
+Grace ran her eyes quickly over the letter--rather a long one, but very
+legibly written. Her husband's brother, Jack Tanerton--if you have not
+forgotten him--had just brought home in safety from another voyage the
+good ship _Rose of Delhi_, of which he was commander. Alice, his wife,
+who generally voyaged with him, had gone immediately on landing to her
+mother at New Brighton, near Liverpool; Jack remaining with his ship.
+This time the ship had been chartered for London, and Jack was there
+with it.
+
+Grace folded the letter slowly, an expression of pain seated in her
+eyes. "Would you like to read it, Herbert?" she asked.
+
+"Not now," groaned Herbert, shifting the band of flannel on his throat.
+"What does she say?"
+
+"She says"--Grace hesitated a moment before proceeding--"she says she
+wishes Jack could leave the sea."
+
+"I dare say!" exclaimed Herbert. "Now, Grace, I'll not have that absurd
+notion encouraged. It was Alice's cry last time they were at home; and
+I told you then I would not."
+
+"I have not encouraged it, Herbert. Of course what Alice says has reason
+in it: one cannot help seeing that."
+
+"Jack chose the sea as his profession, and Jack must abide by it. A
+turncoat is never worth a rush. Jack _likes_ the sea; and Jack has been
+successful at it."
+
+"Oh yes: he's a first-rate sailor," conceded Grace. "It is Alice's
+wish, no doubt, rather than his. She says here"--opening the
+letter--"Oh, if Jack could but leave the sea! All my little ones coming
+on!--I shall not be able to go with him this next voyage. And I come
+home to find my little Mary and my mother both ill! If we could but
+leave the sea!"
+
+"I may just as well say 'If I could but leave the Church!'--I'm sure I'm
+never well in it," retorted Herbert. "Jack had better not talk to me of
+this: I should put him down at once."
+
+Grace sighed as she took up the little frock again. _She_ remembered,
+though it might suit her husband to forget it, that Jack had not, in one
+sense of the word, chosen the sea; he had been deluded into it by Aunt
+Dean, his wife's mother. She had plotted and planned, that woman, for
+her daughter's advancement, and found out too late that she had plotted
+wrongly; for Alice chose Jack, and Jack, through her machinations, had
+been deprived of the greater portion of his birthright. He made a smart
+sailor; he was steady, and stuck to his duty manfully; never a better
+merchant commander sailed out of port than John Tanerton. But, as his
+wife said, her little ones were beginning to grow about her; she had two
+already; and she could not be with them at New Brighton, and be skimming
+over the seas to Calcutta, or where not, in the _Rose of Delhi_.
+Interests clashed; and with her whole heart Alice wished Jack could quit
+the sea. Grace sighed as she thought of this; she saw how natural was
+the wish, though Herbert did not see it: neither could she forget that
+the chief portion of the fortune which ought to have been Jack's was
+enjoyed by herself and her husband. She had always thought it unjust; it
+did not seem to bring them luck; it lay upon her heart like a weight of
+care. Their income from the living and the fortune, comprised together,
+was over a thousand pounds a-year. They lived very quietly, not
+spending, she was sure, anything like half of it; Herbert put by the
+rest. What good did all the money bring them? But little. Herbert was
+always ailing, fretful, and grumbling: the propensity to set the world
+to rights grew upon him: he had ever taken pleasure in _that_, from the
+time when a little lad he would muffle himself in his step-father's
+surplice, and preach to Jack and Alice. Poor Jack had to work hard for
+what he earned at sea; he had only a hundred and fifty pounds a-year,
+besides, of the money that had been his mother's; Herbert had the other
+six hundred and fifty of it. But Jack, sunny-natured, ever-ready Jack,
+was just as happy as the day was long.
+
+Lost in these thoughts, her eyes bent on her work, Alice did not see a
+gentleman who was coming across the field towards the house. The click
+of the little gate, as it swung to after him, caused her to look up, but
+hardly in time. Herbert turned at the sound.
+
+"Who's come bothering now, I wonder?"
+
+"I think it is Colonel Letsom," answered Grace.
+
+"Then he must come in here," rejoined Herbert. "I am not going into that
+cold drawing-room."
+
+Colonel Letsom it was; a pleasant little man with a bald head, who had
+walked over from his house at Crabb. Grace opened the parlour-door, and
+the colonel came in and shook hands.
+
+"I want you both to come and dine with me to-night in a friendly way,"
+spoke he; "no ceremony. My brother, the major, is with us for a day or
+two, and we'd like to get a few friends together to meet him at dinner."
+
+Herbert Tanerton hesitated. He did not say No, for he liked dinners; he
+liked the importance of sitting at the right or left hand of his hostess
+and saying grace. He did not say Yes, for he thought of his throat.
+
+"I hardly know, colonel. I got up with a sore throat this morning. Very
+relaxed indeed it is. Who is to be there?"
+
+"Yourselves and the Fontaines and the Todhetleys: nobody else," answered
+the colonel. "As to your throat--I dare say it will be better by-and-by.
+A cheerful dinner will do you good. Six o'clock sharp, mind."
+
+Herbert Tanerton accepted the offer, conditionally. If his throat got
+worse, of course he should have to send word, and decline. The colonel
+nodded. He felt sure in his own mind the throat would get better: he
+knew how fanciful the parson was, and how easily he could be roused out
+of his ailments.
+
+"How do you like the Fontaines?" questioned he of the colonel. "Have you
+seen much of them yet?"
+
+"Oh, we like them very well," answered the colonel, who, in his easy
+nature, generally avowed a liking for everybody. "They are connections
+of my wife's."
+
+"Connections of your wife's!" repeated Herbert quickly. "I did not know
+that."
+
+"I'm not sure that I knew it myself, until we came to compare notes,"
+avowed the colonel. "Any way, I did not remember it. Sir Dace Fontaine's
+sister married----. Stop; let me consider--how was it?"
+
+Grace laughed. The colonel laughed also.
+
+"I know it now. My wife's sister married a Captain Pym: it is many
+years ago. Captain Pym was a widower, and his first wife was a sister
+of Dace Fontaine's. Yes, that's it. Poor Pym and his wife died soon;
+both of them in India: and so, you see, we lost sight of the connection
+altogether; it slipped out of memory."
+
+"Were there any children?"
+
+"The first wife had one son, who was, I believe, taken to by his
+father's relatives. That was all. Well, you'll come this evening," added
+the colonel, turning to depart. "I must make haste back home, for they
+don't know yet who's coming and who's not."
+
+A few days previously to this, we had taken up our abode at Crabb Cot,
+and found that some people named Fontaine had come to the neighbourhood,
+and were living at Maythorn Bank. Naturally the Squire wanted to know
+who they were and what they were. And as they were fated to play a
+conspicuous part in the drama I am about to relate, I must give to them
+a word of introduction. Important people need it, you know.
+
+Dace Fontaine belonged to the West Indies and was attached to the civil
+service there. He became judge, or sheriff, or something of the kind;
+had been instrumental in quelling a riot of the blacks, and was knighted
+for it. He married rather late in life, in his forty-first year, a young
+American lady. This young lady's mother--it is curious how things come
+about!--was first cousin to John Paul, the Islip lawyer. Lady Fontaine
+soon persuaded her husband to quit the West Indies for America. Being
+well off, for he had amassed money, he could do as he pleased; and to
+America they went with their two daughters. From that time they lived
+sometimes in America, sometimes in the West Indies: Sir Dace would not
+quite abandon his old home there. Changes came as the years went on:
+Lady Fontaine died; Sir Dace lost a good portion of his fortune through
+some adverse speculation. A disappointed man, he resolved to come to
+England and settle down on some property that had fallen to him in right
+of his wife; a small estate called Oxlip Grange, which lay between Islip
+and Crabb. Any way, old Paul got a letter, saying they were on the
+road. However, when they arrived, they found that the tenants at Oxlip
+Grange could not be got to go out of it without proper notice--which
+anybody but Sir Dace Fontaine would have known to be reasonable. After
+some cavilling, the tenants agreed to leave at the end of six months;
+and the Fontaines went into that pretty little place, Maythorn Bank,
+then to be let furnished, until the time should expire. So there they
+were, located close to us at Crabb Cot, Sir Dace Fontaine and his two
+daughters.
+
+Colonel Letsom had included me in the dinner invitation, for which I
+felt obliged to him: I was curious to see what the Fontaines were like.
+Tom Coney said one of the girls was beautiful, lovely--like an angel:
+the other was a little quick, dark young woman, who seemed to have a
+will of her own.
+
+We reached Colonel Letsom's betimes--neighbourly fashion. In the country
+you don't rush in when the dinner's being put on the table; you like to
+get a chat beforehand. The sunbeams were slanting into the drawing-room
+as we entered it. Four of the Letsoms were present, besides the major,
+and Herbert Tanerton and his wife, for the throat was better. All of us
+were talking together when the strangers were announced: Sir Dace
+Fontaine, Miss Fontaine, and Miss Verena Fontaine.
+
+Sir Dace was a tall, heavy man, with a dark, sallow, and arbitrary face;
+Miss Fontaine was little and pale; she had smooth black hair, and dark
+eyes that looked straight out at you. Her small teeth were brilliantly
+white, her chin was pointed. A particularly _calm_ face altogether, and
+one that could boast of little beauty--but I rather took to it.
+
+Did you ever see a fairy? Verena Fontaine looked like nothing else. A
+small, fair, graceful girl, with charming manners and pretty words. She
+had the true golden hair, that is so beautiful but so rare, delicate
+features, and laughing eyes blue as the summer sky. I think her beauty
+and her attractions altogether took some of us by surprise; me for one.
+Bob Letsom looked fit to eat her. The sisters were dressed alike, in
+white muslin and pink ribbons.
+
+How we went in to dinner I don't remember, except that Bob and I brought
+up the rear together. Sir Dace took Mrs. Letsom, I think, and the
+colonel Mrs. Todhetley; and that beautiful girl, Verena, fell to Tod.
+Tod! The two girls were about the most self-possessed girls I ever saw;
+their manners quite American. Not their accent: that was good. Major
+Letsom and Sir Dace fraternized wonderfully: they discovered that they
+had once met in the West Indies.
+
+After dinner we had music. The sisters sang a duet, and Mary Ann Letsom
+a song; and Herbert Tanerton sang, forgetting his throat, Grace playing
+for him; and they made me sing.
+
+The evening soon passed, and we all left together. It was a warmish
+night, with a kind of damp smell exhaling from the shrubs and hedges.
+The young ladies muffled some soft white woollen shawls round their
+faces, and called our climate a treacherous one. The parson and Grace
+said good-night, and struck off on the near way to Timberdale; the rest
+of us kept straight on.
+
+"Why don't your people always live here?" asked Verena of me, as we
+walked side by side behind the rest. "By something that was said at
+dinner I gather that you are not here much."
+
+"Mr. Todhetley's principal residence lies at a distance. We only come
+here occasionally."
+
+"Well, I wish you stayed here always. It would be something to have
+neighbours close to us. Of course you know the dreadful little cottage
+we are in--Maythorn Bank?"
+
+"Quite well. It is very pretty, though it is small."
+
+"Small! Accustomed to our large rooms in the western world, it seems to
+us that we can hardly turn in these. I wish papa had managed better!
+This country is altogether frightfully dull. My sister tells us that
+unless things improve she shall take flight back to the States. She
+_could_ do it," added Verena; "she is twenty-one now, and her own
+mistress."
+
+I laughed. "Is she obliged to be her own mistress because she is
+twenty-one?"
+
+"She is her own," said Verena. "She has come into her share of the money
+mamma left us and can do as she pleases."
+
+"Oh, you were speaking in that sense."
+
+"Partly. Having money, she is not tied. She could go back to-morrow if
+she liked. We are not bound by your English notions."
+
+"It would not suit our notions at all. English girls cannot travel about
+alone."
+
+"That comes of their imperfect education. What harm do you suppose
+could anywhere befall well brought-up girls? We have been self-dependent
+from childhood; taught to be so. Coral could take care of herself the
+whole world over, and meet with consideration, wheresoever she might
+be."
+
+"What do you call her--Coral? It is a very pretty name."
+
+"And coral is her favourite ornament: it suits her pale skin. Her name
+is really Coralie, but I call her Coral--just as she calls me Vera. Do
+you like my name--Verena?"
+
+"Very much indeed. Have you read 'Sintram'?"
+
+"'Sintram'!--no," she answered. "Is it a book?"
+
+"A very nice book, indeed, translated from the German. I will lend it
+you, if you like, Miss Verena."
+
+"Oh, thank you. I am fond of nice books. Coralie does not care for books
+as I do. But--I want you to tell me," she broke off, turning her fair
+face to me, the white cloud drawn round it, and her sweet blue eyes
+laughing and dancing--"I can't quite make out who you are. They are not
+your father and mother, are they?"--nodding to the Squire and Mrs.
+Todhetley, who were on ever so far in front with Sir Dace.
+
+"Oh no. I only live with them. I am Johnny Ludlow."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Maythorn Bank had not an extensive correspondence as a rule, but three
+letters were delivered there the following morning. One of the letters
+was for Verena: which she crushed into her hand in the passage and ran
+away with to her room. The others, addressed to Sir Dace, were laid by
+his own man, Ozias, on the breakfast-table to await him.
+
+"The West Indian mail is in, papa," observed Coralie, beginning to pour
+out the coffee as her father entered. "It has brought you two letters. I
+think one of them is from George Bazalgette."
+
+Sir Dace wore a rich red silk dressing-gown, well wadded. A large fire
+burnt in the grate of the small room. He felt the cold here much.
+Putting his gold eye-glasses across his nose, as he slowly sat down--all
+his movements were deliberate--he opened the letter his daughter had
+specially alluded to, and read the few lines it contained.
+
+"What a short epistle!" exclaimed Coralie.
+
+"George Bazalgette is coming over; he merely writes to tell me so,"
+replied Sir Dace. "Verena," he added, for just then Verena entered and
+wished him good-morning, with a beaming face, "I have a letter here
+from George Bazalgette. He is coming to Europe; coming for you."
+
+A defiant look rose to Verena's bright blue eyes. She opened her mouth
+to answer; paused; and closed it again without speaking. Perhaps she
+recalled the saying, "Discretion is the better part of valour." It
+certainly is, when applied to speech.
+
+Breakfast was barely over when Ozias came in again. He had a
+copper-coloured face, as queer as his name, but he was a faithful,
+honest servant, and had lived in the family twenty years. The gardener
+was waiting for instructions about the new flower-beds, he told his
+master; and Sir Dace went out. It left his daughters at liberty to talk
+secrets. How pretty the two graceful little figures looked in their
+simple morning dresses of delicate print, tied with bows of pale green
+ribbon.
+
+"I told you I knew George Bazalgette would be coming over, Vera," began
+Coralie. "His letter by the last mail quite plainly intimated that."
+
+Verena tossed her pretty head. "Let him come! He will get his voyage out
+and home for nothing. I hope he'll be fearfully sea-sick!"
+
+Not to make a mystery of the matter, which we heard all about later, and
+which, perhaps, led to that most dreadful crime--but I must not talk
+of that yet. George Bazalgette was a wealthy West Indian planter, and
+wanted to marry Miss Verena Fontaine. She did not want to marry him, and
+for the very good reason that she intended to marry somebody else. There
+had been a little trouble about it with Sir Dace; and alas! there was
+destined to be a great deal more.
+
+"Shall I tell you what _I_ hope, Vera?" answered Coralie, in her
+matter-of-fact, unemotional way. "I hope that Edward Pym will never come
+here, or to Europe at all, to worry you. Better that the sea should
+swallow him up en voyage."
+
+Verena's beaming face broke into smiles. Her sister's pleasant
+suggestion went for nothing, for a great joy lay within her.
+
+"Edward Pym _has_ come, Coral. The ship has arrived in port, and he has
+written to me. See!"
+
+She took the morning's letter from the bosom of her dress, and held it
+open for Coralie to see the date, "London," and the signature "Edward."
+Had the writer signed his name in full, it would have been Edward Dace
+Pym.
+
+"How did he know we were here?" questioned Coralie, in surprise.
+
+"I wrote to tell him."
+
+"Did _you_ know where to write to him?"
+
+"I knew he had sailed from Calcutta in the _Rose of Delhi_; we all
+knew that; and I wrote to him to the address of the ship's brokers
+at Liverpool. The ship has come on to London, it seems, instead of
+Liverpool, and they must have sent my letter up there."
+
+"If you don't take care, Vera, some trouble will come of this. Papa will
+never hear of Edward Pym. That's my opinion."
+
+She was as cool as were the cucumbers growing outside in the garden,
+under the glass shade. Verena was the opposite--all excitement; though
+she did her best to hide it. Her fingers were restless; her blushes came
+and went; the sweet words of the short love-letter were dancing in her
+heart.
+
+  "MY DARLING VERA,
+
+  "The ship is in; I am in London with her, and I have your dear
+  letter. How I wish I could run down into Worcestershire! That cannot
+  be just yet: our skipper will take care to be absent himself, I
+  expect, and I must stay: he is a regular Martinet as to duty. You
+  will see me the very hour I can get my liberty. How strange it is
+  you should be at that place--Crabb! I believe a sort of aunt of mine
+  lives there; but I have never seen her.
+
+  "Ever your true lover,
+  "EDWARD."
+
+"Who is it--the sort of aunt?" cried Coralie, when Verena had read out
+the letter; "and what does he mean?"
+
+"Mrs. Letsom, of course. Did you not hear her talking to papa, last
+night, about her dead sister, who had married Captain Pym?"
+
+"And Edward was the son of Captain Pym's first wife, papa's sister.
+Then, in point of fact, he is not related to Mrs. Letsom at all. Well,
+it all happened ages ago," added Coralie, with supreme indifference,
+"long before our time."
+
+Just so. Edward Pym, grown to manhood now, and chief-mate of the _Rose
+of Delhi_, was the son of that Captain Pym and his first wife. When
+Captain Pym died, a relative of his, who had no children of his own,
+took to the child, then only five years old, and brought him up. The boy
+turned out anything but good, and when he was fourteen he ran away to
+sea. He found he had to stick to the sea, for his offended relative
+would do no more for him: except that, some years later, when he died,
+Edward found that he was down for five hundred pounds in his will.
+Edward stayed on shore to spend it, and then went to sea again, this
+time as first officer in an American brig. Chance, or something else,
+took the vessel to the West India Islands, and at one of them he fell in
+with Sir Dace Fontaine, who was, in fact, his uncle, but who had never
+taken the smallest thought for him--hardly remembered he had such a
+nephew--and made acquaintance with his two cousins. He and Verena fell
+in love with one another; and, on her side, at any rate, it was not
+the passing fancy sometimes called by the name, but one likely to last
+for all time. They often met, the young officer having the run of his
+uncle's house whenever he could get ashore; and Edward, who could be as
+full of tricks and turns as a fox when it suited his convenience to be
+so, contrived to put himself into hospital when the brig was about to
+sail, saying he was sick; so he was left behind. The brig fairly off,
+Mr. Edward Pym grew well again, and looked to have a good time of
+idleness and love-making. But he reckoned without his host. A chance
+word, dropped inadvertently, opened the eyes of Sir Dace to the treason
+around. The first thing he did was to forbid Mr. Edward Pym his house;
+the second thing was to take passage with his family for America. Never
+would he allow his youngest and prettiest and best-loved daughter to
+become the wife of an ill-conducted, penniless ship's mate; and that man
+a cousin! The very thought was preposterous! So Edward Pym, thrown upon
+his beam-ends, joined a vessel bound for Calcutta. Arrived there, he
+took the post of chief mate on the good ship _Rose of Delhi_, Captain
+Tanerton, bound for England.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What is this nonsense I hear, about your wanting to leave the sea,
+John?"
+
+The question, put in the Rector of Timberdale's repellent, chilly tone,
+more intensified when anything displeased him, brought only a smile to
+the pleasant face of his brother. Ever hopeful, sunny-tempered Jack, had
+reached the Rectory the previous night to make a short visit. They sat
+in the cheerful, bow-windowed room, the sun shining on Jack, as some
+days before it had shone on Grace; the Rector in his easy-chair at the
+fire.
+
+"Well, I suppose it is only what you say, Herbert--nonsense," answered
+Jack, who was playing with the little dog, Dash. "I should like to leave
+the sea well enough, but I don't see my way clear to do it at present."
+
+"_Why_ should you like to leave it?"
+
+"Alice is anxious that I should. She cannot always sail with me now; and
+there are the little ones to be seen to, you know, Herbert. Her mother
+is of course--well, very kind, and all that," went on Jack, after an
+imperceptible pause, "but Alice would prefer to train her children
+herself; and, to do that, she must remain permanently on shore. It would
+not be a pleasant life for us, Herbert, she on shore and I at sea."
+
+"Do you ever think of _duty_, John?"
+
+"Of duty? In what way?"
+
+"When a man has deliberately chosen his calling in life, and spent his
+first years in it, it is his duty to continue in that calling, and to
+make the best of it."
+
+"I suppose it is, in a general way," said Jack, all smiles and
+good-humour. "But--if I could get a living on shore, Herbert, I don't
+see but what my duty would lie in doing it as much as it now lies at
+sea."
+
+"_You_ may not see it, John. Chopping and changing often brings a man
+to poverty."
+
+"Oh, I'd take care, I hope, not to come to poverty. Down, Dash! Had I
+a farm of two or three hundred acres, I could make it answer well, if
+any man could. You know what a good farmer I was as a boy, Herbert--in
+practical knowledge, I mean--and how I loved it. I like the sea very
+well, but I _love_ farming. It was my born vocation."
+
+"I wish you'd not talk at random!" cried Herbert, fretfully. "Born
+vocation! You might just as well say you were born to be a mountebank!
+And where would you get the money to stock a farm of two or three
+hundred acres? You have put none by, I expect. You never could keep your
+pence in your pocket when a lad: they were thrown away right and left."
+
+"That's true," laughed Jack. "Other lads used to borrow them. True also
+that I have not put money by, Herbert. I have not been able to."
+
+"Of course you have not! It wouldn't be you if you had."
+
+"No, Dash, there's not a bit more; you've had it all," cried Jack to the
+dog. But he, ever generous-natured, did not tell his brother _why_ he
+had not been able to put by: that the calls made upon him by his wife's
+mother--Aunt Dean, as they still styled her--were so heavy and so
+perpetual. She wanted a great deal for herself, and she presented vast
+claims for the expenses of Jack's two little children, and for the
+maintenance of her daughter when Alice stayed on shore. Alice whispered
+to Jack she believed her mother was making a private purse for herself.
+Good-natured Jack thought it very likely, but he did not stop the
+supplies. Just as Aunt Dean had been a perpetual drain upon her brother,
+Jacob Lewis, during his lifetime, so she now drained Jack.
+
+"Then, with no means at command, what utter folly it is for you to think
+of leaving the sea?" resumed the parson.
+
+"So it is, Herbert," acquiesced Jack. "I assure you I don't think of
+it."
+
+"Alice does."
+
+"Ay, poor girl, because she wishes it."
+
+"Do you see any _chance_ of leaving it?"
+
+"Not a bit," readily acknowledged Jack.
+
+"Then where's the use of talking about it--of harping upon it?"
+
+"None in the world," said Jack.
+
+"Then we'll drop the subject, if you please," pursued Herbert,
+forgetting, perhaps, that it was he who introduced it.
+
+"Jump then, Dash! Jump, good little Dash!"
+
+"What a worry you make with that dog, John! Attend to me. I want to know
+why you came to London instead of to Liverpool."
+
+"She was laid on for London this time," answered Jack.
+
+"_Laid on!_" ejaculated Herbert, who knew as much about sailor's phrases
+as he did of Hebrew.
+
+Jack laughed. "The agents in Calcutta chartered the ship for London,
+freights for that port being higher than for Liverpool. The _Rose of
+Delhi_ is a free ship."
+
+"Oh," responded Herbert. "I thought perhaps she had changed owners."
+
+"No. But our broker in London is brother to the owners in Liverpool.
+There are three of them in all. James Freeman is the broker; Charles
+and Richard are the owners. Rich men they must be!"
+
+"When do you think you shall sail again?"
+
+"It depends upon when they can begin to reload and get the fresh cargo
+in."
+
+"That does not take long, I suppose," remarked Herbert, slightingly.
+
+"She may be loaded in three days if the cargo is ready and waiting. It
+may be three weeks if the cargo's not--or more than that."
+
+"And Alice does not go with you?"
+
+Jack shook his head: something like a cloud passed over his fresh, frank
+face. "No, not this time."
+
+We were all glad to see Jack Tanerton again. He had paid Timberdale but
+one visit, and that a flying one, since he took command of the _Rose of
+Delhi_. It was the old Jack Tanerton, frank of face, hearty of manner,
+flying to all the nooks and corners of the parish with outstretched
+hands to rich and poor, with kind words and generous help for the sick
+and sorrowful: just the same, only with a few more years gone over his
+head. I don't say but Herbert was also glad to see him; only Herbert
+never displayed much gladness at anything.
+
+One morning Jack and I chanced to be out together; when, in passing
+through the green and shady lane, that would be fragrant in summer with
+wild roses and woodbine, and that skirted Maythorn Bank, we saw some one
+stooping to peer through the sweetbriar hedge, as if he wanted to see
+what the house was like, and did not care to look at it openly. He
+sprang up at sound of our footsteps. It was a slight, handsome young man
+of five or six-and-twenty, rather under the middle height, with a warm
+colour, bright dark eyes, and dark whiskers. The gold band on his cap
+showed that he was a sailor, and he seemed to recognize Jack with a
+start.
+
+"Good-morning, sir," he cried, hurriedly.
+
+"Is it you, Mr. Pym?--good-morning," returned Jack, in a cool tone.
+"What are you doing down here?"
+
+"The ship's finished unloading, and is gone into dry dock to be
+re-coppered, so I've got a holiday," replied the young man: and he
+walked away with a brisk step, as if not caring to be questioned
+further.
+
+"Who is he?" I asked, as we went on in the opposite direction.
+
+"My late chief mate: a man named Pym."
+
+"You spoke as if you did not like him, Jack."
+
+"Don't like him at all," said Jack. "My own chief mate left me in
+Calcutta, to better himself, as the saying runs; he got command of one
+of our ships whose master had died out there; Pym presented himself to
+me, and I engaged him. He gave me some trouble on the homeward voyage;
+drank, was insolent, and would shirk his duty when he could. Once I had
+to threaten to put him in irons. I shall never allow him to sail with me
+again--and he knows it."
+
+"What is he here for?"
+
+"Don't know at all," returned Jack. "He can't have come after me, I
+suppose."
+
+"Has he left the ship?"
+
+"I can't tell. I told the brokers in London I should wish to have
+another first officer appointed in Pym's place. When they asked why, I
+only said he and I did not hit it off together very well. I don't care
+to report ill of the young man; it might damage his prospects; and he
+may do better with another master than he did with me."
+
+At that moment Pym overtook us, and accosted Jack: saying something
+about some bales of "jute," which, as I gathered, had constituted part
+of the cargo.
+
+"Have you got your discharge from the ship, Mr. Pym?" asked Jack, after
+answering his question about the bales of jute.
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"No!"
+
+"Not yet. I have not applied for it. There's some talk, I fancy, of
+making Ferrar chief," added Pym. "Until then I keep my post."
+
+The words were not insolent, but the tone had a ring in it that
+betokened no civility. I thought Pym would have liked to defy Jack had
+he dared. Jack's voice, as he answered, was a little haughty--and I had
+never heard that from Jack in all my life.
+
+"I shall not take Ferrar as chief. What are you talking of, Mr. Pym?
+Ferrar is not qualified."
+
+"Ferrar is qualifying himself now; he is about to pass," retorted Pym.
+"Good-afternoon, sir."
+
+Had Pym looked back as he turned off, he would have seen Sir Dace
+Fontaine, who came, in his slow, lumbering manner, round the corner.
+Jack, who had been introduced to him, stopped to speak. But not a word
+could Sir Dace answer, for staring at the retreating figure of Pym.
+
+"Does my sight deceive me?" he exclaimed. "Who _is_ that man?"
+
+"His name is Pym," said Jack. "He has been my first mate on board the
+_Rose of Delhi_."
+
+Sir Dace Fontaine looked blacker than thunder. "What is he doing down
+here?"
+
+"I was wondering what," said Jack. "At first I thought he might have
+come down after me on some errand or other."
+
+Sir Dace said no more. Remarking that we should meet again in the
+evening, he went his way, and we went ours.
+
+For that evening the Squire gave a dinner, to which the Fontaines were
+coming, and old Paul the lawyer, and the Letsoms, and the Ashtons from
+Timberdale Court. Charles Ashton, the parson, was staying with them: he
+would come in handy for the grace in place of Herbert Tanerton, who had
+a real sore throat this time, and must stay at home.
+
+But now it should be explained that, up to this time, none of us had the
+smallest notion that there was anything between Pym and Verena Fontaine,
+or that Pym was related to Sir Dace. Had Jack known either the one
+fact or the other, he might not have said what he did at the Squire's
+dinner-table. Not that he said much.
+
+It occurred during a lull. Sir Dace craned his long and ponderous neck
+over the table towards Jack.
+
+"Captain Tanerton, were you satisfied with that chief mate of yours,
+Edward Pym? Did he do his duty as a chief mate ought?"
+
+"Not always, Sir Dace," was Jack's ready answer. "I was not particularly
+well satisfied with him."
+
+"Will he sail with you again when you go out?"
+
+"No. Not if the decision lies with me."
+
+Sir Dace frowned and drew his neck in again. I fancied he would have
+been glad to hear that Pym was going out again with Jack--perhaps to be
+rid of him.
+
+Colonel Letsom spoke up then. "Why do you not like him, Jack?"
+
+"Well, for one thing, I found him deceitful," spoke out Jack, after
+hesitating a little, and still without any idea that Pym was known to
+anybody present.
+
+Verena bent forward to speak then from the end of the table, her face
+all blushes, her tone resentful.
+
+"Perhaps Mr. Pym might say the same thing of you, Captain Tanerton--that
+_you_ are deceitful?"
+
+"I!" returned Jack, with his frank smile. "No, I don't think he could
+say that. Whatever other faults I may have, I am straightforward and
+open: too much so, perhaps, on occasion."
+
+When the ladies left the table, the Squire despatched me with a message
+to old Thomas about the claret. In the hall, after delivering it, I came
+upon Verena Fontaine.
+
+"I am going to run home for my music," she said to me, as she put her
+white shawl on her shoulders. "I forgot to bring it."
+
+"Let me go for you," I said, taking down my hat.
+
+"No, thank you; I must go myself."
+
+"With you, then."
+
+"I wish to go alone," she returned, in a playful tone, but one that had
+a decisive ring in it. "Stay where you are, if you please, Mr. Johnny
+Ludlow."
+
+She meant it; I saw that; and I put my hat down and went into the
+drawing-room. Presently somebody missed her; I said she had gone home to
+fetch her music.
+
+Upon which they all attacked me for letting her go--for not offering to
+fetch it for her. Tod and Bob Letsom, who had just come into the room,
+told me I was not more gallant than a rising bear. I laughed, and
+did not say what had passed. Mary Ann Letsom plunged into one of her
+interminable sonatas, and the time slipped on.
+
+"Johnny," whispered the mater to me, "you must go after Verena Fontaine
+to see what has become of her. You ought not to have allowed her to go
+out alone."
+
+Truth to say, I was myself beginning to wonder whether she meant to come
+back at all. Catching up my hat again, I ran off to Maythorn Bank.
+
+Oh! Pacing slowly the shadiest part of the garden there, was Miss
+Verena, the white shawl muffled round her. Mr. Pym was pacing with her,
+his face bent down to a level with hers, his arm passed gingerly round
+her waist.
+
+"I thought they might be sending after me," she cried out, quitting Pym
+as I went in at the gate. "I will go back with you, Mr. Johnny. Edward,
+I can't stay another moment," she called back to him; "you see how it
+is. Yes, I'll be walking in the Ravine to-morrow."
+
+Away she went, with so fleet a step that I had much ado to keep up with
+her. _That_ was my first enlightenment of the secret treason which was
+destined to bring forth so terrible an ending.
+
+"You won't tell tales of me, Johnny Ludlow?" she stopped to say, in a
+beseeching tone, as we reached the gate of Crabb Cot. "See, I have my
+music now."
+
+"All right, Miss Verena. You may trust me."
+
+"I am sure of that. I read it in your face."
+
+Which might be all very well; but I thought it would be more to the
+purpose could she have read it in Pym's. Pym's was a handsome face, but
+not one to be trusted.
+
+She glided into the room behind Thomas and his big tea-tray, seized upon
+a cup at once, and stood with it as coolly as though she had never been
+away. Sir Dace, talking near the window with old Paul, looked across
+at her, but said nothing. I wondered how long they had been in the
+drawing-room, and whether he had noticed her absence.
+
+It was, I think, the next afternoon but one that I went to Maythorn
+Bank, and found Jack Tanerton there. The Squire had offered to drive Sir
+Dace to Worcester, leaving him to fix the day. Sir Dace wrote a note to
+fix the following day, if that would suit; and the Squire sent me to say
+it would.
+
+Coralie was in the little drawing-room with Sir Dace, but not Verena.
+Jack seemed to be quite at home with them; they were talking with
+animation about some of the ports over the seas, which all three of
+them knew so well. When I left, Jack came with me, and Sir Dace walked
+with us to the gate. And there we came upon Mr. Pym and Miss Verena
+promenading together in the lane as comfortably as you please. You
+should have seen Sir Dace Fontaine's face. A dark face at all times;
+frightfully dark then.
+
+Taking Verena by the shoulder, never speaking a word, he marched her
+in at the gate, and pushed her up the path towards the house. Then he
+turned round to Pym.
+
+"Mr. Edward Pym," said he, "as I once had occasion to warn you off my
+premises in the Colonies, I now warn you off these. This is my house,
+and I forbid you to approach it. I forbid you to attempt to hold
+intercourse of any kind with my daughters. Do you understand me, sir?"
+
+"Quite so, Uncle Dace," replied the young man: and there was the same
+covert defiance in his tone that he had used the other day to his
+captain.
+
+"I should like to know what brings you in this neighbourhood?" continued
+Sir Dace. "You cannot have any legitimate business here. I recommend you
+to leave it."
+
+"I will think of it," said Pym, as he lifted his cap to us generally,
+and went his way.
+
+"What does it mean, Johnny?" spoke Tanerton, breathlessly, when we were
+alone. "Is Pym making-up to that sweet girl?"
+
+"I fancy so. Wanting to make up, at least."
+
+"Heaven help her, then! It's like his impudence."
+
+"They are first cousins, you see."
+
+"So much the worse. I expect, though, Pym will find his match in Sir
+Dace. I don't like him, by the way, Johnny."
+
+"Whom? Pym?"
+
+"Sir Dace. I don't like his countenance: there's too much secretiveness
+in it for me. And in himself too, unless I am mistaken."
+
+"I am sure there is in Pym."
+
+"I hate Pym!" flashed Jack. And at the moment he looked as if he did.
+
+But would he have acknowledged as much, even to me, had he foreseen the
+cruel fate that was, all too soon, to place Edward Pym beyond the pale
+of this world's hate?--and the dark trouble it would bring home to
+himself, John Tanerton?
+
+
+II.
+
+Striding along through South Crabb, and so on down by old Massock's
+brick-fields, went Sir Dace Fontaine, dark and gloomy. His heavy stick
+and his heavy tread kept pace together; both might have been the better
+for a little lightness.
+
+Matters were not going on too smoothly at Maythorn Bank. Seemingly
+obedient to her father, Verena Fontaine contrived to meet her lover, and
+did not take extraordinary pains to keep it secret. Sir Dace, watching
+stealthily, found it out, and felt just about at his wits' end.
+
+He had no power to banish Edward Pym from the place: he had none, one
+must conclude, to exact submission from Verena. She had observed to me,
+the first night we met, that American girls grow up to be independent
+of control in many ways. That is true: and, as it seems to me, they
+think great guns of themselves for being so.
+
+Sir Dace was beginning to turn his anger on Colonel Letsom. As chance
+had it, while he strode along this morning, full of wrath, the colonel
+came in view, turning the corner of the strongest and most savoury
+brick-yard.
+
+"Why do you harbour that fellow?" broke out Sir Dace, fiercely, without
+circumlocution of greeting.
+
+"What, young Pym?" cried the little colonel in his mild way, jumping to
+the other's meaning. "I don't suppose he will stay with us long. He is
+expecting a summons to join his ship."
+
+"But why do you have him at your house at all?" reiterated Sir Dace,
+with a thump of his stick. "Why did you take him in?"
+
+"Well, you see, he came down, a stranger, and presented himself to us,
+calling my wife aunt, though she is not really so, and said he would
+like to stay a few days with us. We could not turn him away, Sir Dace.
+In fact we had no objection to his staying; he behaves himself very
+well. He'll not be here long."
+
+"He has been here a great deal too long," growled Sir Dace; and went on
+his way muttering.
+
+Nothing came of this complaint of Sir Dace Fontaine's. Edward Pym
+continued to stay at Crabb, Colonel Letsom not seeing his way clear to
+send him adrift; perhaps not wanting to. The love-making went on. In the
+green meadows, where the grass and the sweet wild flowers were springing
+up, in the Ravine, between its sheltering banks, redolent of romance; or
+in the triangle, treading underfoot the late primroses and violets--in
+one or other of these retreats might Mr. Pym and his ladye-love be seen
+together, listening to the tender vows whispered between them, and to
+the birds' songs.
+
+Sir Dace, conscious of all this, grew furious, and matters came to a
+climax. Verena was bold enough to steal out one night to meet Pym for a
+promenade with him in the moonlight, and Sir Dace came upon them sitting
+on the stile at the end of the cross lane. He gave it to Pym hot and
+strong, marched Verena home, and the next day carried both his daughters
+away from Crabb.
+
+But I ought to mention that I had gone away from Crabb myself before
+this, and was in London in with Miss Deveen. So that what had been
+happening lately I only knew by hearsay.
+
+To what part of the world Sir Dace went, was not known. Naturally Crabb
+was curious upon the point. Just as naturally it was supposed that Pym,
+having nothing to stay for, would now take his departure. Pym, however,
+stayed on.
+
+One morning Mr. Pym called at Maythorn Bank. An elderly woman, one Betty
+Huntsman, who had been employed by the Fontaines as cook, opened the
+door to him. The coloured man, Ozias, and a maid, Esther, had gone away
+with the family. It was the second time Mr. Pym had presented himself
+upon the same errand: to get the address of Sir Dace Fontaine. Betty,
+obeying her master's orders, had refused it; this time he had come to
+bribe her. Old Betty, however, an honest, kindly old woman, refused to
+be bribed.
+
+"I can't do it, sir," she said to Pym. "When the master wrote to give me
+the address, on account of sending him his foreign letters, he forbade
+me to disclose it to anybody down here. It is only myself that knows it,
+sir."
+
+"It is in London; I know that much," affirmed Pym, making a shot at the
+place, and so far taking in old Betty.
+
+"That much may possibly be known, sir. I cannot tell more."
+
+Back went Pym to Colonel Letsom's. He sat down and wrote a letter in
+a young lady's hand--for he had all kinds of writing at his fingers'
+ends--and addressed it to Mrs. Betty Huntsman at Maythorn Bank,
+Worcestershire. This he enclosed in a bigger envelope, with a few lines
+from himself, and posted it to London, to one Alfred Saxby, a sailor
+friend of his. He next, in a careless, off-hand manner, asked Colonel
+Letsom if he'd mind calling at Maythorn Bank, and asking the old cook
+there if she could give him her master's address. Oh, Pym was as cunning
+as a fox, and could lay out his plans artfully. And Colonel Letsom,
+unsuspicious as the day, and willing to oblige everybody, did call that
+afternoon to put the question to Betty; but she told him she was not at
+liberty to give the address.
+
+The following morning, Pym got the summons he had been expecting, to
+join his ship. The _Rose of Delhi_ was now ready to take in cargo. After
+swearing a little, down sat Mr. Pym to his desk, and in a shaky hand, to
+imitate a sick man's, wrote back word that he was ill in bed, but would
+endeavour to be up in London on the morrow.
+
+And, the morning following this, Mrs. Betty Huntsman got a letter from
+London.
+
+  "_London, Thursday._
+
+  "DEAR OLD BETTY,
+
+  "I am writing to you for papa, who is very poorly indeed. Should
+  Colonel Letsom apply to you for our address here, you are to give
+  it him: papa wishes him to have it. We hope your wrist is better.
+
+  "CORALIE FONTAINE."
+
+Betty Huntsman, honest herself, never supposed but the letter was
+written by Miss Fontaine. By-and-by, there came a ring at the bell.
+
+"My uncle, Colonel Letsom, requested me to call here this morning, as I
+was passing on my way to Timberdale Rectory," began Mr. Pym; for it was
+he who rang, and by his authoritative voice and lordly manner, one might
+have thought he was on board a royal frigate, commanding a cargo of
+refractory soldiers.
+
+"Yes, sir!" answered Betty, dropping a curtsy.
+
+"Colonel Letsom wants your master's address in London--if you can give
+it him. He has to write to Sir Dace to-day."
+
+Betty produced a card from her innermost pocket, and showed it to Mr.
+Pym: who carefully copied down the address.
+
+That he was on his way to Timberdale Rectory, was _not_ a ruse. He went
+on there through the Ravine at the top of his speed, and asked for
+Captain Tanerton.
+
+"Have got orders to join ship, sir, and am going up this morning. Any
+commands?"
+
+"To join what ship?" questioned Jack.
+
+"The _Rose of Delhi_. She is beginning to load."
+
+Jack paused. "Of course you must go up, as you are sent for. But I don't
+think you will go out in the _Rose of Delhi_, Mr. Pym. I should
+recommend you to look out for another ship."
+
+"Time enough for that, Captain Tanerton, when I get my discharge from
+the _Rose of Delhi_: I have not got it yet," returned Pym, who seemed to
+take a private delight in thwarting his captain.
+
+"Well, I shall be in London myself shortly, and will see about things,"
+spoke Jack.
+
+"Any commands, sir?"
+
+"Not at present."
+
+Taking his leave of Colonel and Mrs. Letsom, and thanking them for their
+hospitality, Edward Pym departed for London by an afternoon train. He
+left his promises and vows to the young Letsoms, boys and girls, to
+come down again at the close of the next voyage, little dreaming, poor
+ill-fated young man, that he would never go upon another. Captain
+Tanerton wrote at once to head-quarters in Liverpool, saying he did
+not wish to retain Pym as chief mate, and would like another one to be
+appointed. Strolling back to Timberdale Rectory from posting the letter
+at Salmon's, John Tanerton fell into a brown study.
+
+A curious feeling, against taking Pym out again, lay within him; like an
+instinct, it seemed; a prevision of warning. Jack was fully conscious
+of it, though he knew not why it should be there. It was a great deal
+stronger than could have been prompted by his disapprobation of the
+man's carelessness in his duties on board.
+
+"I'll go up to London to-morrow," he decided. "Best to do so. Pym means
+to sail in the _Rose of Delhi_ if he can; just, I expect, because he
+sees I don't wish him to: the man's nature is as contrary as two sticks.
+I'll not have him again at any price. Yes, I must go up to-morrow."
+
+"L'homme propose"--we know the proverb. Very much to Jack's surprise,
+his wife arrived that evening at the Rectory from Liverpool, with her
+eldest child, Polly. Therefore, Jack did not start for London on the
+morrow; it would not have been at all polite.
+
+He went up the following week. His first visit was to Eastcheap, in
+which bustling quarter stood the office of Mr. James Freeman, the ship's
+broker. After talking a bit about the ship and her cargo, Jack spoke of
+Pym.
+
+"Has a first officer been appointed in Pym's place?"
+
+"No," said Mr. Freeman. "Pym goes out with you again."
+
+"I told you I did not wish to take Pym again," cried Jack.
+
+"You said something about it, I know, and we thought of putting in the
+mate from the _Star of Lahore_; but he wants to keep to his own vessel."
+
+"I won't take Pym."
+
+"But why, Captain Tanerton?"
+
+"We don't get on together. I never had an officer who gave me so much
+provocation--the Americans would say, who _riled_ me so. I believe the
+man dislikes me, and for that reason was insubordinate. He may do better
+in another ship. I am a strict disciplinarian on board."
+
+"Well," carelessly observed the broker, "you will have to make the best
+of him this voyage, Captain Tanerton. It is decided that he sails with
+you again."
+
+"Then, don't be surprised if there's murder committed," was Jack's
+impetuous answer.
+
+And Mr. Freeman stared: and noted the words.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The mid-day sun was shining hotly upon the London pavement, and
+especially upon the glittering gold band adorning the cap of a lithe,
+handsome young sailor, who had just got out of a cab, and was striding
+along as though he wanted to run a race with the clocks. It was Edward
+Pym: and the reader will please take notice that we have gone back a few
+days, for this was the day following Pym's arrival in London.
+
+"Halt a step," cried he to himself, his eye catching the name written up
+at a street corner. "I must be out of my bearings."
+
+Taking from his pocket a piece of paper, he read some words written
+there. It was no other than the address he had got from Bessy Huntsman
+the previous day.
+
+"Woburn Place, Russell Square," repeated he. "This is not it. I'll be
+shot if I know where I am! Can you tell me my way to Woburn Place?"
+asked he, of a gentleman who was passing.
+
+"Turn to the left; you will soon come to it."
+
+"Thank you," said Pym.
+
+The right house sighted at last, Mr. Pym took his standing in a friendly
+door-way on the other side of the road, and put himself on the watch.
+Very much after the fashion of a bailiff's man, who wants to serve a
+writ.
+
+He glanced up at the windows; he looked down at the doors; he listened
+to the sound of a church clock striking; he scraped his feet in
+impatience, now one foot, now the other. Nothing came of it. The rooms
+behind the curtained windows might be untenanted for all the sign given
+out to the eager eyes of Mr. Pym.
+
+"Hang it all!" he cried, in an explosion of impatience: and he could
+have sent the silent dwelling to Jericho.
+
+No man of business likes his time to be wasted: and Mr. Pym could very
+especially not afford to waste his to-day. For he was supposed to be at
+St. Katherine's Docks, checking cargo on board the _Rose of Delhi_. When
+twelve o'clock struck, the dinner hour, he had made a rush from the
+ship, telling the foreman of the shed not to ship any more cargo till he
+came back in half-an-hour, and had come dashing up here in a fleet cab.
+The half-hour had expired, and another half-hour to it, and it was a
+great deal more than time to dash back again. If anybody from the office
+chanced to go down to the ship, what a row there'd be!--and he would
+probably get his discharge.
+
+He had not been lucky in his journey from Worcestershire the previous
+day. The train was detained so on the line, through some heavy waggons
+having come to grief, that he did not reach London till late at night;
+too late to go down to his lodgings near the docks; so he slept at an
+hotel. This morning he had reported himself at the broker's office; and
+Mr. Freeman, after blowing him up for his delay, ordered him on board
+at once: since they began to load, two days ago now, a clerk from the
+office had been down on the ship, making up the cargo-books in Pym's
+place.
+
+"I'll be hanged if I don't believe they must all be dead!" cried Pym,
+gazing at the house. "Why does not somebody show himself? I can't post
+the letter--for I know my letters to her are being suppressed. And I
+dare not leave it at the door myself, lest that cantankerous Ozias
+should answer me, and hand it to old Dace, instead of to Vera."
+
+Luck at last! The door opened, and a maid-servant came out with a jug,
+her bonnet thrown on perpendicularly. Mr. Pym kept her in view, and
+caught her up as she was nearing a public-house.
+
+"You come from Mrs. Ball's, Woburn Place?" said he.
+
+"Yes, sir," answered the girl, doubtfully, rather taken aback at the
+summary address, but capitulating to the gold-lace band.
+
+"I want you to give this letter privately to Miss Verena Fontaine. When
+she is quite alone, you understand. And here's half-a-crown, my pretty
+lass, for your trouble."
+
+The girl touched neither letter nor money. She surreptitiously put her
+bonnet straight, in her gratified vanity.
+
+"But I can't give it, sir," she said. "Though I'm sure I'd be happy to
+oblige you if I could. The Miss Fontaines and their papa is not with us
+now; they've gone away."
+
+"What?" cried Pym, setting his teeth angrily, an expression crossing his
+face that marred all its good looks. "When did they leave? Where are
+they gone to?"
+
+"They left yesterday, sir, and they didn't say where. That black servant
+of theirs and our cook couldn't agree; there was squabbles perpetual.
+None of us liked him; it don't seem Christian-like to have a black man
+sitting down to table with you. Mrs. Ball, our missis, she took our
+part; and the young ladies and their papa they naturally took _his_
+part: and so, they left."
+
+"Can I see Mrs. Ball?" asked Pym, after mentally anathematizing servants
+in general, black and white. "Is she at home?"
+
+"Yes, sir, and she'll see you, I'm sure. She is vexed at their having
+left."
+
+He dropped the half-crown into the girl's hand, returned the note to his
+pocket, and went to the house. Mrs. Ball, a talkative, good-humoured
+woman in a rusty black silk gown, with red cheeks and quick brown eyes,
+opened the door to him herself.
+
+She invited him in. She would have given him Sir Dace Fontaine's address
+with all the pleasure in life, if she had it, she said. Sir Dace did not
+leave it with her. He simply bade her take in any letters that might
+come, and he would send for them.
+
+"Have you not any notion where they went?--to what part of the town?"
+asked the discomfited Pym. That little trick he had played Betty
+Huntsman was of no use to him now.
+
+"Not any. Truth to say, I was too vexed to ask," confessed Mrs. Ball. "I
+knew nothing about their intention to leave until they were packing up.
+Sir Dace paid me a week's rent in lieu of warning, and away they went in
+two cabs. You are related to them, sir? There's a look in your face that
+Sir Dace has got."
+
+Mr. Pym knitted his brow; he did not take it as a compliment. Many
+people had seen the same likeness; though he was a handsome young man
+and Sir Dace an ugly old one.
+
+"If you can get their address, I shall be much obliged to you to keep it
+for me; I will call again to-morrow evening," were his parting words to
+the landlady. And he went rattling back to the docks as fast as wheels
+could take him.
+
+Mr. Pym went up to Woburn Place the following evening accordingly, but
+the landlady had no news to give him. He went the next evening after,
+and the next, and the next. All the same. He went so long and to so
+little purpose that he at last concluded the Fontaines were not in
+London. Sir Dace neither sent a messenger nor wrote for any letters
+there might be. Two were waiting for him; no more. Edward Pym and Mrs.
+Ball became, so to say, quite intimate. She had much sympathy with the
+poor young man, who wanted to find his relatives before he sailed--and
+could not.
+
+It may as well be told, not to make an unnecessary mystery of it, that
+the Fontaines had gone straight to Brighton. At length, however, Mrs.
+Ball was one day surprised by a visit from Ozias. She never bore malice
+long, and received him civilly. Her rooms were let again, so she had got
+over the smart.
+
+"At Brighton!" she exclaimed, when she heard where they had been--for
+the man had no orders to conceal it. "I thought it strange that your
+master did not send for his letters. And how are the young ladies? And
+where are you staying now?"
+
+"The young ladies, they well," answered Ozias. "We stay now at one big
+house in Marylebone Road. We come up yesterday to this London town: Sir
+Dace, he find the sea no longer do for him; make him have much bile."
+
+Edward Pym had been in a rage at not finding Verena. Verena, on her
+part, though rather wondering that she did not hear from him, looked
+upon his silence as only a matter of precaution. When they were settled
+at Woburn Place, after leaving Crabb, she had written to Pym, enjoining
+him not to reply. It might not be safe, she said, for Coralie had gone
+over to "the enemy," meaning Sir Dace: Edward must contrive to see her
+when he came to London to join his ship. And when the days went on, and
+Verena saw nothing of her lover, she supposed he was not yet in London.
+She went to Brighton supposing the same. But, now that they were back
+from Brighton, and still neither saw Pym nor heard from him, Verena grew
+uneasy, fearing that the _Rose of Delhi_ had sailed.
+
+"What a strange thing it is about Edward!" she exclaimed one evening to
+her sister. "I think he must have sailed. He would be sure to come to us
+if he were in London."
+
+"How should he know where we are?" dissented Coralie. "For all he can
+tell, Vera, we may be in the moon."
+
+A look of triumph crossed Vera's face. "He knows the address in Woburn
+Place, Coral, for I wrote and gave it him: and Mrs. Ball would direct
+him here. Papa sent Ozias there to-day for his letters; and I know
+Edward would never cease going there, day by day, to ask for news, until
+he heard of me."
+
+Coralie laughed softly. Unlocking her writing-case, she displayed a
+letter that lay snugly between its leaves. It was the one that Vera had
+written at Woburn Place. Verena turned very angry, but Coralie made
+light of it.
+
+"As I dare say he has already sailed, I confess my treachery, Vera. It
+was all done for your good. Better think no more of Edward Pym."
+
+"You wicked thing! You are more cruel than Bluebeard. I shall take means
+to ascertain whether the _Rose of Delhi_ is gone. Captain Tanerton made
+a boast that he'd not take Edward out again, but he may not have been
+able to help himself," pursued Vera, her tone significant. "Edward
+_intended to go in her_, and he has a friend at court."
+
+"A friend at court!" repeated Coralie. "What do you mean? Who is it?"
+
+"It is the Freemans out-door manager at Liverpool, and the ship's
+husband--a Mr. Gould. He came up here when the ship got in, and he and
+Edward made friends together. The more readily because Gould and Captain
+Tanerton are not friends. The captain complained to the owners last time
+of something or other connected with the ship--some bad provisions, I
+think, that had been put on board, and insisted on its being rectified.
+As Mr. Gould was responsible, he naturally resented this, and ever since
+he has been fit to hang Captain Tanerton."
+
+"How do you know all this, Verena?"
+
+"From Edward. He told me at Crabb. Mr. Gould has a great deal more to do
+with choosing the officers than the Freemans themselves have, and he
+promised Edward he should remain in the _Rose of Delhi_."
+
+"It is strange Edward should care to remain in the ship when her
+commander does not like him," remarked Coralie.
+
+"He stays in because of that--to thwart Tanerton," laughed Verena
+lightly. "Partly, at least. But he thinks, you see, and I think, that
+his remaining for two voyages in a ship that has so good a name may tell
+well for him with papa. Now you know, Coral."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lovers met. Pym found her out through Mrs. Ball. And Verena,
+thoroughly independent in her notions, put on her bonnet, and walked
+with him up and down the Marylebone Road.
+
+"We sail this day week, Vera," he said. "My life has been a torment to
+me, fearing I should not see you before the ship went out of dock. And,
+in that case, I don't think I should have gone in her."
+
+"Is it the _Rose of Delhi_?" asked Vera.
+
+"Of course. I told you Gould would manage it. She is first-rate in every
+way, and the most comfortable ship I ever was in--barring the skipper."
+
+"You don't like him, I know. And he does not like you."
+
+"I hate and detest him," said Pym warmly--therefore, as the reader must
+perceive, no love was lost between him and Jack. "He is an awful screw
+for keeping one to one's duty, and I expect we shall have no end of
+squalls. Ah, Verena," continued the young man, in a changed tone, "had
+you only listened to my prayers at Crabb, I need not have sailed again
+at all."
+
+Mr. Edward Pym was a bold wooer. He had urged Verena to cut the matter
+short by marrying him at once. She stopped his words.
+
+"I will marry you in twelve months from this, if all goes well, but not
+before. It is waste of time to speak of it, Edward--as I have told you.
+Were I to marry without papa's consent--and you know he will not give
+it--he can take most of the money that came to me from mamma. Only a
+small income would remain to me. I shall not risk _that_."
+
+"As if Sir Dace would exact it! He might go into one of his passions at
+first, but he'd soon come round; he'd not touch your money, Vera." And
+Edward Pym, in saying this, fully believed it.
+
+"You don't know papa. I have been used to luxuries, Edward, and I
+could not do without them. What would two hundred pounds a-year be for
+me--living as I have lived? And for you, also, for you would be my
+husband? Next May I shall be of age, and my fortune will be safe--all
+my own."
+
+"A thousand things may happen in a year," grumbled Pym, who was wild to
+lead an idle life, and hated the discipline on board ship. "The _Rose
+of Delhi_ may go down, and I with it."
+
+"She has not gone down yet. Why should she go down now?"
+
+"What right had Coralie to intercept your letter?" asked Pym, passing to
+another phase of his grievances.
+
+"She had no right; but she did it. I asked Esther, our own maid, to run
+and put it in the post for me. Coralie, coming in from walking, met
+Esther at the door, saw the letter in her hand, and took it from her,
+saying she would go back and post it herself. Perhaps Esther suspected
+something: she did not tell me this. Coralie had the face to tell it me
+herself yesterday."
+
+"Well, Vera, you should have managed better," returned Pym, feeling
+frightfully cross.
+
+"Oh, Edward, don't you see how it is?" wailed the girl, in a piteous
+tone of appeal--"that they are all against me. Or, rather, against you.
+Papa, Coralie, and Ozias: and I fancy now that Coralie has spoken to
+Esther. Papa makes them think as he thinks."
+
+"It is a fearful shame. Is this to be our only interview?"
+
+"No," said Vera. "I will see you every day until you sail."
+
+"You may not be able to. We shall be watched, now Coralie has turned
+against us."
+
+"I will see you every day until you sail," repeated the girl, with
+impassioned fervour. "Come what may, I will contrive to see you."
+
+In making this promise, Miss Verena Fontaine probably did not understand
+the demands on a chief mate's time when a ship is getting ready for sea.
+To rush up from the docks at the mid-day hour, and rush back again in
+time for work, was not practicable. Pym had done it once; he could not
+do it twice. Therefore, the only time to be seized upon was after six
+o'clock, when the _Rose of Delhi_ was left to herself and her watchman
+for the night, and the dock-gates were shut. This brought it, you see,
+to about seven o'clock, before Pym could be hovering, like a wandering
+ghost, up and down the Marylebone Road; for he had to go to his lodgings
+in Ship Street first and put himself to rights after his day's work,
+to say nothing of drinking his tea. And seven o'clock was Miss Verena
+Fontaine's dinner hour. Sir Dace Fontaine's mode of dining was
+elaborate; and, what with the side-dishes, the puddings and the dessert,
+it was never over much before nine o'clock.
+
+For two days Verena made her dinner at luncheon. Late dining did not
+agree with her, she told Coralie, and she should prefer some tea in her
+room. Coralie watched, and saw her come stealing in each night soon
+after nine. Until that hour, she had promenaded with Edward Pym in the
+bustling lighted streets, or in the quieter walks of the Regent's Park.
+On the third day, Sir Dace told her that she must be in her place at
+the dinner-table. Verena wondered whether the order emanated from his
+arbitrary temper, or whether he had any suspicion. So, that evening she
+dined as usual; and when she and Coralie went into the drawing-room at
+eight o'clock, she said her head ached, and she should go to bed.
+
+That night there was an explosion. Docked of an hour at the beginning of
+their interview, the two lovers made up for it by lingering together an
+hour longer at the end of it. It was striking ten when Verena came in,
+and found herself confronted by her father. Verena gave Coralie the
+credit of betraying her, but in that she was wrong. Sir Dace--he might
+have had his suspicions--suddenly called for a particular duet that was
+a favourite with his daughters, bade Coralie look it out, and sent up
+for Verena to come down and sing it. Miss Verena was not to be found, so
+could not obey.
+
+Sir Dace, I say, met her on the stairs as she came in. He put his hand
+on her shoulder to turn her footsteps to the drawing-room, and shut the
+door. Then came the explosion. Verena did not deny that she had been out
+with Pym. And Sir Dace, in very undrawing-room-like language, swore that
+she should see Pym no more.
+
+"We have done no harm, papa. We have been to Madame Tussaud's."
+
+"Listen to me, Verena. Attempt to go outside this house again while that
+villain is in London, and I will carry you off, as I carried you from
+Crabb. You cannot beard _me_."
+
+It was not pleasant to look at the face of Sir Dace as he said it. At
+these moments of excitement, it would take a dark tinge underneath the
+skin, as if the man, to use Jack Tanerton's expression, had a touch of
+the tar-brush; and the dark sullen eyes would gleam with a peculiar
+light, that did not remind one of an angel.
+
+"We saw Henry the Eighth and his six wives," went on Vera. "Jane Seymour
+looked the nicest."
+
+"How _dare_ you talk gibberish, at a moment like this?" raved Sir Dace.
+"As to that man, I have cursed him. And you will learn to thank me for
+it."
+
+Verena turned whiter than a sheet. Her answering words seemed brave
+enough, but her voice shook as she spoke them.
+
+"Papa, you have no right to interfere with my destiny in life; no,
+though you are the author of my being. I have promised to be the wife
+of my cousin Edward, and no earthly authority shall stay me. You may be
+able to control my movements now by dint of force, for you are stronger
+than I am; but my turn will come."
+
+"Edward Pym--hang him!--is bad to the backbone."
+
+"I will have him whether he is bad or good," was Verena's mental answer:
+but she did not say it aloud.
+
+"And I will lock you in your room from this hour, if you dare defy me,"
+hissed Sir Dace.
+
+"I do not defy you, papa. It is your turn, I say; and you have strength
+and power on your side."
+
+"Take care you do not. It would be the worse for you."
+
+"Very well, papa," sighed Verena. "I cannot help myself now; but in a
+twelvemonth's time I shall be my own mistress. We shall see then."
+
+Sir Dace looked upon the words as a sort of present concession. He
+concluded Miss Verena had capitulated and would not again go a-roving.
+So he did not go the length of locking her in her room.
+
+Verena was mild as milk the next day, and good as gold. She
+never stirred from the side of Coralie, but sat practising a new
+netting-stitch, her temper sweet, her face placid. The thought of
+stealing out again to meet Mr. Pym was apparently further off than Asia.
+
+I have said that I was in London at this time, staying with Miss Deveen.
+It was curious that I should be so during those dreadful events that
+were so soon to follow. Connected with the business that kept me and Mr.
+Brandon in town, was a short visit made us by the Squire. Not that the
+Squire need have come; writing would have done; but he was nothing loth
+to do so: and it was lovely weather. He stayed with Mr. Brandon at his
+hotel in Covent Garden; and we thought he meant to make a week of it.
+The Squire was as fond of the sights and the shops as any child.
+
+I went down one morning to breakfast with them at the Tavistock, and
+there met Jack Tanerton. Later, we started to take a look at a famous
+cricket-match that was being played at Lord's. In crossing the
+Marylebone Road, we met Sir Dace Fontaine.
+
+His lodgings were close by, he said, and he would have us go in. It was
+the day I have just told you of; when Verena sat, good as gold, by her
+sister's side, trying the new netting-stitch.
+
+The girls were in a sort of boudoir, half-way up the stairs. The French
+would, I suppose, call it the entresol: a warm-looking room, with
+stained glass in the windows, and a rich coloured carpet. Coralie
+and Vera were, as usual, dressed alike, in delicate summer-muslins.
+Vera--how pretty she looked!--had blue ribbon in her hair: her blue
+eyes laughed at seeing us, a pink flush set off her dimples.
+
+"When do you sail, Captain Tanerton?" abruptly asked Sir Dace, suddenly
+interrupting the conversation.
+
+"On Thursday, all being well," answered Jack.
+
+"Do you take out the same mate?--that Pym?"
+
+"I believe so; yes, Sir Dace."
+
+We had to go away, or should not find standing-room on the
+cricket-ground. Sir Dace said he would accompany us, and called out to
+Ozias to bring his hat. Before the hat came, he thought better of it,
+and said he would not go; those sights fatigued him. I did not know what
+had taken place until later, or I might have thought he stayed at home
+to guard Verena. He gave us a cordial invitation to dinner in the
+evening, we must all go, he said; and Mr. Brandon was the only one of
+us who declined.
+
+"I am very busy," said Jack, "but I will contrive to get free by seven
+this evening."
+
+"Very busy indeed, when you can spend the day at Lord's!" laughed
+Verena.
+
+"I am not going to Lord's," said Jack. Which was true. "I have come up
+this way to see an invalid passenger who is going out in my ship."
+
+"Oh," quoth Vera, "I thought what a nice idle time you were having of
+it. Mind, Johnny Ludlow, that you take me in to dinner to-night. I have
+something to tell you."
+
+Close upon the dinner-hour named, seven, the Squire and I were again at
+Sir Dace Fontaine's. Tanerton's cab came dashing up at the same moment.
+Coralie was in the drawing-room alone, her white dress and herself
+resplendent in coral ornaments. Sir Dace came in, and the Squire began
+telling him about the cricket-match, saying he ought to have been there.
+Presently Sir Dace rang the bell.
+
+"How is it that dinner's late?" he asked sternly of Ozias--for Sir Dace
+liked to be served to the moment.
+
+"The dinner only wait for Miss Verena, sir," returned Ozias, "She no
+down yet."
+
+Sir Dace turned round sharply to look at the sofa behind him, where
+I sat with Coralie, talking in an undertone. He had not noticed, I
+suppose, but that both sisters were there.
+
+"Let Miss Verena be told that we wait for her," he said, waving his hand
+to Ozias.
+
+Back came Ozias in a minute or two. "Miss Verena, she no upstairs, sir.
+She no anywhere."
+
+Of all the frowns that ever made a face ugly, the worst sat on Sir Dace
+Fontaine's, as he turned to Coralie.
+
+"Have you let her go out?" he asked.
+
+"Why of course she is not out, papa," answered Coralie, calm and smiling
+as usual.
+
+"Let Esther go into Miss Verena's room, Ozias, and ask her to come down
+at once."
+
+"Esther go this last time, Miss Coralie. She come down and say, Ozias,
+Miss Verena no upstairs at all; she go out."
+
+"How dare----" began Sir Dace; but Coralie interrupted him.
+
+"Papa, I will go and see. I am sure Verena cannot be out; I am sure she
+is _not_. She went into her room to dress when I went into mine. She
+came to me while she was dressing asking me to lend her my pearl comb;
+she had just broken one of the teeth of her own. She meant to come down
+to dinner then and was dressing for it: she had no thought of going
+out."
+
+Coralie halted at the door to say all this, and then ran up the stairs.
+She came down crest-fallen. Verena had stolen a march on them. In Sir
+Dace Fontaine's passionate anger, he explained the whole to us, taking
+but a few short sentences to do it. Verena had been beguiled into a
+marriage engagement with Edward Pym: he, Sir Dace, had forbidden her to
+go out of the house to meet him; and, as it appeared, she had set his
+authority at defiance. They were no doubt tramping off now to some place
+of amusement; a theatre, perhaps: the past evening they had gone to
+Madame Tussaud's. "Will you take in Miss Fontaine, Squire?" concluded
+Sir Dace, with never a break between that and the explanation.
+
+How dark and sullen he looked, I can recall even now. Deprived of my
+promised partner, Verena, I went down alone. Sir Dace following with
+Jack, into whose arm he put his own.
+
+"I wish you joy of your chief officer, Captain Tanerton!" cried he, a
+sardonic smile on his lips.
+
+It must have been, I suppose, about nine o'clock. We were all back in
+the drawing-room, and Coralie had been singing. But somehow the song
+fell flat; the contretemps about Verena, or perhaps the sullenness it
+had left on Sir Dace, produced a sense of general discomfort; and nobody
+asked for another. Coralie took her dainty work-box off a side-table,
+and sat down by me on the sofa.
+
+"I may as well take up my netting, as not," she said to me in an
+undertone. "Verena began a new collar to-day--which she will be six
+months finishing, if she ever finishes it at all. She dislikes the work;
+I love it." Netting was the work most in vogue at that time. Mrs.
+Todhetley had just netted herself a cap.
+
+"Do you think we shall see your sister to-night?" I asked of Coralie in
+a whisper.
+
+"Of course you will, if you don't run away too soon. She'll not come in
+later than ten o'clock."
+
+"Don't you fancy that it has put out Sir Dace very much?"
+
+Coralie nodded. "It is something new for papa to attempt to control us;
+and he does not like to find he _can't_. In this affair I take his part;
+not Verena's. Edward Pym is not a suitable match for her in any way. For
+myself, I dislike him."
+
+"I don't much like him, either; and I am sure Captain Tanerton does not.
+Your sister is in love with him, and can see no fault. Cupid's eyes are
+blind, you know."
+
+"I don't know it at all," she laughed. "My turn with Cupid has not yet
+come, Johnny Ludlow. I do not much think Cupid could blind me, though he
+may be blind himself. If--why, what's this?"
+
+Slowly lifting the lid of the box, which had been resting on her lap
+unopened, she saw a sealed note there, lying uppermost, above the
+netting paraphernalia. It was addressed to herself, in Verena's
+handwriting. Coralie opened it with her usual deliberation.
+
+  "DEAR CORALIE,
+
+  "As I find you and papa intend to keep me a prisoner, and as I do
+  not choose to be kept a prisoner, and do not think you have any
+  right to exercise this harsh control over me, I am leaving home for
+  a few days. Tell papa that I shall be perfectly safe and well taken
+  care of, even if I could not take care of myself--which I _can_, as
+  you must know.
+
+  "Ever yours,
+  "VERA."
+
+Coralie laughed just a little. It seemed as if nothing ever put her out:
+she did know that Verena could, as the note phrased it, take care of
+herself. She went up to her father, who was standing by the fire talking
+with the Squire and Tanerton. Sir Dace, fresh from a hot country, was
+always chilly, as I have said before, and kept up a big fire whether it
+was warm or cold.
+
+"Papa, here is a note from Verena. I have just found it in my work-box.
+Would you like to see what she says?"
+
+Sir Dace put his coffee-cup on the mantelpiece, and took the note from
+Coralie. I never saw any expression like that of his face as he read. I
+never saw any face go so _darkly_ white. Evidently he did not take the
+news in the same light way that Coralie did.
+
+A cry broke from him. Staggering back against the shelf, he upset a vase
+that stood at the corner. A beautiful vase of Worcester china, with a
+ground of delicate gilt tracery, and a deliciously-painted landscape
+standing out from it. It was not at the vase, lying in pieces on the
+fender, we looked, but at Sir Dace. His face was contorted; his eyes
+were rolling. Tanerton, ever ready, caught his arm.
+
+"Help me to find her, my friends!" he gasped, when the threatened fit
+had passed. "Help me this night to find my daughter! As sure as we are
+living, that base man will marry her to-morrow, if we do not, and then
+it will be too late."
+
+"Goodness bless me, yes!" cried the Squire, brushing his hair the wrong
+way, his good old red face all excitement, "Let us start at once!
+Johnny, you come with me. Where can we go first?"
+
+That was the question for them all--where to go? London was a large
+place; and to set out to look for a young lady in it, not knowing where
+to look, was as bad as looking for the needle in the bottle of hay.
+
+"She may be at that villain's place," panted Sir Dace, whose breath
+seemed to be all wrong. "Where does he live? You know, I suppose,"
+appealing to Jack.
+
+"No, I don't," said Jack. "But I can find out. I dare say it is in Ship
+Street. Most of----"
+
+"Where is Ship Street?" interrupted the Squire, looking more helpless
+than a lunatic.
+
+"Ship Street, Tower Hill," explained Jack; and I dare say the Squire was
+as wise as before. "Quite a colony of officers live there, while their
+vessels are lying in St. Katherine's Docks. Ship Street lies handy, you
+see; they have to be on board by six in the morning."
+
+"I knew a young fellow who lodged all the way down at Poplar, because it
+was near to his ship," contended the Squire.
+
+"No doubt. His ship must have been berthed in the East India Docks; they
+are much further off. I will go away at once, then. But," added Jack,
+arresting his steps, and turning to Sir Dace, "don't you think it may
+be as well to question the household? Your daughter may have left some
+indication of her movements."
+
+Jack's thought was not a bad one. Coralie rang the bell for their own
+maid, Esther, a dull, silent kind of young woman. But Esther knew
+nothing. She had not helped Miss Verena to dress that evening, only Miss
+Coralie. Miss Verena said she did not want her. She believed Maria saw
+her go out.
+
+Maria, the housemaid, was called: a smart young woman, with curled hair
+and a pink bow in her cap. Her tale was this. While the young ladies
+were dressing for dinner, she entered the drawing-room to attend to the
+fire, and found it very low. She went on her knees to coax it up, when
+Miss Verena came in in her white petticoat, a little shawl on her neck.
+She walked straight up to Miss Fontaine's work-box, opened it and shut
+it, and then went out of the room again.
+
+"Did she speak to you?" asked John Tanerton.
+
+"Yes, sir. Leastways she made just a remark--'What, that fire out
+again?' she said. That was all, sir."
+
+"Go on," sharply cried Sir Dace.
+
+"About ten minutes later, I was at the front-door, letting out the
+water-rate--who is sure to call, as my missis told him, at the most
+ill-convenient time--when Miss Verena came softly down the stairs with
+her bonnet and mantle on. I felt surprised. 'Don't shut me in, Maria,
+when I want to go out,' she said to me in a laughing sort of way, and I
+pulled the door back and begged her pardon. That was all, sir."
+
+"How was she dressed?" asked Coralie.
+
+"I couldn't say," answered the girl; "except that her clothes were dark.
+Her black veil was down over her face; I noticed that; and she had a
+little carpet-bag in her hand."
+
+So there we were, no wiser than before. Verena had taken flight, and it
+was impossible to say whither.
+
+They were for running all over the world. The Squire would have started
+forthwith, and taken the top of the Monument to begin with. John
+Tanerton, departing on his search to find Pym's lodgings, found we all
+meant to attend him, including Ozias.
+
+"Better let me go alone," said Jack. "I am Pym's master at sea, and can
+perhaps exercise some little authority on shore. Johnny Ludlow can go
+with me."
+
+"And you, papa, and Mr. Todhetley might pay a visit to Madame
+Tussaud's," put in Coralie, who had not lost her equanimity the least
+in the world, seeming to look upon the escapade as more of a joke than
+otherwise. "They will very probably be found at Madame Tussaud's: it is
+a safe place of resort when people want to talk secrets and be under
+shelter."
+
+There might be reason in what Coralie said. Certainly there was no need
+for a procession of live people and two cabs to invade the regions of
+Tower Hill. So Jack, buttoning his light over-coat over his dinner
+toggery, got into a hansom with me, and the two old gentlemen went off
+to see the kings and queens.
+
+"Drive like the wind," said Jack to the cabman. "No. 23, Ship Street,
+Tower Hill."
+
+"I thought you did not know his number," I said, as we went skimming
+over the stones.
+
+"I do not know Pym's: am not sure that he puts up in Ship Street. My
+second mate, Mark Ferrar, lives at No. 23, and I dare say he can direct
+me to Pym's."
+
+Mark Ferrar! The name struck on my memory. "Does Ferrar come from
+Worcester, do you know, Jack? Is he related to the Battleys of Crabb?"
+
+"It is the same," said Jack. "I have heard his history. One of his
+especial favourites is Mr. Johnny Ludlow."
+
+"How strange!--strange that he should be in your ship! Does he do well?
+Is he a good sailor?"
+
+"First-rate. Ferrar is really a superior young man, steady and
+painstaking, and has got on wonderfully. As soon as he qualifies for
+master, which will be in another year or two, he will be placed in
+command, unless I am mistaken. Our owners see what he is, and push him
+forward. They drafted him into my ship two years ago."
+
+How curious it was! Mark Ferrar, the humble charity-boy, the _frog_, who
+had won the heart of poor King Sanker, rising thus quickly towards the
+top of the tree! I had always liked Mark; had seen how trustworthy he
+was.
+
+Our cab might fly like the wind; but Tower Hill seemed a long way off in
+spite of it. Dashing into Ship Street at last, I looked about me, and
+saw a narrow street with narrow houses on either side, narrow doors that
+somehow did not look upright, and shutters closed before the downstairs
+windows.
+
+No. 23. Jack got out, and knocked at the door. A young boy opened it,
+saying he believed Mr. Ferrar was in his parlour.
+
+You had to dive down a step to get into the passage. I followed Jack in.
+The parlour-door was on the right, and the boy pushed it open. A smart,
+well-dressed sailor sat at the table, his head bent over books and
+papers, apparently doing exercises by candle-light.
+
+It was Mark Ferrar. His honest, homely face, with the wide mouth and
+plain features, looked much the same; but the face was softened into--I
+had almost said--that of a gentleman. Mark finished the sentence he was
+writing, looked up, and saw his captain.
+
+"Oh, sir, is it you?" he said, rising. "I beg your pardon."
+
+"Busy at your books, I see, Mr. Ferrar?"
+
+Mark smiled--the great, broad, genuine smile I so well remembered. "I
+had to put them by for other books, while I was studying to pass for
+chief, sir. That done, I can get to them again with an easy conscience."
+
+"To be sure. Can you tell me where Mr. Pym lodges?"
+
+"Close by: a few doors lower down. But I can show you the house, sir."
+
+"Have you forgotten me, Mark?" I asked, as he took up his cap to come
+with us.
+
+An instant's uncertain gaze; the candle was behind him, and my face in
+the shade. His own face lighted up with a glad light.
+
+"No, sir, that indeed I have not, I can never forget Mr. Johnny Ludlow.
+But you are about the last person, sir, I should have expected to see
+here."
+
+In the moment's impulse, he had put out his hand to me; then,
+remembering, I suppose, what his position was in the old days, drew it
+back quickly. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, with the same honest
+flush that used to be for ever making a scarlet poppy of his face. But
+I was glad to shake hands with Mark Ferrar.
+
+"How are all your people at Worcester, Mark?" I asked, as we went down
+the street.
+
+"Quite well, thank you, sir. My old father is hearty yet, and my brother
+and sister are both married. I went down to see them last week, and
+stayed a day or two."
+
+The greatest change in Ferrar lay in his diction. He spoke as we spoke.
+Associating now with men of education, he had taken care to catch up
+their tone and accent; and he was ever, afloat or ashore, striving to
+improve himself.
+
+Ferrar opened Pym's door without knocking, dived down the step, for
+the houses were precisely similar, and entered the parlour. He and Pym
+occupied the same apartments in each house: the parlour and the little
+bed-room behind it.
+
+The parlour was in darkness, save for what light came into it from the
+street gas-lamp, for these shutters were not closed. Ferrar went into
+the passage and shouted out for the landlady, Mrs. Richenough. I thought
+it an odd name.
+
+She came in from the kitchen at the end of the passage, carrying a
+candle. A neat little woman with grey hair and a puckered face; the
+sleeves of her brown gown were rolled up to the elbows, and she wore a
+check apron.
+
+"Mr. Pym, sir?" she said, in answer to Ferrar. "He dressed hisself and
+went out when he'd swallowed down his tea. He always do go out, sir, the
+minute he's swallowed it."
+
+"Do you expect him back to-night?" questioned Jack.
+
+"Why yes, sir, I suppose so," she answered, "he mostly comes in about
+eleven."
+
+"Has any young lady been here this evening, ma'am?" blandly continued
+Jack. "With Mr. Pym?--or to inquire for him?"
+
+Mrs. Richenough resented the question. "A young lady!" she repeated,
+raising her voice. "Well, I'm sure! what next?"
+
+"Take care: it is our captain who speaks to you," whispered Ferrar
+in her ear; and the old woman dropped a curtsy to Jack. Captains are
+captains with the old landladies in Ship Street.
+
+"Mr. Pym's sister--or cousin," amended Jack.
+
+"And it's humbly asking pardon of you, sir. I'm sure I took it to mean
+one of them fly-away girls that would like to be running after our young
+officers continual. No, sir; no young lady has been here for Mr. Pym, or
+with him."
+
+"We can wait a little while to see whether he comes in, I presume,
+ma'am," said Jack.
+
+Intimating that Mr. Pym's captain was welcome to wait the whole night if
+he pleased, Mrs. Richenough lighted the lamp that stood on the table,
+shut the shutters, and made Jack another curtsy as she withdrew.
+
+"Do you wish me to remain, sir?" asked Mark.
+
+"Not at all," was the captain's answer. "There will be a good deal to do
+to-morrow, Mr. Ferrar: mind you are not late in getting on board."
+
+"No fear, sir," replied Ferrar.
+
+And he left us waiting.
+
+
+III.
+
+The dwellings in Ship Street, Tower Hill, may be regarded as desirable
+residences by the young merchant-seamen whose vessels are lying in the
+neighbouring clocks, but they certainly do not possess much attraction
+for the general eye.
+
+Seated in Edward Pym's parlour, the features of the room gradually
+impressed themselves upon my mind, and they remain there still. They
+would have remained, I think, without the dreadful tragedy that was so
+soon to take place in it. It was weary work waiting. Captain Tanerton,
+tired with his long and busy day, was nodding asleep in the opposite
+chair, and I had nothing to do but look about me.
+
+It was a small room, rather shabby, the paper of a greenish cast, the
+faded carpet originally red: and the bedroom behind, as much as could
+be seen of it through the half-open door, looked smaller and poorer.
+The chairs were horsehair, the small table in the middle had a purple
+cloth on it, on which stood the lamp, that the landlady had just
+lighted. A carved ivory ornament, representing a procession of
+priests and singers, probably a present to Mrs. Richenough from some
+merchant-captain, stood under a glass shade on a bracket against the
+wall; the mantelpiece was garnished with a looking-glass and some
+china shepherds and shepherdesses. A monkey-jacket of Pym's lay
+across the back of a chair; some books and his small desk were on the
+chiffonier. In the rooms above, as we learnt later, lodged a friend of
+Pym's, one Alfred Saxby, who was looking out for a third mate's berth.
+
+At last Pym came in. Uncommonly surprised he seemed to see us sitting
+there, but not at all put out: he thought the captain had come down on
+some business connected with the ship. Jack quietly opened the ball;
+saying what he had to say.
+
+"Yes, sir. I do know where Miss Verena Fontaine is, but I decline to
+say," was Pym's answer when he had listened.
+
+"No, sir, nothing will induce me to say," he added to further
+remonstrance, "and you cannot compel me. I am under your authority at
+sea, Captain Tanerton, but I am not on shore--and not at all in regard
+to my private affairs. Miss Verena Fontaine is under the protection of
+friends, and that is quite enough."
+
+Enough or not enough, this was the utmost we could get from him. His
+captain talked, and he talked, each of them in a civilly-cold way; but
+nothing more satisfactory came of it. Pym wound up by saying the young
+lady was his cousin, and he could take care of her without being
+interfered with.
+
+"Do you trust him, Johnny Ludlow?" asked Jack, as we came away.
+
+"I don't trust him on the whole; not a bit of it. But he seems to speak
+truth in saying she is with friends."
+
+And, as the days went on, bringing no tidings of Verena, Sir Dace
+Fontaine grew angry as a raging tiger.
+
+When a ship is going out of dock, she is more coquettish than a beauty
+in her teens. Not in herself, but in her movements. Advertised to sail
+to-day, you will be told she'll not start until to-morrow; and when
+to-morrow comes the departure will be put off until the next day,
+perhaps to the next week.
+
+Thus it was with the _Rose of Delhi_. From some uncompromising
+exigencies, whether connected with the cargo, the crew, the brokers, or
+any other of the unknown mysteries pertaining to ships, the day that
+was to have witnessed her departure--Thursday--did not witness it. The
+brokers, Freeman and Co., let it transpire on board that she would go
+out of dock the next morning. About mid-day Captain Tanerton presented
+himself at their office in Eastcheap.
+
+"I shall not sail to-morrow--with your permission," said he to Mr. James
+Freeman.
+
+"Yes, you will--if she's ready," returned the broker. "Gould says she
+will be."
+
+"Gould may think so; I do not. But, whether she be ready or not, Mr.
+Freeman, I don't intend to take her out to-morrow."
+
+The words might be decisive words, but the captain's tone was genial
+as he spoke them, and his frank, pleasant smile sat on his face. Mr.
+Freeman looked at him. They valued Captain Tanerton as they perhaps
+valued no other master in their employ, these brothers Freeman; but
+James had a temper that was especially happy in contradiction.
+
+"I suppose you'd like to say that you won't go out on a Friday!"
+
+"That's just it," said Jack.
+
+"You are superstitious, Captain Tanerton," mocked the broker.
+
+"I am not," answered Jack. "But I sail with those who are. Sailors
+are more foolish on this point than you can imagine: and I believe--I
+believe in my conscience--that ships, sailing on a Friday, have come to
+grief through their crew losing heart. No matter what impediment is met
+with--bad weather, accidents, what not--the men say at once it's of no
+use, we sailed on a Friday. They lose their spirit, and their energy
+with it; and I say, Mr. Freeman, that vessels have been lost through
+this, which might have otherwise been saved. I will not go out of dock
+to-morrow; and I refuse to do it in your interest as much as in my own."
+
+"Oh, bother," was all James Freeman rejoined. "You'll have to go if
+she's ready."
+
+But the words made an impression. James Freeman knew what sailors were
+nearly as well as Jack knew: and he could not help recalling to memory
+that beautiful ship of Freeman Brothers, the _Lily of Japan_. The _Lily_
+had been lost only six months ago; and those of her crew, who were
+saved, religiously stuck to it that the calamity was brought about
+through having sailed on a Friday.
+
+The present question did not come to an issue. For, on the Friday
+morning, the _Rose of Delhi_ was not ready for sea; would not be ready
+that day. On the Saturday morning she was not ready either; and it
+was finally decided that Monday should be the day of departure. On
+the Saturday afternoon Captain Tanerton ran down to Timberdale for
+four-and-twenty hours; Squire Todhetley, his visit to London over,
+travelling down by the same train.
+
+Verena Fontaine had not yet turned up, and Sir Dace was nearly crazy.
+Not only was he angry at being thwarted, but one absorbing, special
+fear lay upon him--that she would come back a married woman. Pym was
+capable of any sin, he told the Squire and Coralie, even of buying the
+wedding-ring; and Verena was capable of letting it be put on her finger.
+"No, papa," dissented Coralie in her equable manner, "Vera is too fond
+of money and of the good things money buys, to risk the loss of the best
+part of her fortune. She will not marry Pym until she is of age; be sure
+of that. When he has sailed she will come home safe and sound, and tell
+us where she has been."
+
+Captain Tanerton went down, I say, to Timberdale. He stayed at the
+Rectory with his wife and brother until the Sunday afternoon, and then
+returned to London. The _Rose of Delhi_ was positively going out on
+Monday, so he had to be back--and, I may as well say here, that Jack,
+good-natured Jack, had invited me to go in her as far as Gravesend.
+
+During that brief stay at Timberdale, Jack was not in his usual spirits.
+His wife, Alice, noticed it, and asked him whether anything was the
+matter. Not anything whatever, Jack readily answered. In truth there was
+not. At least, anything he could talk of. A weight lay on his spirits,
+and he could not account for it. The strong instinct, which had seemed
+to warn him against sailing with Pym again, had gradually left him since
+he knew that Pym was to sail, whether or not. In striving to make
+the best of it, he had thrown off the feeling: and the unaccountable
+depression that weighed him down could not arise from that cause. It was
+a strange thing altogether, this; one that never, in all his life, had
+he had any experience of; but it was not less strange than true.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+_Monday._--The _Rose of Delhi_ lay in her place in the freshness of the
+sunny morning, making ready to go out of dock with the incoming tide. I
+went on board betimes: and I thought I had never been in such a bustling
+scene before. The sailors knew what they were about. I conclude, but to
+me it seemed all confusion. The captain I could not see anywhere; but
+his chief officer, Pym, seemed to be more busy than a certain common
+enemy of ours is said to be in a gale of wind.
+
+"Is the captain not on board?" I asked of Mark Ferrar, as he was
+whisking past me on deck.
+
+"Oh no, sir; not yet. The captain will not come on board till the last
+moment--if he does then."
+
+The words took me by surprise. "What do you mean, by saying 'If he does
+then'?"
+
+"He has so much to do, sir; he is at the office now, signing the bills
+of lading. If he can't get done in time he will join at Gravesend when
+we take on some passengers. The captain is not wanted on board when we
+are going out of dock, Mr. Johnny," added Ferrar, seeing my perplexed
+look. "The river-pilot takes the ship out."
+
+He pointed to the latter personage, just then making his appearance on
+deck. I wondered whether all river-pilots were like him. He was broad
+enough to make two ordinarily stout people; and his voice, from long
+continuous shouting, had become nothing less than a raven's croak.
+
+At the last moment, when the ship was getting away, and I had given the
+captain up, he came on board. How glad I was to see his handsome, kindly
+face!
+
+"I've had a squeak for it, Johnny," he laughed, as he shook my hand:
+"but I meant to go down with you if I could."
+
+Then came all the noise and stir of getting away: the croaking of the
+pilot alone distinguishable to my uninitiated ears. "Slack away the
+stern-line"--he called it starn. "Haul in head-rope." "Here, carpenter,
+bear a hand, get the cork-fender over the quarter-gallery." "What are
+you doing aft there?--why don't you slack away that stern-line?" Every
+other moment it seemed to me that we were going to pitch into the craft
+in the pool, or they into us. However, we got on without mishap.
+
+Captain Tanerton was crossing the ship, after holding a confab with the
+pilot, when a young man, whom he did not recognize, stepped aside out
+of his way, and touched his cap. The captain looked surprised, for the
+badge on the cap was the one worn by his own officers.
+
+"Who are you?" he asked.
+
+"Mr. Saxby, if you please, sir."
+
+"Mr. Saxby! What do you do here?"
+
+"Third mate, if you please, sir," repeated the young man. "Your third
+mate, Mr. Jones, met with an accident yesterday; he broke his leg; and
+my friend, Pym, spoke of me to Mr. Gould."
+
+Captain Tanerton was not only surprised, but vexed. First, for the
+accident to Jones, who was a very decent young fellow; next, at his
+being superseded by a stranger, and a friend of Pym's. He put a few
+questions, found the new man's papers were in order, and so made the
+best of it.
+
+"You will find me a good and considerate master, Mr. Saxby, if you do
+your duty with a will," he said in a kind tone.
+
+"I hope I shall, sir; I'll try to," answered the young man.
+
+On we went swimmingly, in the wake of the tug-boat; but this desirable
+tranquillity was ere long destined to be marred.
+
+On coming up from the state-room, as they called it, after regaling
+ourselves on a cold collation, the captain was pointing out to me
+something on shore, when one of the crew approached hastily, and touched
+his cap. I found it was the carpenter: a steady-looking man, who was
+fresh to the ship, having joined her half-an-hour before starting.
+
+"Beg pardon, sir," he began. "Might I ask you when this ship was pumped
+out last?"
+
+"Why, she is never pumped out," replied the captain.
+
+"Well, sir," returned the man, "it came into my head just now to sound
+her, and I find there's two feet of water in the hold."
+
+"Nonsense," said Jack: "you must be mistaken. Why, she has never made a
+cupful of water since she was built. We have to put water in her to keep
+her sweet."
+
+"Any way, sir, there's two feet o' water in her now."
+
+The captain looked at the man steadily for a moment, and then thought
+it might be as well to verify the assertion--or the contrary--himself,
+being a practical man. Taking the sounding-rod from the carpenter's
+hand, he wiped it dry with an old bag lying near, and then proceeded to
+sound the well. Quite true: there were two feet of water. No time lost
+he. Ordering the carpenter to rig the pumps, he called all hands to man
+them.
+
+For a quarter-of-an-hour, or twenty minutes, the pumps were worked
+without intermission; then the captain sounded, as before, doing it
+himself. There was no diminution of water--it stood at the same level as
+before pumping. Upon that, he and the carpenter went down into the hold,
+to listen along the ship's sides, and discover, if they could, where
+the water was coming in. Five minutes later, Jack was on deck again, his
+face grave.
+
+"It is coming in abreast of the main hatchway on the starboard side; we
+can hear it distinctly," he said to the pilot. "I must order the ship
+back again: I think it right to do so." And the broad pilot, who seemed
+a very taciturn pilot, made no demur to this, except a grunt. So the
+tug-boat was ordered to turn round and tow us back again.
+
+"Where's Mr. Pym?" cried the captain. "Mr. Pym!"
+
+"Mr. Pym's in the cabin, sir," said the steward, who chanced to be
+passing.
+
+"In the cabin!" echoed Jack, in an accent that seemed to imply the
+cabin was not Mr. Pym's proper place just then. "Send him to me, if
+you please, steward."
+
+"Yes, sir," replied the steward. But he did not obey with the readiness
+exacted on board ship. He hesitated, as if wanting to say something
+before turning away.
+
+No Pym came. Jack grew impatient, and called out an order or two. Young
+Saxby came up, touching his cap, according to rule.
+
+"Do you want me, sir?"
+
+"I want Mr. Pym. He is below. Ask him to come to me instantly."
+
+It brought forth Pym. Jack's head was turned away for a moment, and I
+saw what he did not. That Pym had a fiery face, and walked as if his
+limbs were slipping from under him.
+
+"Oh, you are here at last, Mr. Pym--did you not receive my first
+message?" cried Jack, turning round. "The cargo must be broken out to
+find the place of leakage. See about it smartly: there's no time to
+waste."
+
+Pym had caught hold of something at hand to enable him to stand steady.
+He had lost his wits, that was certain; for he stuttered out an answer
+to the effect that the cargo might be--hanged.
+
+The captain saw his state then. Feeling a need of renovation possibly,
+after his morning's exertions, Mr. Pym had been making free, a great
+deal too much so, with the bottled ale below, and had finished up with
+brandy-and-water.
+
+The cargo might be hanged!
+
+Captain Tanerton, his brow darkening, spoke a sharp, short, stern
+reprimand, and ordered Mr. Pym to his cabin.
+
+What could have possessed Pym unless it might be the spirit that was in
+the brandy, nobody knew. He refused to obey, broke into open defiance,
+and gave Captain Tanerton sauce to his face.
+
+"Take him below," said the captain quietly, to those who were standing
+round. "Mr. Ferrar, you will lock Mr. Pym's cabin-door, if you please,
+and bring me the key."
+
+This was done, and Mr. Pym encaged. He kicked at his cabin-door, and
+shook it; but he could not escape: he was a prisoner. He swore for a
+little while at the top of his voice; then he commenced some uproarious
+singing, and finally fell on his bed and went to sleep.
+
+Hands were set to work to break out the cargo, which they piled on deck;
+and the source of the leakage was discovered. It seemed a slight thing,
+after all, to have caused so much commotion--nothing but an old treenail
+that had not been properly plugged-up. I said so to Ferrar.
+
+"Ah, Mr. Johnny," was Ferrar's answering remark, his face and tone
+strangely serious, "slight as it may seem to you, it might have sunk us
+all this night, had we chanced to anchor off Gravesend."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+What with the pumps, that were kept at work, and the shifting of the
+cargo, and the hammering they made in stopping up the leak, we had
+enough to do this time. And about half-past three o'clock in the
+afternoon the brave ship, which had gone out so proudly with the tide,
+got back ignominiously with the end of it, and came to an anchor outside
+the graving-dock, there not being sufficient water to allow of her
+entering it. The damage was already three-parts repaired, and the ship
+would make her final start on the morrow.
+
+"'Twas nothing but a good Providence could have put it into my head to
+sound the ship, sir," remarked the carpenter, wiping his hot face, as he
+came on deck for something or other he needed. "But for that, we might
+none of us have seen the morning's sun."
+
+Jack nodded. These special interpositions of God's good care are not
+rare, though we do not always recognize them. And yet, but for that
+return back, the miserable calamity so soon to fall, would not have had
+the chance to take place.
+
+Captain Tanerton caused himself to be rowed ashore, first of all
+ordering the door of his prisoner to be unfastened. I got into the
+waterman's wherry with him, for I had nothing to stay on board for. And
+a fine ending it was to my day's pleasuring!
+
+"Never mind, Johnny," he said, as we parted. "You can come with us again
+to-morrow, and I hope we shall have a more lucky start."
+
+Captain Tanerton went straight to the brokers', saw Mr. James Freeman,
+and told him he would _not_ take out Edward Pym. If he did, the man's
+fate would probably be that of irons from Gravesend to Calcutta.
+
+And James Freeman, a thorough foe to brandy-and-water when taken at
+wrong times, listened to reason, and gave not a word of dissent. He
+there and then made Ferrar chief mate, and put another one second in
+Ferrar's place; a likely young man in their employ who was waiting
+for a berth. This perfectly satisfied Captain Tanerton, under the
+circumstances.
+
+The captain was then rowed back to his ship. By that time it was five
+o'clock. He told Ferrar of the change; who thanked him heartily, a glow
+of satisfaction rising to his honest face.
+
+"Where's Pym?" asked the captain. "He must take his things out of the
+ship."
+
+"Pym is not on board, sir. Soon after you left, he came up and went
+ashore: he seemed to have pretty nearly slept off the drink. Sir Dace
+Fontaine is below," added Ferrar, dropping his voice.
+
+"Sir Dace Fontaine! Does he want me?"
+
+"He wanted Mr. Pym, sir. He has been looking into every part of the
+ship: he is looking still. He fancies his daughter is concealed on
+board."
+
+"Oh, nonsense!" cried the captain; "he can't fancy that. As if Miss
+Fontaine would come down here--and board ships!"
+
+"She was on board yesterday, sir."
+
+"What!" cried the captain.
+
+"Mr. Pym brought her on board yesterday afternoon, sir," continued
+Ferrar, his voice as low as it could well go. "He was showing her about
+the ship."
+
+"How do you know this, Mr. Ferrar?"
+
+"I was here, sir. Expecting to sail last week, I sent my traps on board.
+Yesterday, wanting a memorandum-book out of my desk, I came down for it.
+That's how I saw them."
+
+Captain Tanerton, walking forward to meet Sir Dace, knitted his brow.
+Was Mr. Pym drawing the careless, light-headed girl into mischief? Sir
+Dace evidently thought so.
+
+"I tell you, Captain Tanerton, she is quite likely to be on board,
+concealed as a stow-away," persisted Sir Dace, in answer to the
+captain's assurance that Verena was not, and could not be in the ship.
+"When you are safe away from land, she will come out of hiding and they
+will declare their marriage. That they are married, is only too likely.
+He brought her on board yesterday afternoon when the ship was lying in
+St. Katharine's Dock."
+
+"Do you know that he did?" cried Jack, wondering whence Sir Dace got his
+information.
+
+"I am told so. As I got up your ladder just now I inquired of the first
+man I saw, whether a young lady was on board. He said no, but that a
+young lady had come on board with Mr. Pym yesterday afternoon to see the
+ship. The man was your ship-keeper in dock."
+
+"How did you hear we had got back to-day, Sir Dace?"
+
+"I came down this afternoon to search the ship before she sailed--I was
+under a misapprehension as to the time of her going out. The first thing
+I heard was, that the _Rose of Delhi_ had gone and had come back again.
+Pym is capable, I say, of taking Verena out."
+
+"You may be easy on this point, Sir Dace," returned Jack. "Pym does not
+go out in the ship: he is superseded." And he gave the heads of what had
+occurred.
+
+It did not tend to please Sir Dace. Edward Pym on the high seas would
+be a less formidable adversary than Edward Pym on land: and perhaps in
+his heart of hearts Sir Dace did not really believe his daughter would
+become a stow-away.
+
+"Won't you help me to find her? to _save_ her?" gasped Sir Dace, in
+pitiful entreaty. "With this change--Pym not going out--I know not what
+trouble he may not draw her into. Coralie says Verena is not married;
+but I--Heaven help me! I know not what to think. I must find Pym this
+night and watch his movements, and find her if I can. You must help me."
+
+"I will help you," said warm-hearted Jack--and he clasped hands upon it.
+"I will undertake to find Pym. And, that your daughter is not on board,
+Sir Dace, I pass you my word."
+
+Sir Dace stepped into the wherry again, to be rowed ashore and get home
+to his dinner--ordered that evening for six o'clock. In a short while
+Jack also quitted the ship, and went to Pym's lodgings in Ship Street.
+Pym was not there.
+
+Mr. Pym had come in that afternoon, said his landlady, Mrs. Richenough,
+and startled her out of her seven senses; for, knowing the ship had left
+with the day's tide, she had supposed Mr. Pym to be then off Gravesend,
+or thereabouts. He told her the ship had sprung a leak and put back
+again. Mr. Pym had gone out, she added, after drinking a potful of
+strong tea.
+
+"To sober him," thought the captain. "Do you expect him back to sleep,
+Mrs. Richenough?"
+
+"Yes, I do, sir. I took the sheets off his bed this morning, and I've
+just been and put 'em on again. Mr. Saxby's must be put on too, for he
+looked in to say he should sleep here."
+
+Where to search for Pym, Jack did not know. Possibly he might have gone
+back to the ship to offer an apology, now that he was sobered. Jack was
+bending his steps towards it when he met Ferrar: who told him Pym had
+not gone back.
+
+Jack put on his considering-cap. He hardly knew what to do, or how to
+find the fugitives: with Sir Dace, he deemed it highly necessary that
+Verena should be found.
+
+"Have you anything particular to do to-night, Mr. Ferrar?" he suddenly
+asked. And Ferrar said he had not.
+
+"Then," continued the captain, "I wish you would search for Pym."
+And, knowing Ferrar was thoroughly trustworthy, he whispered a few
+confidential words of Sir Dace Fontaine's fear and trouble. "I am going
+to look for him myself," added Jack, "though I'm sure I don't know in
+what quarter. If you do come across him, keep him within view. You can
+tell him also that his place on the _Rose of Delhi_ is filled up, and he
+must take his things out of her."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Altogether that had been a somewhat momentous day for Mr. Alfred
+Saxby--and its events for him were not over yet. He had been appointed
+to a good ship, and the ship had made a false start, and was back again.
+An uncle and aunt of his lived at Clapham, and he thought he could not
+do better than go down there and regale them with the news: we all
+naturally burn to impart marvels to the world, you know. However, when
+he reached his relatives' residence, he found they were out; and not
+long after nine o'clock he was back at Mrs. Richenough's.
+
+"Is Mr. Pym in?" he asked of the landlady; who came forward rubbing her
+eyes as though she were sleepy, and gave him his candle.
+
+"Oh, he have been in some little time, sir. And a fine row he's been
+having with his skipper," added Mrs. Richenough, who sometimes came off
+the high ropes of politeness when she had disposed of her supper beer.
+
+"A row, has he!" returned Saxby. "Does not like to have been
+superseded," he added to himself. "I must say Pym was a fool to-day--to
+go and drink, as he did, and to sauce the master."
+
+"Screeching out at one another like mad, they've been," pursued Mrs.
+Richenough. "He do talk stern, that skipper, for a young man and a
+good-looking one."
+
+"Is the captain in there now?"
+
+"For all I know. I did think I heard the door shut, but it might have
+been my fancy. Good-night, sir. Pleasant dreams."
+
+Leaving the candle in Saxby's hands, she returned to her kitchen, which
+was built out at the back. He halted at the parlour-door to listen. No
+voices were to be heard then; no sounds.
+
+"Pym may have gone to bed--I dare say his head aches," thought Saxby:
+and he opened the door to see whether the parlour was empty.
+
+Why! what was it?--what was the matter? The young man took one startled
+look around and then put down the candle, his heart leaping into his
+mouth.
+
+The lamp on the table threw its bright light on the little room. Some
+scuffle appeared to have taken place in it. A chair was overturned; the
+ivory ornament with its glass shade had been swept from its stand to the
+floor: and by its side lay Edward Pym--dead.
+
+Mr. Alfred Saxby, third mate of that good ship, the _Rose of Delhi_,
+might be a sufficiently self-possessed individual when encountering
+sudden surprises at sea; but he certainly did not show himself to be so
+on shore. When the state of affairs had sufficiently impressed itself on
+his startled senses, he burst out of the room in mortal terror, shouting
+out "murder."
+
+There was nobody in the house to hear him but Mrs. Richenough. She came
+forward, slightly overcome by drowsiness; but the sight she saw woke her
+up effectually.
+
+"Good mercy!" cried she, running to the prostrate man. "Is he dead?"
+
+"He looks dead," shivered Mr. Saxby, hardly knowing whether he was not
+dead himself.
+
+They raised Pym's head, and put a pillow under it. The landlady wrung
+her hands.
+
+"We must have a doctor," she cried: "but I can see he is dead. This
+comes of that quarrel with his captain: I heard them raving frightfully
+at one another. There has been a scuffle here--see that chair. Oh! and
+look at my beautiful ivory knocked down!--and the shade all broke to
+atoms!"
+
+"I'll fetch Mr. Ferrar," cried Saxby, feeling himself rather powerless
+to act; and with nobody to aid him but the gabbling woman.
+
+Like mad, Saxby tore up the street, burst in at Mark Ferrar's open door
+and went full butt against Mark himself; who was at the moment turning
+quickly out of it.
+
+"Take care, Saxby. What are you about?"
+
+"Oh, for Heaven's sake do come, Mr. Ferrar! Pym is dead. He is lying
+dead on the floor."
+
+The first thing Ferrar did was to scan his junior officer narrowly,
+wondering whether he could be quite sober. Yes, he seemed to be that;
+but agitated to trembling, and his face as pale as death. The next
+minute Ferrar was bending over Pym. Alas, he saw too truly that life was
+extinct.
+
+"It's his skipper that has done it, sir," repeated the landlady.
+
+"Hush, Mrs. Richenough!" rebuked Ferrar. "Captain Tanerton has not done
+this."
+
+"But I heard 'em screeching and howling at one another, sir," persisted
+Mrs. Richenough. "Their quarrel must have come to blows."
+
+"I do not believe it," dissented Ferrar. "Captain Tanerton would not be
+capable of anything of the kind. Fight with a man who has served under
+him!--you don't understand things, Mrs. Richenough."
+
+Saxby had run for the nearest medical man. Ferrar ran to find his
+captain. He knew that Captain Tanerton intended to put up at a small
+hotel in the Minories for the night.
+
+To this hotel went Ferrar, and found Captain Tanerton. Tired with his
+evening's search after Pym, the captain was taking some refreshment,
+before going up to Sir Dace Fontaine's--which he had promised, in
+Sir Dace's anxiety, to do. He received Ferrar's report--that Pym was
+dead--with incredulity: did not appear to believe it: but he betrayed no
+embarrassment, or any other guilty sign.
+
+"Why, I came straight here from Pym," he observed. "It's hardly twenty
+minutes since I left him. He was all right then--except that he had been
+having more drink."
+
+"Old Mother Richenough says, sir, that Pym and you had a loud quarrel."
+
+"Say that, does she," returned the captain carelessly. "Her ears must
+have deceived her, Mr. Ferrar."
+
+"A quarrel and fight she says, sir. I told her I knew better."
+
+Captain Tanerton took his cap and started with Ferrar for Ship Street,
+plunging into a reverie. Presently he began to speak--as if he wished to
+account for his own movements.
+
+"When you left me, Mr. Ferrar--you know"--and here he exchanged a
+significant glance with his new first mate--"I went on to Ship Street,
+and took a look at Pym's room. A lamp was shining on the table, and his
+landlady had the window open, closing the shutters. This gave me an
+opportunity of seeing inside. Pym I saw; but not--not anyone else."
+
+Again Captain Tanerton's tone was significant. Ferrar appeared to
+understand it perfectly. It looked as though they had some secret
+understanding between them which they did not care to talk of openly.
+The captain resumed.
+
+"After fastening the shutters, Mrs. Richenough came to the door--for a
+breath of air, she remarked, as she saw me: and she positively denied,
+in answer to my questions, that any young lady was there. Mr. Pym had
+never had a young lady come after him at all, she protested, whether
+sister or cousin, or what not."
+
+"Yes, sir," said Ferrar: for the captain had paused.
+
+"I went in, and spoke to Pym. But, I saw in a moment that he had been
+drinking again. He was not in a state to be reasoned with, or talked to.
+I asked him but one question, and asked it civilly: would he tell me
+where Verena Fontaine was. Pym replied in an unwilling tone; he was
+evidently sulky. Verena Fontaine was at home again with her people; and
+he had not been able, for that reason, to see her. Thinking the ship
+had gone away, and he with it, Verena had returned home early in the
+afternoon. That was the substance of his answer."
+
+"But I--I don't know whether that account can be true, sir," hesitated
+Ferrar. "I was not sure, you know, sir, that it was the young lady; I
+said so----"
+
+"Yes, yes, I understood that," interrupted the captain quickly. "Well,
+it was what Pym said to me," he added, after a pause: "one hardly knows
+what to believe. However, she was not there, so far as I could ascertain
+and judge; and I left Pym and came up here to my hotel. I was not two
+minutes with him."
+
+"Then--did no quarrel take place, sir?" cried Ferrar, thinking of the
+landlady's story.
+
+"Not an angry word."
+
+At this moment, as they were turning into Ship Street, Saxby, who seemed
+completely off his head, ran full tilt against Ferrar. It was all over,
+he cried out in excitement, as he turned back with them: the doctor
+pronounced Pym to be really dead.
+
+"It is a dreadful thing," said the captain. "And, seemingly, a
+mysterious one."
+
+"Oh, it is dreadful," asserted young Saxby. "What will poor Miss Verena
+do? I saw her just now," he added, dropping his voice.
+
+"Saw her where?" asked the captain, taking a step backwards.
+
+"In the place where I've just met you, sir," replied Saxby. "I was
+running past round the corner into the street, on my way home from
+Clapham, when a young lady met and passed me, going pretty nearly as
+quick as I was. She had her face muffled in a black veil, but I am
+nearly sure it was Miss Verena Fontaine. I thought she must be coming
+from Pym's lodgings here."
+
+Captain Tanerton and his chief mate exchanged glances of intelligence
+under the light of the street gas-lamp. The former then turned to Saxby.
+
+"Mr. Saxby," said he, "I would advise you not to mention this little
+incident. It would not, I am sure, be pleasant to Miss Verena Fontaine's
+friends to hear of it. And, after all, you are not sure that it was
+she."
+
+"Very true, sir," replied Saxby. "I'll not speak of it again."
+
+"You hear, sir," answered Ferrar softly, as Saxby stepped on to open
+the house-door. "This seems to bear out what I said. And, by the way,
+sir, I also saw----"
+
+"Hush!" cautiously interrupted the captain--for they had reached the
+door, and Mrs. Richenough stood at it.
+
+And what Mr. Ferrar further saw, whatever it might be, was not heard
+by Captain Tanerton. There was no present opportunity for private
+conversation: and Ferrar was away in the morning with the _Rose of
+Delhi_.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+After parting with Captain Tanerton on leaving the ship, I made my way
+to the Mansion House, took an omnibus to Covent Garden, and called at
+the Tavistock to tell Mr. Brandon of the return of the ship. Mr. Brandon
+kept me to dinner. About eight o'clock I left him, and went to the
+Marylebone Road to see the Fontaines. Coralie was in the drawing-room
+alone.
+
+"Is it you, Johnny Ludlow!" she gaily cried, when old Ozias showed me
+in. "You are as welcome as flowers in May. Here I am, without a soul to
+speak to. You must have a game at chess with me."
+
+"Your sister is not come home, then?"
+
+"Not she. I thought it likely she would come, as soon as the ship's head
+was turned seaward--I told you so. But she has not. And now the ship's
+back again, I hear. A fine time you must have had of it!"
+
+"We just had. But how did you know?"
+
+"From papa. Papa betook himself to the docks this afternoon, to assure
+himself, I presume, that the _Rose of Delhi_ was gone. And my belief is,
+Johnny, that he will work himself into a nervous fever," Coralie broke
+off to say, in her equable way, as she helped me to place the pieces.
+"When he got there, he found the ship was back again. This put him out a
+little, as you may judge; and something else put him out more. He heard
+that Vera went on board with Pym yesterday afternoon when the ship was
+lying in St. Katherine's Docks. Upon that, what notion do you suppose he
+took up? I have first move, don't I?"
+
+"Certainly. What notion did he take up?" The reader must remember that
+I knew nothing of Sir Dace's visit to the ship.
+
+"Why, that Vera might be resolving to convert herself into a stowaway,
+and go out with Pym and the ship. Poor papa! He went searching all over
+the vessel. He must be off his head."
+
+"Verena would not do that."
+
+"Do it?" retorted Coralie. "She'd be no more likely to do it than to go
+up a chimney, as the sweeps do. I told papa so. He brought me this news
+when he came home to dinner. And he might just as well have stayed away,
+for all he ate."
+
+Coralie paused to look at her game. I said nothing.
+
+"He could only drink. It was as if he had a fierce thirst upon him. When
+the sweets came on, he left the table and shut himself in his little
+library. I sent Ozias to ask if he would have a cup of tea or coffee
+made; papa swore at poor Ozias, and locked the door upon him. When
+Verena does appear I'd not say but he'll beat her."
+
+"No, no: not that."
+
+"But, I tell you he is off his head. He is still shut up: and nobody
+dare go near him when he gets into a fit of temper. It is so silly of
+papa! Verena is all right. But this disobedience, you see, is something
+new to him."
+
+"You can't move that bishop. It leaves your king in check."
+
+"So it does. The worst item of news remains behind," added Coralie. "And
+that is that Pym does not sail with the ship."
+
+"I should not think he would now. Captain Tanerton would not take him."
+
+"Papa told me Captain Tanerton had caused him to be superseded. Was Pym
+very much the worse for what he took, Johnny? Was he very insolent? You
+must have seen it all?"
+
+"He had taken quite enough. And he was about as insolent as a man can
+be."
+
+"Ferrar is appointed to his place, papa says; and a new man to
+Ferrar's."
+
+"Ferrar is! I am glad of that: very. He deserves to get on."
+
+"But Ferrar is not a gentleman, is he?" objected Coralie.
+
+"Not in one sense. There are gentlemen and gentlemen. Mark Ferrar is
+very humble as regards birth and bringing-up. His father is a journeyman
+china-painter at one of the Worcester china-factories; and Mark got
+his learning at St. Peter's charity-school. But every instinct Mark
+possesses is that of a refined, kindly, modest gentleman; and he
+has contrived to improve himself so greatly by dint of study and
+observation, that he might now pass for a gentleman in any society.
+Some men, whatever may be their later advantages, can never throw off
+the common tone and manner of early habits and associations. Ferrar
+has succeeded in doing it."
+
+"If Pym stays on shore it may bring us further complication," mused
+Coralie. "I should search for Verena myself then--and search in
+earnest. Papa and old Ozias have gone about it in anything but a likely
+manner."
+
+"Have you any notion where she can be?"
+
+"Just the least bit of notion in the world," laughed Coralie. "It
+flashed across me the other night where she might have hidden herself.
+I don't know it. I have no particular ground to go upon."
+
+"You did not tell Sir Dace?"
+
+"Not I," lightly answered Coralie. "We two sisters don't interfere with
+one another's private affairs. I did keep back a letter of Vera's; one
+she wrote to Pym when we first left home; but I have done so no more.
+Here comes some tea at last!"
+
+"I should have told," I continued in a low tone. "Or taken means myself
+to see whether my notion was right or wrong."
+
+"What did it signify?--when Pym was going away in a day or two. Check to
+you, Johnny Ludlow."
+
+That first game, what with talking and tea-drinking, was a long one. I
+won it. When Ozias came in for the tea-cups Coralie asked him whether
+Sir Dace had rung for anything. No, the man answered; most likely his
+master would remain locked in till bed-time; it was his way when any
+great thing put him out.
+
+"I don't think I can stay for another game," I said to Coralie, as she
+began to place the men again.
+
+"Are you in such a hurry?" cried Coralie, glancing round at the clock:
+which said twenty minutes to ten.
+
+I was not in any hurry at all that night, as regarded myself: I had
+thought she might not care for me to stay longer. Miss Deveen and
+Cattledon had gone out to dinner some ten miles away, and were not
+expected home before midnight. So we began a fresh game.
+
+"Why! that clock must have stopped!"
+
+Chancing to look at it by-and-by, I saw that it stood at the same
+time--twenty minutes to ten. I took out my watch. It said just ten
+minutes past ten.
+
+"What does it signify?" said Coralie. "You can stay here till twenty
+minutes to twelve if you like--and be whirled home in a cab by midnight
+then."
+
+That was true. If----
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed Coralie.
+
+She was looking at the door with surprised eyes. There stood Verena,
+her bonnet on; evidently just come in.
+
+Verena tripped forward, bent down, and kissed her sister. "Have you been
+desperately angry, Coral?" she lightly asked, giving me her hand to
+shake. "I know papa has."
+
+"_I_ have not been angry," was Coralie's equable answer: "but you have
+acted childishly, Verena. And now, where have you been?"
+
+"Only in Woburn Place, at Mrs. Ball's," said Verena, throwing off her
+bonnet, and bringing her lovely flushed face close to the light as she
+sat down. "When I left here that evening--and really, Johnny, I was
+sorry not to stay and go in to dinner with _you_," she broke off, with
+a smile--"I went straight to our old lodgings, to good old Mother Ball.
+'They are frightful tyrants at home,' I said to her, 'I'm not sure but
+they'll serve me as Bluebeard did his wives; and I want to stay with you
+for a day or two.' There's where I have been all the time, Coral; and I
+wondered you and papa did not come to look for me."
+
+"It is where I fancied you might be," returned Coral. "But I only
+thought of it on Saturday night. Does that mean check, Johnny?"
+
+"Check and mate, mademoiselle."
+
+"Oh, how wicked you are!"
+
+"Mrs. Ball has been more careful of me than she'd be of gold," went on
+Vera, her blue eyes dancing. "The eldest daughter, Louise, is at home
+now: she teaches music in a school: and, if you'll believe me, Coral,
+the old mother would never let me stir out without Louise. When Edward
+Pym came up in the evening to take me for a walk, Louise must go with
+us. 'I feel responsible to your papa and sister, my dear,' the old woman
+would say to me. Oh, she was a veritable dragon."
+
+"Was Louise with you when you went on board the _Rose of Delhi_
+yesterday afternoon?" cried Coralie, while I began to put away the
+chessmen.
+
+Verena opened her eyes. "How _did_ you hear of that? No, we tricked
+Louise for once. Edward had fifty things to say to me, and he wanted me
+alone. After dinner he proposed that we should go to afternoon service.
+I made haste, and went out with him, calling to Louise that she'd catch
+us up before we reached the church, and we ran off in just the contrary
+direction. "I should like to show you my ship," Edward said; and we
+went down in an omnibus. Mrs. Ball shook her head when we got back, and
+said I must never do it again. As if I should have the chance, now
+Edward's gone!"
+
+Coralie glanced at her. "He _is_ gone, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes," sighed Vera. "The ship left the docks this morning. He took leave
+of me last night."
+
+Coralie looked doubtful. She glanced again at her sister under her
+eyelids.
+
+"Then--if Edward Pym is no longer here to take walks with you, Vera, how
+is it you came home so late to-night?"
+
+"Because I have been to a concert," cried Vera, her tone as gay as a
+lark's. "Louise and I started to walk here this afternoon. I wanted you
+to see her; she is really very nice. Coming through Fitzroy Square, she
+called upon some friends of hers who live there, the Barretts--he is a
+professor of music. Mrs. Barrett was going to a concert to-night and she
+said if we would stay she'd take us. So we had tea with her and went to
+it, and they sent me home in a cab."
+
+"You seem to be taking your pleasure!" remarked Coralie.
+
+"I had such an adventure downstairs," cried Verena, dropping her voice
+after a pause of thought. "Nearly fell into the arms of papa."
+
+"What--now?"
+
+"Now; two minutes ago. While hesitating whether to softly tinkle the
+kitchen-bell and smuggle myself in and up to my room, or to storm the
+house with a bold summons, Ozias drew open the front-door. He looked
+so glad to see me, poor stupid old fellow. I was talking to him in the
+passage when I heard papa's cough. 'Oh, hide yourself, Missee Vera,'
+cried Ozias, 'the master, he so angry;' and away I rushed into papa's
+little library, seeing the door of it open----"
+
+"He has come out of it, then!" interjected Coralie.
+
+"I thought papa would go upstairs," said Vera. "Instead of that, he came
+on into the room. I crept behind the old red window-curtains, and----"
+
+"And what?" asked Coralie, for Verena made a sudden pause.
+
+"Groaned out with fright, and nearly betrayed myself," continued Verena.
+"Papa stared at the curtains as if he thought they were alive, and then
+and there backed out of the room. Perhaps he feared a ghost was there.
+He was looking so strange, Coralie."
+
+"All your fault, child. Since the night you went away he has looked more
+like a maniac than a rational man, and acted like one. I have just said
+so to Johnny Ludlow."
+
+"Poor papa! I will be good and tractable as an angel now, and make it up
+to him. And--why, Coralie, here are visitors."
+
+We gazed in surprise. It is not usual to receive calls at bedtime. Ozias
+stood at the door showing in Captain Tanerton. Behind him was Alfred
+Saxby.
+
+The captain's manner was curious. No sooner did he set eyes on us than
+he started back, as if he thought we might bite him.
+
+"Not here. Not the ladies. I told you it was Sir Dace I wanted," he said
+in quick sentences to Ozias. "Sir Dace alone."
+
+Ozias went back down the stairs, and they after him, and were shown into
+the library. It was a little room nearly opposite the front-entrance,
+and underneath the room called the boudoir. You went down a few stairs
+to it.
+
+Verena turned white. A prevision of evil seized her.
+
+"Something must be the matter," she shivered, laying her hand upon my
+arm. "Did you notice Captain Tanerton's face? I never saw him look like
+that. And what does he do here? Where is the ship? And oh, Johnny"--and
+her voice rose to a shriek--"where's Edward Pym?"
+
+Alas! we soon knew what the matter was--and where Edward Pym was.
+Dead. Murdered. That's what young Saxby called it. Sir Dace, looking
+frightfully scared, started with them down to Ship Street. I went also;
+I could not keep away. George was to sit up for me at home if I were
+late.
+
+"For," as Miss Deveen had said to me in the morning, laughingly,
+"there's no telling, Johnny, at what unearthly hour you may get back
+from Gravesend."
+
+
+IV.
+
+It was a dreadful thing to have happened. Edward Pym found dead; and no
+one could tell for a certainty who had been the author of the calamity.
+
+He had died of a blow dealt to him, the doctors said: it had struck him
+behind the left ear. Could it be possible that he had fallen of himself,
+and struck his head against something in falling, was a question put to
+the doctors--and it was Captain Tanerton who put it. It perhaps might
+be possible, the medical men answered, but not at all probable. Mr. Pym
+could not have inflicted the blow upon himself, and there was no piece
+of furniture in the room, so far as they saw, that could have caused the
+injury, even though he had fallen upon it.
+
+The good luck of the _Rose of Delhi_ seemed not to be in the ascendant.
+Her commander could not sail with her now. Neither could her
+newly-appointed third mate, Alfred Saxby. So far as might be ascertained
+at present, Captain Tanerton was the last man who had seen Pym alive;
+Alfred Saxby had found him dead; therefore their evidence would be
+required at the official investigation.
+
+Ships, however, cannot be lightly detained in port when their time for
+sailing comes: and on the day following the events already told of, the
+_Rose of Delhi_ finally left the docks, all taut and sound, the only one
+of her old officers, sailing in her, being Mark Ferrar. The brokers were
+put out frightfully at the detention of Tanerton. A third mate was soon
+found to replace Saxby: a master not so easily. They put in an elderly
+man, just come home in command of one of their ships. Put him in for
+the nonce, hoping Captain Tanerton would be at liberty to join her at
+Dartmouth, or some other place down channel.
+
+On this same day, Tuesday, the investigation into the events of that
+fatal Monday, as regarded Edward Pym, was begun. Not the coroner's
+inquest: that was called for the morrow: but an informal inquiry
+instituted by the brokers and Sir Dace Fontaine. In a back-room of the
+office in Eastcheap, the people met; and--I am glad to say--I was one
+of them, or I could not have told you what passed. Sir Dace sat in the
+corner, his elbow resting on the desk and his hand partly covering his
+face. He did not pretend to feel the death as an affectionate uncle
+would have felt it; still Pym was his nephew, and there could be no
+mistake that the affair was troubling him.
+
+Mrs. Richenough, clean as a new pin, in her Sunday gown and close
+bonnet, a puzzled look upon her wrinkled face, told what she knew--and
+was longer over it than she need have been. Mr. Pym, who lodged in her
+parlour floor, had left her for good, as she supposed, on the Monday
+morning, his ship, the _Rose of Delhi_, being about to go out of dock.
+Mr. Saxby, who had lodged in the rooms above Mr. Pym, got appointed to
+the same ship, and he also left. In the afternoon she heard that the
+ship had got off all right: a workman at the docks told her so. Later,
+who should come to the door but Mr. Pym--which naturally gave her great
+surprise. He told her the ship had sprung a leak and had put back; but
+they should be off again with the next day's tide, and he should have to
+be abroad precious early in the morning to get the cargo stowed away
+again----
+
+"What time was this?" interrupted Mr. Freeman.
+
+"About half-past four, I fancy, sir. Mr. Pym spoke rather thick--I saw
+he had been taking a glass. He bade me make him a big potful of strong
+tea--which I did at once, having the kettle on the fire. He drank it,
+and went out."
+
+"Go on, Mrs. Richenough."
+
+"An hour afterwards, or so, his captain called, wanting to know where
+he was. Of course, sirs, I could not say; except that he had had a big
+jorum of tea, and was gone out."
+
+Captain Tanerton spoke up to confirm this. "I wanted Pym," he said.
+"This must have been between half-past five and six o'clock."
+
+"About nine o'clock; or a bit earlier, it might be--I know it was dark
+and I had finished my supper--Mr. Pym came back," resumed the landlady.
+"He seemed in an ill-humour, and he had been having more to drink.
+'Light my lamp, Mother Richenough,' says he roughly, 'and shut the
+shutters: I've got a letter to write.' I lighted the lamp, and he got
+out some paper of his that was left in the table-drawer, and the ink,
+and sat down. After closing the shutters I went to the front-door, and
+there I saw Captain Tanerton. He asked me----"
+
+"What did he ask you?" cried Mr. Freeman's lawyer, for she had come to
+a dead standstill.
+
+"Well, the captain asked me whether any young lady had been there. He
+had asked the same question afore, sir: Mr. Pym's cousin, or sister, I
+b'lieve he meant. I told him No, and he went into the parlour to Mr.
+Pym."
+
+"What then?"
+
+"Well, gentlemen, I went back to my kitchen, and shut myself in by my
+bit o' fire; and, being all lonely like, I a'most dozed off. Not quite;
+they made so much noise in the parlour, quarrelling."
+
+"Quarrelling?" cried the lawyer.
+
+"Yes, sir; and were roaring out at one another like wolves. Mr. ----"
+
+"Stay a moment, ma'am. How long was it after you admitted Captain
+Tanerton that you heard this quarrelling?"
+
+"Not above three or four minutes, sir. I'm sure of that. 'Mr. Pym's
+catching it from his captain, and he is just in the right mood to take
+it unkindly,' I thought to myself. However, it was no business of mine.
+The sounds soon ceased, and I was just dozing off again, when Mr. Saxby
+came home. He went into the parlour to see Mr. Pym, and found him lying
+dead on the floor."
+
+A silent pause.
+
+"You are sure, ma'am, it was Captain Tanerton who was quarrelling with
+him?" cried the lawyer, who asked more questions than all the rest put
+together.
+
+"Of course I am sure," returned Mrs. Richenough. "Why, sir, how could it
+be anybody else? Hadn't I just let in Captain Tanerton to him? Nobody
+was there but their two selves."
+
+Naturally the room turned to Jack. He answered the mute appeal very
+quietly.
+
+"It was not myself that quarrelled with Pym. No angry word of any kind
+passed between us. Pym had been drinking; Mrs. Richenough is right in
+that. He was not in a state to be reproved or reasoned with, and I came
+away at once. I did not stay to sit down."
+
+"You hear this, Mrs. Richenough?"
+
+"Yes, sir, I do; and I am sure the gentleman don't speak or look like
+one who could do such a deed. But, then, I heard the quarrelling."
+
+An argument indisputable to her own mind. Sir Dace looked up and put a
+question for the first time. He had listened in silence. His dark face
+had a wearied look on it, and he spoke hardly above a whisper.
+
+"Did you know the voice to be that of Captain Tanerton, Mistress
+Landlady? Did you recognize it for his!"
+
+"I knew the voice couldn't be anybody else's, sir. Nobody but the
+captain was with Mr. Pym."
+
+"I asked you whether you _recognized_ it?" returned Sir Dace, knitting
+his brow. "Did you know by its tone that it was Captain Tanerton's?"
+
+"Well, no, sir, I did not, if you put it in that way. Captain Tanerton
+was nearly a stranger to me, and the two shut doors and the passage was
+between me and him. I had only heard him speak once or twice before,
+and then in a pleasant, ordinary voice. In this quarrel his voice was
+raised to a high, rough pitch; and in course I could not know it for
+his."
+
+"In point of fact, then, it comes to this: You did _not_ recognize the
+voice for Captain Tanerton's."
+
+"No, sir; not, I say, if you put it in that light."
+
+"Let me put it in this light," was Sir Dace Fontaine's testy rejoinder:
+"Had three or four people been with Mr. Pym in his parlour, you could
+not have told whose voice it was quarrelling with him? You would not
+have known?"
+
+"That is so, sir. But, you see, I knew it was his captain that was
+with him."
+
+Sir Dace folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, his
+cross-questioning over. Mrs. Richenough was done with for the present,
+and Captain Tanerton entered upon his version of the night's events.
+
+"I wished particularly to see Mr. Pym, and went to Ship Street in search
+of him, as I have already said. He was not there. Later, I went down
+again----"
+
+"I beg your pardon, Captain Tanerton," interrupted the lawyer; "what
+time do you make it--that second visit?"
+
+"It must have been nearly nine o'clock. Mr. Pym was at home, and I went
+into his parlour. He sat at the table writing, or preparing to write. I
+asked him the question I had come to ask, and he answered me. Scarcely
+anything more passed between us. He was three-parts tipsy. I had
+intended to tell him that he was no longer chief mate of my ship--had
+been superseded; but, seeing his condition, I did not. I can say
+positively that I was not more than two minutes in the room."
+
+"And you and he did not quarrel?"
+
+"We did not. Neither were our voices raised. It is very probable, in his
+then condition, that he would have attempted to quarrel had he known he
+was discharged; but he did not know it. We were perfectly civil to each
+other; and when I wished him good-night, he came into the passage and
+shut the front-door after me."
+
+"You left no one with him?"
+
+"No one; so far as I saw. I can answer for it that no one was in the
+parlour with us: whether any one was in the back room I cannot say. I
+do not think so."
+
+"After that, Captain Tanerton?"
+
+"After that I went straight to my hotel in the Minories, and ordered
+tea. While taking it, Mr. Ferrar came in and told me Edward Pym was
+dead. I could not at first believe it. I went back to Ship Street and
+found it too true. In as short a time as I could manage it, I went to
+carry the news to Sir Dace Fontaine, taking young Saxby with me."
+
+Jack had spoken throughout in the ready, unembarrassed manner of one who
+tells a true tale. But never in all my life had I seen him so quiet and
+subdued. He was like one who has some great care upon him. The other
+hearers, not knowing Jack as I knew him, would not notice this; though
+I cannot answer for it that one of them did not James Freeman. He never
+took his eyes off Jack all the while; peered at him as if he were a
+curiosity. It was not an open stare; more of a surreptitious one, taken
+stealthily from under his eyebrows.
+
+Some testimony as to Pym's movements that afternoon was obtained from
+Mrs. Ball, the lawyer having already been to Woburn Place to get it.
+She said that young Pym came to her house between five and six o'clock
+nearer six than five, she thought, and seemed very much put out and
+disappointed to find Miss Verena Fontaine had left for her own home.
+He spoke of the ship's having sprung a leak and put back again, but he
+believed she would get out again on the morrow. Mrs. Ball did not notice
+that he had been drinking; but one of her servants met him in the street
+after he left the house, heard him swearing to himself, and saw him
+turn into a public-house. If he remained in it until the time he next
+appeared in Ship Street, his state then was not to be wondered at.
+
+This was about all that had been gathered at present. A great deal of
+talking took place, but no opinion was expressed by anybody. Time enough
+for that when the jury met on the morrow. As we were turning out of the
+back-room, the meeting over, Mr. Freeman put his hand upon Jack, to
+detain him. Jack, in his turn, detained me.
+
+"Captain Tanerton," he said, in a grave whisper, "do you remember making
+a remark to me not long ago, in this, my private room--that if we
+persisted in sending Pym out with you in the ship, there would be murder
+committed?"
+
+"I believe I do," said Jack, quietly. "They were foolish words, and
+meant nothing."
+
+"I do not like to remember them," pursued Mr. Freeman. "As things have
+turned out, it would have been better that you had not used them."
+
+"Perhaps so," answered Jack. "They have done no harm, that I know of."
+
+"They have been singularly verified. The man has been murdered."
+
+"Not on board the _Rose of Delhi_."
+
+"No. Off it."
+
+"I should rather call it death by misadventure," said Jack, looking
+calmly at the broker. "At the worst, done in a scuffle; possibly in a
+fall."
+
+"Most people, as I think you will find, will call it murder, Captain
+Tanerton."
+
+"I fear they will."
+
+Mr. Freeman stood before Jack, waiting--at least it struck me so--to
+hear him add, "But I did not commit it"--or words to that effect. I
+waited too. Jack never spoke them: he remained silent and still. Since
+the past day his manner had changed. All the light-hearted ease had gone
+out of it; the sunny temperament seemed exchanged for one of thought and
+gloom.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Fine tidings to travel down to Timberdale!
+
+On Wednesday, the day following this, the Squire stood at the gate of
+Crabb Cot after breakfast, looking this way and that. Dark clouds were
+chasing each other over the face of the sky, now obscuring the sun, now
+leaving it to shine out with intense fierceness.
+
+"It won't do to-day," cried the Squire. "It's too windy, Joe. The fish
+would not bite."
+
+"They'd bite fast enough," said Tod, who had set his mind upon a day's
+fishing, and wanted the Squire to go with him.
+
+"Feel that gust, Joe! Why, if--halloa, here comes Letsom!"
+
+Colonel Letsom was approaching at the pace of a steam-engine, his mild
+face longer than usual. Tod laughed.
+
+The colonel, never remembering to say How d'ye do, or to shake hands,
+dragged two letters out of his pocket, all in a flurry.
+
+"Such fearful news, Todhetley!" he exclaimed. "Pym--you remember that
+poor Pym?"
+
+"What should hinder me?" cried the Squire. "A fine dance we had,
+looking for him and Verena Fontaine the other night in London! What of
+Pym!"
+
+"He is dead!" gasped the colonel. "Murdered."
+
+The pater took off his spectacles, thinking they must affect his
+hearing, and stared.
+
+"And it is thought," added the colonel, "that--that Captain Tanerton did
+it."
+
+"Good mercy, Letsom! You can't mean it."
+
+Colonel Letsom's answer was to read out portions of the two letters. One
+of them was written to his daughter Mary Ann by Coralie Fontaine; three
+sheets full. She gave much the same history of the calamity that has
+been given above. It could not have been done by any hand but Captain
+Tanerton's, she said; though of course not intentionally; nobody thought
+that: her father, Sir Dace, scorned any worse idea. Altogether, it was
+a dreadful thing; it had struck Verena into a kind of wild despair,
+and bewildered them all. And in a postscript she added what she had
+apparently forgotten to say before--that Captain Tanerton denied it.
+
+Tod looked up, a flush on his face. "One thing may be relied upon,
+colonel--that if Tanerton did do it, he will avow it. He would never
+deny it."
+
+"This other letter is from Sir Dace," said the colonel, after putting
+Coralie's aside. And he turned round that we might look over his
+shoulder while he read it.
+
+It gave a much shorter account than Coralie's; a _lighter_ account, as
+if he took a less grave view of the affair; and it concluded with these
+words: "Suspicion lies upon Tanerton. I think unjustly. Allowing that
+he did do it, it could only have been done by a smartly-provoked blow,
+devoid of ill-intention. No one knows better than myself how quarrelsome
+and overbearing that unfortunate young man was. But I, for one, believe
+what Tanerton says--that he was not even present when it happened. I am
+inclined to think that Pym, in his unsteady state, must in some way have
+fallen when alone, and struck his head fatally."
+
+"Sir Dace is right; I'll lay my fortune upon it," cried Tod warmly.
+
+"Don't talk quite so fast about your fortune, Joe; wait till you've got
+one," rebuked the pater. "I must say it is grievous news, Letsom. It has
+upset me."
+
+"I am off now to show the letters to Paul," said the colonel. "It will
+be but neighbourly, as he is a connection of the Fontaines."
+
+Shaking hands, he turned away on the road to Islip. The Squire, leaning
+on the gate, appeared to be looking after him: in reality he was deep in
+a brown study.
+
+"Joe," said he, in a tone that had a sound of awe in it, "this is
+curious, taken in conjunction with what Alice Tanerton told us yesterday
+morning."
+
+"Well, it does seem rather queer," conceded Tod. "Something like the
+dream turning up trumps."
+
+"Trumps?" retorted the pater.
+
+"Truth, then. Poor Alice!"
+
+A singular thing had happened. Especially singular, taken in conjunction
+(as the Squire put it) with this unfortunate news. And when the reader
+hears the whole, though it won't be just yet, he will be ready to call
+out, It is not true. But it is true. And this one only fact, with its
+truth and its singularity, induced me to recount the history.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Tuesday morning, the day after the calamity in Ship Street--you
+perceive that we go back a day--the Squire and Tod turned out for a
+walk. They had no wish to go anywhere in particular, and their steps
+might just as well have been turned Crabb way as Timberdale way--or,
+for that matter, any other way. The morning was warm and bright: they
+strolled towards the Ravine, went through it, and so on to Timberdale.
+
+"We may as well call and see how Herbert Tanerton is, as we are here,"
+remarked the Squire. For Herbert had a touch of hay-fever. He was always
+getting something or other.
+
+The Rector was better. They found him pottering about his garden;
+that prolific back-garden from which we once saw--if you don't forget
+it--poor, honest, simple-minded Jack bringing strawberries on a
+cabbage-leaf for crafty Aunt Dean. The suspected hay-fever turned out
+to be a bit of a cold in the head: but the Rector could not have
+looked more miserable had it been in the heart.
+
+"What's the matter with you now?" cried the Squire, who never gave in
+to Herbert's fancies.
+
+"Matter enough," he growled in answer: "to have a crew of ridiculous
+women around you, no better than babies! Here's Alice in a world of a
+way about Jack, proclaiming that some harm has happened to him."
+
+"What harm? Does she know of any?"
+
+"No, she does not know of any," croaked Herbert, flicking a growing
+gooseberry off a bush with the rake. "She says a dream disclosed it to
+her."
+
+The pater stared. Tod threw up his head with a laugh.
+
+"You might have thought she'd got her death-warrant read out to her, so
+white and trembling did she come down," continued Herbert in an injured
+tone. "She had dreamt a dream, foreshadowing evil to Jack, she began to
+tell us--and not a morsel of breakfast could she touch."
+
+"But that's not like Alice," continued the Squire. "She is too sensible:
+too practical for such folly."
+
+"It's not like any rational woman. And Grace would have condoled with
+her! Women infect each other."
+
+"What was the dream?"
+
+"Some nonsense or other, you may be sure. I would not let her relate it,
+to me, or to Grace. Alice burst into tears and called me hard-hearted.
+I came out here to get away from her."
+
+"For goodness' sake don't let her upset herself over a rubbishing dream,
+Tanerton," cried the Squire, all sympathy. "She's not strong, you know,
+just now. I dreamt one night the public hangman was appointed to take my
+head off; but it is on my shoulders yet. You tell her that."
+
+"Yesterday was the day Jack was to sail," interrupted Tod.
+
+"Of course it was," acquiesced the Rector: "he must be half-way down the
+channel by this time. If---- Here comes Alice!" he broke off. "I shall
+go. I don't want to hear more of such stuff."
+
+He went on down the garden in a huff, disappearing behind the
+kidney-beans. Alice, wearing a light print gown and black silk apron,
+her smooth brown hair glossy as ever, and her open face as pretty, shook
+hands with them both.
+
+"And what's this we hear about your tormenting yourself over a dream?"
+blundered the Squire. Though whether it was a blunder to say it, I know
+not; or whether, but for that, she would have spoken: once the ice is
+broken, you may plunge in easily. "My dear, I'd not have thought it of
+_you_."
+
+Alice's face took a deeper gravity, her eyes a far-off look. "It is
+quite true, Mr. Todhetley," she sighed. "I have been very much troubled
+by a dream."
+
+"Tell it us, Alice," said Tod, his whole face in a laugh. "What was it
+about?"
+
+"That you may ridicule it?" she sighed.
+
+"Yes," he answered. "Ridicule it out of you."
+
+"You cannot do that," was her quiet answer: and Tod told me in later
+days that it rather took him aback to see her solemn sadness. "I should
+like to relate it to you, Mr. Todhetley. Herbert would not hear it, or
+let Grace."
+
+"Herbert's a parson, you know, my dear, and parsons think they ought to
+be above such things," was the Squire's soothing answer. "If it will
+ease your mind to tell it me---- Here, let us sit down under the
+pear-tree."
+
+So they sat down on the bench under the blossoms of the pear-tree, the
+pater admonishing Tod to behave himself; and poor Alice told her dream.
+
+"I thought it was the present time," she began. "This very present day,
+say, or yesterday; and that Jack was going to sea in command----"
+
+"But, my dear, he always goes in command."
+
+"Of course. But in the dream the point was especially presented to my
+mind--that he was going out _in command_. He came to me the morning of
+the day he was to sail, looking very patient, pale, and sorrowful. It
+seemed that he and I had had some dispute, causing estrangement, the
+previous night: it was over then, and I, for one, repented of the
+coldness."
+
+"Well, Alice?" broke in Tod: for she had stopped, and was gazing out
+straight before her.
+
+"I wish I could show to you how _real_ all this was," she resumed. "It
+was more as though I were wide awake, and enacting it. I never had so
+vivid a dream before; never in all my life."
+
+"But why don't you go on?"
+
+"Somebody had been murdered: some man. I don't know who it was--or
+where, or how. Jack was suspected. Jack! But it seemed that it could not
+be brought home to him. We were in a strange town; at least, it was
+strange to me, though it seemed that I had stayed in it once before,
+many years ago. Jack was standing before me all this while, you
+understand, in his sadness and sorrow. It was not he who had told me
+what had happened. I seemed to have known it already. Everybody knew
+it, everybody spoke of it, and we were in cruel distress. Suddenly I
+remembered that when I was in the town the previous time, the man who
+was murdered had had a bitter quarrel with another man, a gentleman:
+and a sort of revelation came over me that this gentleman had been the
+murderer. I went privately to some one who had authority in the ship,
+and said so; I think her owner. He laughed at me--did I know how high
+this gentleman was, he asked; the first magnate in the town. That he had
+done it I felt sure; surer than if I had seen it done; but no one would
+listen to me--and in the trouble I awoke."
+
+"_That's_ not much to be troubled at," cried the Squire.
+
+"The trouble was terrible; you could not feel such in real life. But I
+have not told all. Presently I got to sleep again, and found myself in
+the same dream. I was going through the streets of the town in an open
+carriage, the ship's owner with me----"
+
+"Was the ship the _Rose of Delhi_?"
+
+"I don't know. The owner, sitting with me in the carriage, was not
+either of the owners of the _Rose of Delhi_, whom I know well; this
+was a stranger. We were going over a bridge. Walking towards us on the
+pavement, I saw two gentlemen arm-in-arm: one an officer in a dusky old
+red uniform and cocked-hat; the other an _evil_-looking man who wore a
+long brown coat. He walked along with his eyes on the ground. I knew him
+by intuition--that it was the man who had had the quarrel years before,
+and who had done the murder now. 'There's the gentleman you would have
+accused,' said my companion before I could speak, pointing to this man:
+'he stands higher in position than anybody else in the town.' They
+walked on in their security, and we drove on in our pain. I ought to say
+in my pain, for I alone felt it. Oh, I cannot tell you what it was--this
+terrible pain; not felt so much, it seemed, because my husband could not
+be cleared, as for _his_ sadness and sorrow. Nothing like it, I say, can
+ever be felt on earth."
+
+"And what else, Alice?"
+
+"That is all," she sighed. "I awoke for good then. But the pain and the
+fear remain with me."
+
+"Perhaps, child, you are not very well?--been eating green gooseberries,
+or some such trash. Nothing's more likely to give one bad dreams than
+unripe fruit."
+
+"Why should the dream have left this impression of evil upon me--this
+weight of fear?" cried Alice, never so much as hearing the pater's
+irreverent suggestion. "If it meant nothing, if it were not come as a
+warning, it would pass from my mind as other dreams pass."
+
+Not knowing what to say to this, the Squire said nothing. He and Tod
+both saw how useless it would be; no argument could shake her faith in
+the dream, and the impression it had left.
+
+The Squire, more easily swayed than a child, yet suspecting nothing of
+the news that was on its way to Timberdale, quitted the Rectory and went
+home shaking his head. Alice's solemn manner had told upon him. "I can't
+make much out of the dream, Joe," he remarked, as they walked back
+through the Ravine; "but I don't say dreams are always to be ridiculed,
+since we read of dreams sent as warnings in the Bible. Anyhow, I hope
+Jack will make a good voyage. He has got home safe and sound from other
+voyages: why should he not from this one?"
+
+Before that day was over, they saw Alice again. She walked over to Crabb
+Cot in the evening with her little girl--a sprightly child with Jack's
+own honest and kindly eyes. Alice put a sealed paper into the Squire's
+hand.
+
+"I know you will think me silly," she said to him, in a low tone:
+"perhaps gone a little out of my senses; but, as I told you this
+morning, nothing has ever impressed me so greatly and so unpleasantly
+as this dream. I cannot get it out of my mind for a moment; every
+hour, as it goes by, only serves to render it clearer. I have written
+it down here, every particular, more minutely than I related it to
+you this morning, and I have sealed it up, you see; and I am come to
+ask you to keep it. Should my husband ever be accused, it may serve
+to----"
+
+"Now, child, don't you talk nonsense," interrupted the pater. "Accused
+of what?"
+
+"I don't know. I wish I did. I hope you will pardon me, Mr. Todhetley,"
+she went on, in deprecation; "but indeed there lies upon me a dread--an
+apprehension that startles me. I dare say I express myself badly; but
+it is there. And, do you know, Jack has lately experienced the same
+sensation; he told me so on Sunday. He said it was like an instinct of
+coming evil."
+
+"Then that accounts for it," cried the Squire, considerably relieved,
+and wondering how Jack could be so silly, if she was. "If your husband
+told you that, Alice, of course the first thing you'd do would be to go
+and dream of it."
+
+"Perhaps so. What he said made no impression on me; he laughed as he
+said it: I don't suppose it made much on him. Please keep the paper."
+
+The Squire carried the paper upstairs and locked it up in the little old
+walnut bureau in his bedroom. He told Alice where he had put it. And
+she, declining any refreshment, left again with little Polly for
+Timberdale Rectory.
+
+"Has Herbert come to?" asked Tod laughingly, as he went to open the gate
+for her.
+
+"Oh dear, no," answered Alice. "He never will, if you mean as to hearing
+me tell the dream."
+
+They had a hot argument after she left: Mrs. Todhetley maintaining that
+some dreams were to be regarded as sacred things; while Tod ridiculed
+them with all his might, asserting that there never had been, and never
+could be anything in them to affect sensible people. The Squire, now
+taking one side, now veering to the other, remained in a state of
+vacillation, something like Mahomet's coffin hovering between earth
+and heaven.
+
+And, you will now readily understand that when the following morning,
+Wednesday, Colonel Letsom brought the Squire the news of Pym's death,
+calling it murder, and that Jack was suspected, and the ship had gone
+out without him, this dream of Alice Tanerton's took a new and not at
+all an agreeable prominence. Even Tod, sceptical Tod, allowed that it
+was "queer."
+
+On this same morning, Wednesday, Alice received a letter from her
+husband. He spoke of the mishap to the ship, said that she had put back,
+and had again gone out; he himself being detained in London on business,
+but he expected to be off in a day or two and join her at some place
+down channel. But not a word did he say of the cause of his detention,
+or of the death of Edward Pym. She heard it from others.
+
+With this confirmation, as it seemed, of her dream, Alice took it up
+more warmly. She went over to the old lawyer at Islip, John Paul,
+recounted the dream to him, and asked what she was to do. Naturally,
+old Paul told her "nothing:" and he must have laughed in his sleeve as
+he said it.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The good ship, _Rose of Delhi_, finally went away with all her sails set
+for the East; but John Tanerton went not with her.
+
+The inquest on the unfortunate young man, Pym, was put off from time to
+time, and prolonged and procrastinated. Captain Tanerton had to wait its
+pleasure; the ship could not.
+
+The case presented difficulties, and the jury could not see their way to
+come to a verdict. Matters looked rather black against Captain Tanerton;
+that was not denied; but not sufficiently black, it would seem, for
+the law to lay hold of him. At any rate, the law did not. Perhaps the
+persistent advocacy of Sir Dace Fontaine went some way with the jury.
+Sir Dace gave it as his strong opinion that his misguided nephew, being
+the worse for drink, had fallen of himself, probably with his head on
+the iron fender, and that Captain Tanerton's denial was a strictly true
+one. The end finally arrived at was--that there was not sufficient
+evidence to show how the death was caused.
+
+At the close of the investigation Jack went down to Timberdale. Not
+the open-hearted, ready-handed Jack of the old days, but a subdued,
+saddened man who seemed to have a care upon him. The foolish speech he
+had thoughtlessly made to Mr. Freeman preceded him: and Herbert
+Tanerton--always looking on the darkest side of everything and
+everybody, considered it a proof that Jack had done the deed.
+
+Timberdale (including Crabb) held opposite opinions; half of it taking
+Captain Tanerton's side, half the contrary one. As to the Squire, he was
+more helpless than an old sheep. He had always liked Jack, had believed
+in him as in one of us: but, you see, when one gets into trouble, faith
+is apt to waver. A blow, argued the pater in private, is so easily given
+in the heat of passion.
+
+"A pretty kettle of fish this is," croaked Herbert to Jack, on his
+brother's arrival.
+
+"Yes, it is," sighed Jack.
+
+"The ship's gone without you, I hear."
+
+"She had to go. Ships cannot be delayed to await the convenience of one
+man: you must know that, Herbert."
+
+"How came you to do it, John?"
+
+"To do what?" asked Jack. "To stay? It was no fault of mine. I was one
+of the chief witnesses, and the coroner would not release me."
+
+"You know what I mean. Not that. How came you to do it, I ask?"
+
+"To do what?" repeated Jack.
+
+"Kill Pym."
+
+Jack's face took a terrible shade of pain as he looked at his brother.
+"I should have thought, Herbert, that you, of all people, might have
+judged me better than that."
+
+"I don't mean to say you did it deliberately; that you meant to do it,"
+returned the Rector in his coldest manner. "But that was a very awkward
+threat of yours--that if the brokers persisted in sending Pym out with
+you, there'd be murder committed. Very incautious!"
+
+"You can't mean what you say; you cannot surely reflect on what you
+would imply--that I spoke those words with intention!" flashed Jack.
+
+"You did speak them--and they were verified," contended Herbert. Just
+the same thing, you see, that Mr. Freeman had said to Jack in London.
+Poor Jack!
+
+"How did you hear that I had said anything of the kind?"
+
+"Somebody wrote it to Timberdale," answered the parson, crustily. There
+could be no question that the affair had crossed him more than anything
+that had ever happened in this world. "I think it was Coralie Fontaine."
+
+"I am deeply sorry I ever spoke them, Herbert--as things have turned
+out."
+
+"No doubt you are. The tongue's an evil and dangerous member. Let us
+drop the subject: the less it is recurred to now, the better."
+
+Captain Tanerton saw how it was--that all the world suspected him,
+beginning with his brother.
+
+And he certainly did not do as much to combat the feeling as he might
+have done. This was noticed. He did not assert his innocence strenuously
+and earnestly. He said he was not guilty, it's true, but he said it too
+quietly. A man accused of so terrible a crime would move heaven and
+earth to prove the charge false--if false it were. Jack denied his
+guilt, but denied it in a very tame fashion. And this had its effect
+upon his upholders.
+
+There could be no mistaking that some inward trouble tormented him. His
+warm, genial manners had given place to thoughtfulness and care. Was
+Jack guilty?--his best friends acknowledged the doubt now, in the depths
+of their heart. Herbert Tanerton was worrying himself into a chronic
+fever: chiefly because disgrace was reflected on his immaculate self,
+Jack being his brother. Squire Todhetley, meeting Jack one day in
+Robert Ashton's cornfield, took Jack's hands in his, and whispered that
+if Jack did strike the blow unwittingly, he knew it was all the fault of
+that unhappy, cross-grained Pym. In short, the only person who retained
+full belief in Jack was his wife. Jack had surely done it, said
+Timberdale under the rose, but done it unintentionally.
+
+Alice related her dream to Jack. Not being given to belief in dreams,
+Jack thought little of it. Nothing, in fact. It was no big, evil-faced
+man who harmed Pym, he answered, shaking his head; and he seemed to
+speak as one who knew.
+
+Timberdale was no longer a pleasant resting-place for John Tanerton,
+and he quitted it for Liverpool, with Alice and their little girl.
+Aunt Dean received him coolly and distantly. The misfortune had put
+her out frightfully: with Jack's income threatened, there would be
+less for herself to prey upon. She told him to his face that if he
+wanted to correct Pym, he might have waited till they got out to sea:
+blows were not thought much of on board ship.
+
+The next day Jack paid a visit to the owners, and resigned his command.
+For, he was still attached ostensibly to the _Rose of Delhi_, though
+another master had temporarily superseded him.
+
+"Why do you do this?" asked Mr. Charles Freeman. "We can put you into
+another ship, one going on a shorter voyage, and when your own comes
+home you can take her again."
+
+"No," said Jack. "Many thanks, though, for your confidence in me. All
+the world seems to believe me guilty. If I were guilty I am not fit to
+command a ship's crew."
+
+"But you were not guilty?"
+
+More emphatically than Jack had yet spoken upon the affair, he spoke
+now: and his truthful, candid eyes went straight into those of his
+questioner.
+
+"_I was not._ Before Heaven, I say it."
+
+Charles Freeman heaved a sigh of relief. He liked Jack, and the matter
+had somewhat troubled him.
+
+"Then, Captain Tanerton--I fully believe you--why not reconsider your
+determination, and remain on active service? The _Shamrock_ is going to
+Madras; sails in a day or two; and you shall have her. She'll be home
+again before the _Rose of Delhi_. For your own sake I think you should
+do this--to still rancorous tongues."
+
+Jack sighed. "I can't feel free to go," he said. "This suspicion has
+troubled me more than you can imagine. I must get some employment on
+shore."
+
+"You should stand up before the world and assert your innocence in this
+same emphatic manner," returned the owner. "Why have you not done it?"
+
+Jack's voice took a tone of evasion at once. "I have not cared to do
+it."
+
+Charles Freeman looked at him. A sudden thought flashed into his mind.
+
+"Are you screening some one, Captain Tanerton?"
+
+"How can you ask such a question?" rejoined Jack. But the deep and
+sudden flush that rose with the words, gave fresh food for speculation
+to Mr. Freeman. He dropped his voice.
+
+"Surely it was not Sir Dace Fontaine who--who killed him? The uncle and
+nephew were not on good terms."
+
+Jack's face and voice brightened again--he could answer this with his
+whole heart. "No, no," he impressively said, "it was not Sir Dace
+Fontaine. You may at least rely upon that."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+When I at length got back to Crabb, the Fontaines were there. After the
+inquest, they had gone again to Brighton. Poor Verena looked like a
+ghost, I thought, when I saw her on the Sunday in their pew at church.
+
+"It has been a dreadful thing," I said to her, as we walked on together
+after service; "but I am sorry to see you look so ill."
+
+"A dreadful thing!--ay, it has, Johnny Ludlow," was her answer, spoken
+in a wail. "I expect it will kill some of us."
+
+Sir Dace looked ill too. His furtive eyes had glanced hither and thither
+during the service, like a man who has a scare upon him; but they seemed
+ever to come back to Verena.
+
+Not another word was said by either of us until we were near the barn.
+Then Verena spoke.
+
+"Where is John Tanerton?"
+
+"In Liverpool, I hear."
+
+"Poor fellow!"
+
+Her tone was as piteous as her words, as her looks. All the bloom had
+gone from her pretty face; its lips were white, dry, and trembling.
+In Coralie there was no change; her smiles were pleasant as ever, her
+manners as easy. The calamity had evidently passed lightly over her; as
+I expect most things in life did pass.
+
+Saying good-morning at the turning, Sir Dace and Verena branched off to
+Maythorn Bank. Coralie lingered yet, talking with Mr. Todhetley.
+
+"My dear, how ill your father is looking!" exclaimed the Squire.
+
+"He does look ill," answered Coralie. "He has never been quite the same
+since that night in London. He said one day that he could not get the
+sight of Pym out of his mind--as he saw him lying on the floor in Ship
+Street."
+
+"It must have been a sad sight."
+
+"Papa is also, I think, anxious about Verena," added Coralie. "She has
+taken the matter to heart in quite an unnecessary manner; just, I'm
+sure, as if she intended to die over it. That must vex papa: I see him
+glancing at her every minute in the day. Oh, I assure you I am the only
+cheerful one of the family now," concluded Coralie, lightly, as she ran
+away to catch the others.
+
+That was the last we saw of them that year. On the morrow we left for
+Dyke Manor.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the course of the autumn John Tanerton ran up to Timberdale from
+Liverpool. It had come to his knowledge that the Ash Farm, belonging to
+Robert Ashton, was to let--Grace had chanced to mention it incidentally
+when writing to Alice--and poor Jack thought if he could only take it
+his fortune was made. He was an excellent, practical farmer, and knew he
+could make it answer. But it would take two or three thousand pounds to
+stock the Ash Farm, and Jack had not as many available shillings. He
+asked his brother to lend him the money.
+
+"I always knew you were deficient in common sense," was the Rector's
+sarcastic rejoiner to the request. "Three thousand pounds! What next?"
+
+"It would be quite safe, Herbert: you know how energetic I am. And I
+will pay you good interest."
+
+"No doubt you will--when I lend it you. You have a cheek!"
+
+"But----"
+
+"That will do; don't waste breath," interrupted Herbert, cutting him
+short. And he positively refused the request--refused to listen to
+another word.
+
+Strolling past Maythorn Bank that same afternoon, very much down in
+looks and spirits, Jack saw Sir Dace Fontaine. He was leaning over his
+little gate, looking just as miserable as Jack. For Sir Dace to look out
+of sorts was nothing unusual; for Jack it was. Sir Dace asked what was
+amiss: and Jack--candid, free-spoken, open-natured Jack--told of his
+disappointment in regard to the Ash Farm: his brother not feeling
+inclined to advance him the necessary money to take it--three thousand
+pounds.
+
+"I wonder you do not return to the sea, Captain Tanerton," cried Sir
+Dace.
+
+"I do not care to return to it," was Jack's answer.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I shall never go to sea again, Sir Dace," he said in his candour.
+
+"Never go to sea again!"
+
+"No. At any rate, not until I am cleared. While this dark cloud of
+suspicion lies upon me I am not fit to take the command of others. Some
+windy night insubordinate men might throw the charge in my teeth."
+
+"You are wrong," said Sir Dace, his countenance taking an angry turn.
+"You know, I presume, your own innocence--and you should act as if you
+knew it."
+
+He turned back up the path without another word, entered his house,
+and shut the door. Jack walked slowly on. Presently he heard footsteps
+behind him, looked round, and saw Verena Fontaine. They had not met
+since the time of Pym's death, and Jack thought he had never seen such a
+change in any one. Her bright colour was gone, her cheeks were wasted--a
+kind of dumb despair sat in her once laughing blue eyes. All Jack's
+pity--and he had his share of it--went out to her.
+
+"I heard a little of what you said to papa at the garden-gate, Captain
+Tanerton--not much of it. I was in the arbour. _Why_ is it that you will
+not yet go to sea again? What is it you wait for?"
+
+"I am waiting until I can stand clear in the eyes of men," answered
+Jack, candid as usual, but somewhat agitated, as if the topic were a
+sore one. "No man with a suspicion attaching to him should presume to
+hold authority over other men."
+
+"I understand you," murmured Verena. "If you stood as free from
+suspicion with all the world as you are in my heart, and--and"--she
+paused from emotion--"and I think in my father's also, you would have no
+cause to hesitate."
+
+Jack took a questioning glance at her; at the sad, eager eyes that were
+lifted beseechingly to his. "It is kind of you to say so much," he
+answered. "It struck me at the time of the occurrence that you could
+not, did not, believe me guilty."
+
+Verena shivered. As if his steady gaze were too much for her, she turned
+her own aside towards the blue sky.
+
+"Good-bye," she said faintly, putting out her hand. "I only wanted to
+say this--to let you know that I believe in your innocence."
+
+"Thank you," said Jack, meeting her hand. "It is gratifying to hear that
+_you_ do me justice."
+
+He walked quietly away. She stood still to watch him. And of all the
+distressed, sad, _aching_ countenances ever seen in this world, few
+could have matched that of Miss Verena Fontaine.
+
+
+V.
+
+Spring sunshine, bright and warm to-day, lay on Timberdale. Herbert
+Tanerton, looking sick and ill, sat on a bench on the front lawn,
+holding an argument with his wife, shielded from outside gazers by the
+clump of laurel-trees. We used to say the Rector's illnesses were all
+fancy and temper; but it seemed to be rather more than that now. Worse
+tempered he was than ever; Jack's misfortunes and Jack's conduct annoyed
+him. During the past winter Jack had taken some employment at the
+Liverpool Docks, in connection with the Messrs. Freeman's ships.
+Goodness knew of what description it was, Herbert would say, turning
+up his nose.
+
+A day or two ago Jack made his appearance again at the Rectory; had
+swooped down upon it without warning or ceremony, just as he had in the
+autumn. Herbert did not approve of that. He approved still less of the
+object which had brought Jack at all. Jack was tired of the Liverpool
+Docks; the work he had to do was not congenial to him; and he had now
+come to Timberdale to ask Robert Ashton to make him his bailiff. Not
+being able to take a farm on his own account, Jack thought the next best
+thing would be to take the management of one. Robert Ashton would be
+parting with his bailiff at Midsummer, and Jack would like to drop into
+the post. Anything much less congenial to the Rector's notions, Jack
+could hardly have pitched upon.
+
+"I can see what it is--Jack is going to be a thorn in my side for ever,"
+the Rector was remarking to his wife, who sat near him, doing some
+useful work. "He never had any idea of the fitness of things. A bailiff,
+now!--a servant!"
+
+"I wish you would let him take a farm, Herbert--lend him the money to
+stock one."
+
+"I know you do; you have said so before."
+
+Grace sighed. But when she had it on her conscience to say a thing she
+said it.
+
+"Herbert, you know--you know I have never thought it fair that we should
+enjoy all the income we do; and----"
+
+"What do you mean by 'fair'?" interrupted Herbert. "I only enjoy my
+own."
+
+"Legally it is yours. Rightly, a large portion of it ought to be Jack's.
+It does not do us any good, Herbert, this superfluous income; you only
+put it by. It does not in the slightest degree add to our enjoyment of
+life."
+
+"Do be quiet, Grace--unless you can talk sense. Jack will get no money
+from me. He ought to be at sea. What right had he to give it up? The
+_Rose of Delhi_ is expected back now: let him take her again."
+
+"You know why he will not, Herbert. And he must do something for a
+living. I wish you would not object to his engaging himself to Robert
+Ashton. If----"
+
+"Why don't you wish anything else that's lowering and degrading? You are
+as devoid of common sense as he!" retorted the parson, walking away in
+a fume.
+
+Matters were in this state when we got back to Crabb Cot; to stop at it
+for a longer or a shorter period as fate and the painters at Dyke Manor
+would allow. Jack urging Robert Ashton to promise him the bailiffs
+post--vacant the next Midsummer; Herbert strenuously objecting to it;
+and Robert Ashton in a state of dilemma between the two. He would have
+liked well enough to engage John Tanerton: but he did not like to defy
+the Rector. When the Squire heard this later, his opinion vacillated,
+according to custom: now leaning to Herbert's side, now to Jack's. And
+the Fontaines, we found, were in all the bustle of house-moving. Their
+own house, Oxlip Grange, being at length ready for them, they were
+quitting Maythorn Bank.
+
+"Goodness bless me!" cried the Squire, coming in at dusk from a stroll
+he had taken the evening of our arrival. "I never got such a turn in my
+life."
+
+"What has given it you, sir?"
+
+"What has given it me, Johnny? why, Sir Dace Fontaine. I never saw any
+man so changed," he went on, rubbing up his hair. "He looks like a
+ghost, more than a man."
+
+"Is he ill?"
+
+"He must be ill. Sauntering down that narrow lane by Maythorn Bank, I
+came upon a tall something mooning along like a walking shadow. I might
+have taken it for a shadow, but that it lifted its bent head, and threw
+its staring eyes straight into mine--and I protest that a shadowy
+sensation crept over myself when I recognized it for Fontaine. You never
+saw a face so gloomy and wan. How long is it since we saw him, Johnny?"
+
+"About nine months, I think, sir."
+
+"The man must be suffering from a wasting complaint, or else he has some
+secret care that's fretting him to fiddle-strings. Mark my words, all of
+you, it is one or the other."
+
+"Dear me!" put in Mrs. Todhetley, full of pity. "I always thought him a
+gloomy man. Did you ask him whether he was ill?"
+
+"Not I," said the pater: "he gave me no opportunity. Had I been a
+sheriffs-officer with a writ in my hand he could hardly have turned off
+shorter. They had moved into the other house that day, he muttered, and
+he must lock up Maythorn Bank and be after them."
+
+This account of Sir Dace was in a measure cleared up the next morning.
+Who should come in after breakfast but the surgeon, Cole. Talking of
+this and that, Sir Dace Fontaine's name came up.
+
+"I am on my way now to Sir Dace; to the new place," cried Cole. "They
+went into it yesterday. Might have gone in a month ago, but Sir Dace
+made no move to do it. He seems to have no heart left to do anything;
+neither heart nor energy."
+
+"I knew he was ill," cried the Squire. "No mistaking that. And now,
+Cole, what is it that's the matter with him?"
+
+"He shows symptoms of a very serious inward complaint," gravely answered
+Cole. "A complaint that, if it really does set in, must prove fatal. We
+have some hopes yet that we shall ward it off. Sir Dace does not think
+we shall, and is in a rare fright about himself."
+
+"A fright, is he! That's it, then."
+
+"Never saw any man in such a fright before," went on Cole. "Says he's
+going to die--and he does not want to die."
+
+"I said last night the man was like a walking shadow. And there's a kind
+of scare in his face."
+
+Cole nodded. "Two or three weeks ago I got a note from him, asking me to
+call. I found him something like a shadow, as you observe, Squire. The
+cold weather had kept him indoors, and I had not chanced to see him
+for some weeks. When Sir Dace told me his symptoms, I suppose I looked
+grave. Combined with his wasted appearance, they unpleasantly impressed
+me, and he took alarm. 'The truth,' he said, in his arbitrary way: 'tell
+me the truth; only that. Conceal nothing.' Well, when a patient adjures
+me in a solemn manner to tell the truth, I deem it my duty to do so,"
+added Cole, looking up.
+
+"Go on, Cole," cried the Squire, nodding approval.
+
+"I told him the truth, softening it in a degree--that I did not
+altogether like some of the symptoms, but that I hoped, with skill and
+care, to get him round again. The same day he sent for Darbyshire of
+Timberdale, saying we must attend him conjointly, for two heads were
+better than one. Two days later he sent for somebody else--no other than
+Mr. Ben Rymer."
+
+We all screamed out in surprise. "Ben Rymer!"
+
+"Ay," said Cole, "Ben Rymer. Ben has got through and is a surgeon now,
+like the rest of us. And, upon my word, I believe the fellow has his
+profession thoroughly in hand. He will make a name in the world, the
+chances for it being afforded him, unless I am mistaken."
+
+Something like moisture stood in the Squire's good old eyes. "If his
+father, poor Rymer, had but lived to see it!" he softly said. "Anxiety,
+touching Ben, killed him."
+
+"So we three doctors make a pilgrimage to Sir Dace regularly everyday;
+sometimes together, sometimes apart," added Cole. "And, of the three of
+us, I believe the patient likes young Rymer best--has most confidence in
+him."
+
+"Shall you cure him?"
+
+"Well, we do not yet give up hope. If the disease does set in, it
+will----"
+
+"What?"
+
+"Run its course quickly."
+
+"An instant yet, Cole," cried the Squire, stopping the surgeon as he
+was turning away. "You have told us nothing. How does the parish get
+on?--and the people? How is Letsom?--and Crabb generally? Tanerton--how
+is he?--and Timberdale? Coming here fresh, we are thirsting for news."
+
+Cole laughed. He knew the pater liked gossip as much as any old woman:
+and the reader must understand that, as yet, we had not heard any,
+having reached Crabb Cot late the previous afternoon.
+
+"There is no particular news, Squire," said he. "Letsom is well; so is
+Crabb. Herbert Tanerton's not well. He is in a crusty way over Jack."
+
+"He is always in a way over something. Where is Jack?"
+
+"Jack's here, at the Rectory; just come to it. Robert Ashton's bailiff
+is about to take a farm on his own account, and Jack came rushing over
+from Liverpool to apply for the post."
+
+Tod, who had been too much occupied with his fishing-flies to take much
+heed before, set up a shrill whistle at this. "How will the parson like
+that?" he asked.
+
+"The parson does not like it at all. Whether he will succeed in
+preventing it, is another matter," concluded Cole. And, with that, he
+made his escape.
+
+Close upon the surgeon's departure, Colonel Letsom came in; he had heard
+of our arrival. It was a pity, he said, the two brothers should be at
+variance. Jack wanted the post--he must make a living somehow; and the
+Rector was in a way over it; not quite mad, but next door to it; Ashton
+of course not knowing what to do between them. From that subject, he
+began to speak of the Fontaines.
+
+A West Indian planter, one George Bazalgette, had been over on a visit,
+he said, and had spent Christmas at Maythorn Bank; his object being to
+induce Verena to accept him as her husband. Verena would not listen to
+him, and he wasted his eloquence in vain. She made no hesitation in
+vowing to him that her affections were buried in the grave of Edward
+Pym.
+
+"Fontaine told me confidentially in London that he intended she _should_
+have Bazalgette," remarked the Squire. "It was the evening we went
+looking for her at that wax-work place."
+
+"Ay; but Fontaine is changed," returned the colonel: "all his old
+domineering ways are gone out of him. When Bazalgette was over here, he
+did not attempt even to persuade her: she must take her own course, he
+said. So poor Bazalgette went back as he came--wifeless. It was a pity."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because this George Bazalgette was a nice fellow," replied Colonel
+Letsom. "An open-hearted, fine-looking, generous man, and desperately in
+love with her. Miss Verena will not readily find his compeer in a summer
+day's march."
+
+"As old as Adam, I suppose, colonel," interjected Tod.
+
+"Yes--if you choose to put Adam's age down at three or four and thirty,"
+laughed the colonel, as he took his leave.
+
+To wait many hours, once she was at Crabb, without laying in a stock
+of those delectable "family pills," invented by the late Thomas Rymer,
+would have been quite beyond the philosophy of Mrs. Todhetley. That
+first morning, not ten minutes after Colonel Letsom left us, taking the
+Squire with him, she despatched me to Timberdale for a big box of them.
+Tod would not come: said he had his flies to see to.
+
+Dashing through the Ravine and out on the field beyond it, I came upon
+Jack Tanerton. Good old Jack! The Squire had said Sir Dace was changed:
+I saw that Jack was. He looked taller and thinner, and the once beaming
+face had care upon it.
+
+"Where are you bound for, Jack?"
+
+"Not for any place in particular. Just sauntering about."
+
+"Walk my way, then. I am going to Rymer's."
+
+"It is such nonsense," cried Jack, speaking of his brother, after we had
+plunged a bit into affairs. "Calling it derogatory, and all the rest of
+it! I could be just as much of a gentleman as Ashton's bailiff as I am
+now. Everybody knows me. He gives a good salary, and there's a pretty
+house; and I have also my own small income. Alice and I and the little
+ones should be as happy as the day's long. If I give in to Herbert and
+don't take it, I don't see what I am to turn to."
+
+"But, Jack, why do you give up the sea?" I asked. And Jack told me what
+he had told others: he should never take command again until he was a
+free man.
+
+"Don't you think you are letting that past matter hold too great an
+influence over you?" I presently said. "You must be conscious of your
+own innocence--and yet you seem as sad and subdued as though you were
+guilty!"
+
+"I am subdued because other people think me guilty!" he answered.
+"Changed? I am. It is that which has changed me; not the calamity
+itself."
+
+"Jack, were I you, I should stand up in the face and eyes of all the
+world, and say to them, 'Before God, I did not kill Pym.' People would
+believe you then. But you don't do it."
+
+"I have my reasons for not doing it, Johnny Ludlow. God knows what they
+are; He knows all things. I dare say I may be set right with the world
+in time: though I don't see how it is to be done."
+
+A smart young man, a new assistant, was behind the counter at Ben
+Rymer's, and served me with the pills. Coming out, box in hand, we met
+Ben himself. I hardly knew him, he was so spruce. His very hair and
+whiskers were trimmed down to neatness and looked of a more reasonable
+colour; his red-brown beard was certainly handsome, and his clothes were
+well cut.
+
+"Why, he has grown into a dandy, Jack," I said, after we had stood a
+minute or two, talking with the surgeon.
+
+"Yes," said Jack, "he is going in for the proprieties of life now. Ben
+may make a gentleman yet--and a good man to boot."
+
+That same afternoon, it chanced that the Squire met Ben Rymer. Striding
+along in his powerful fashion, Ben came full tilt round the sharp corner
+that makes the turning to the Islip Road, and nearly ran over the pater.
+Ben had been to Oxlip Grange.
+
+"So, sir," cried the pater, stopping him, "I hear you are in practice
+now, and intend to become a respectable man. It's time you did."
+
+"Ay, at last," replied Ben good-humouredly. "It is a long lane, Squire,
+that has no turning."
+
+"Don't you lapse back again, Mr. Ben."
+
+"Not if I know it, sir. I hope I shall not."
+
+"It was anxiety on your score, you know, that troubled your good
+father's mind in dying."
+
+"If it did not bring his death on," readily conceded Ben, his light tone
+changing. "I know it all, Squire--and have felt it."
+
+"Look here," cried the Squire, catching at Ben's button-hole, which had
+a lovely lily-of-the-valley in it, "there was nothing on earth your poor
+patient father prayed for so earnestly as for your welfare; that you
+might be saved for time and eternity. Now I don't believe such prayers
+are ever lost. So you will be helped on your way if you bear steadfastly
+onwards."
+
+Giving the young man's hand a wring, the Squire turned off on his way.
+In half-a-minute he was back again.
+
+"Hey, Mr. Benjamin?--here. How is Sir Dace Fontaine? I suppose you have
+just left him?"
+
+So Ben had to come back at the call. To the pater's surprise he saw his
+eyes were moist.
+
+"He is worse, sir, to-day; palpably worse."
+
+"Will he get over it?"
+
+Ben gave his head an emphatic shake, which somehow belied his words:
+"Cole and Darbyshire think there is hope yet, Squire."
+
+"And you do not; that's evident. Well, good-day."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next move in this veritable drama was the appearance of Alice
+Tanerton and her six-months-old baby at Timberdale. Looking upon the
+Rectory as almost her home--it had been Jack's for many years of his
+life--Alice came to it without the ceremony of invitation: the object
+of her coming now being to strive to induce Herbert to let her husband
+engage himself to Robert Ashton. And this visit of Alice's was destined
+to bring about a most extraordinary event.
+
+One Wednesday evening when Jack and his wife were dining with us--and
+that troublesome baby, which Alice could not, as it seemed, stir abroad
+without, was in the nursery squealing--Alice chanced to say that she had
+to go to Islip the following day, her mother having charged her to see
+John Paul the lawyer, concerning a little property that she, Aunt Dean,
+held in Crabb. It would be a tremendously long walk for Alice from
+Timberdale, especially as she was not looking strong, and Mrs. Todhetley
+proposed that I should drive her over in the pony-carriage: which Alice
+jumped at.
+
+Accordingly, the next morning, which was warm and bright, I took the
+pony-carriage to the Rectory, picked up Alice, and then drove back
+towards Islip. As we passed Oxlip Grange, which lay in our way, Sir Dace
+Fontaine was outside in the road, slowly pacing the side-path. I thought
+I had never seen a man look so ill: so _down_ and gloomy. He raised his
+eyes, as we came up, to give me a nod. I was nodding back again, when
+Alice screamed out and startled me. She started the pony too, which
+sprang on at a tangent.
+
+"Johnny! Johnny Ludlow!" she gasped, her face whiter than death and her
+lips trembling like an aspen leaf, "did you see that man? Did you see
+him?"
+
+"Yes. I was nodding to him. What is the matter?"
+
+"It was the man I saw in my dream: the man who had committed the murder
+in it."
+
+I stared at her, wondering whether she had lost her wits.
+
+"Do you remember the description I gave of that man?" she continued,
+in excitement. "_I_ do. I wrote it down at the time, and Mr. Todhetley
+holds it, sealed up. Every word, every particular is in my memory now,
+as I saw him in my dream. 'A tall, evil-looking, dark man in a long
+brown coat, who walked with his eyes fixed on the ground.' I tell you,
+Johnny Ludlow, _that is the man_."
+
+Her vehemence infected me. I looked round after Sir Dace. He was
+turning this way now. Certainly the description seemed like enough.
+His countenance just now did look an evil one; and he was tall and he
+was dark, and he wore a long brown coat this morning, nearly reaching
+to his heels, and his eyes were fixed on the ground as he walked.
+
+"But what if his looks do tally with the man you saw in your dream,
+Alice? What of it?"
+
+"What of it!" she echoed, vehemently. "_What of it!_ Why, don't you see,
+Johnny Ludlow? This man must have killed Edward Pym."
+
+"Hush, Alice! It is impossible. This is Sir Dace Fontaine."
+
+"I do not care who he is," was her impulsive retort. "As surely as that
+Heaven is above us, Edward Pym got his death at the hand of this man. My
+dream revealed it to me."
+
+I might as well have tried to stem a torrent as to argue with her; so I
+drove on and held my tongue. Arrived at the office of Paul and Chandler,
+I following her in, leaving a boy with the pony outside. Alice pounced
+upon old Paul with the assertion: Sir Dace Fontaine was the evil and
+guilty man she had seen in her dream. Considering that Paul was a sort
+of cousin to Sir Dace's late wife, this was pretty well. Old Paul stared
+at her as I had done. Her cheeks were hectic, her eyes wildly earnest.
+She recalled to the lawyer's memory the dream she had related to him;
+she asserted in the most unqualified manner that Dace Fontaine was
+guilty. Tom Chandler, who was old Paul's partner and had married his
+daughter Emma, came into the room in the middle of it, and took his
+share of staring.
+
+"It must be investigated," said Alice to them. "Will you undertake it?"
+
+"My dear young lady, one cannot act upon a fancy--a dream," cried old
+Paul: and there was a curious sound of compassionate pity in his voice,
+which betrayed to Alice the gratifying fact that he was regarding her as
+a monomaniac.
+
+"If you will not act, others will," she concluded at last, after
+exhausting her arguments in vain. And she came away with me in
+resentment, having totally forgotten all about her mother's business.
+
+To Crabb Cot then--she _would_ go--to take counsel with the Squire. He
+told her to her face she was worse than a lunatic to suspect Sir Dace;
+and he would hardly get out the sealed packet at all. It was opened at
+last, and the dream, as written down in it by herself at the time, read.
+
+"John Tanerton, my husband, was going to sea in command," it began.
+"He came to me the morning of the day they were to sail, looking very
+patient, pale and sorrowful: more so than any one, I think, could look
+in life. He and I seemed to have had some estrangement the previous
+night that was not remembered by either of us now, and I, for one,
+repented of it. Somebody was murdered (though I could not tell how this
+had been revealed to me), some man; Jack was suspected by all people,
+but they could not bring it home to him. We were in some strange town;
+strangers in it; though I, as it seemed to me, had been in it once,
+many years before. All this while, Jack was standing before me in his
+sadness and sorrow, mutely appealing to me, as it seemed, to clear him.
+Everybody was talking of it and glancing at us askance, everybody
+shunned us, and we were in cruel distress. Suddenly I remembered that
+when I was in the town before, the man now murdered had had a bitter
+quarrel with another man, a gentleman of note in the town; and a
+conviction came over me, powerful as a revelation, that it was he who
+had now committed the murder. I left Jack, and told this to some one
+connected with the ship, its owner, I think. He laughed at the words,
+saying that the gentleman I would accuse was of high authority in the
+town, one of its first magnates. That he had done it, however high he
+might be, I felt perfectly certain; but nobody would listen to me;
+nobody would heed so improbable a tale: and, in the trouble this
+brought me, I awoke. _Such_ trouble! Nothing like it could be felt in
+real life.
+
+"That was dream the first.
+
+"I lay awake for some little time thinking of it, and then went to sleep
+again: and this was dream the second.
+
+"The dream seemed to recommence from where it had left off. It was
+afternoon. I was in a large open carriage, going through the streets
+of the town, the ship's owner (as I say I think he was) sitting beside
+me. In passing over a bridge we saw two gentlemen walking towards us
+arm-in-arm on the footpath, one of them an officer in a dusky old red
+uniform and cocked hat, the other a tall, evil-looking dark man, who
+wore a long brown coat and kept his eyes on the ground. Though I had
+never seen him in my life before, I _knew_ it was the guilty man; he had
+killed the other, committed the crime in secret: but ere I could speak,
+he who was sitting with me said, 'There's the gentleman you would have
+accused this morning. He stands before everybody else in the town. Fancy
+your accusing _him_ of such a thing!' It seemed to me that I did not
+answer, could not answer for the pain. That he was guilty I knew, and
+not Jack, but I had no means of bringing it home to him. He and the man
+in uniform walked on in their secure immunity, and I went on in the
+carriage in my pain. The pain awoke me.
+
+"And now it only remains for me to declare that I have set down this
+singular dream truthfully, word for word; and I shall seal it up and
+keep it. It may be of use if any trouble falls upon Jack, as the dream
+seems to foretell--and of some trouble in store for him he has already
+felt the shadow. So strangely vivid a dream, and the intense pain
+it brought and leaves with me, can hardly have visited me for
+nothing.--ALICE TANERTON."
+
+That was all the paper said. The Squire, poring through his good old
+spectacles over it, shook his head as Alice pointed out the description
+of the guilty man, how exactly it tallied with the appearance of Sir
+Dace Fontaine; but he only repeated Paul the lawyer's words, "One cannot
+act upon a dream."
+
+"It was Sir Dace; it was Sir Dace," reiterated Alice, clasping her hands
+piteously. "I am as sure of it as that I hope to go to heaven." And I
+drove her home in the belief.
+
+There ensued a commotion. Not a commotion to be told to the parish, but
+a private one amidst ourselves. I never saw a woman in such a fever of
+excitement as Alice Tanerton was in from that day, or any one take up a
+matter so warmly.
+
+Captain Tanerton did not adopt her views. He shook his head, and said
+Sir Dace it _could not_ have been. Sir Dace was at his house in the
+Marylebone Road at the very hour the calamity happened off Tower Hill.
+I followed suit, hearing out Jack's word. Was I not at the Marylebone
+Road that evening myself, playing chess with Coralie?--and was not Sir
+Dace shut up in his library all the time, and never came out of it?
+
+Alice listened, and looked puzzled to death. But she held to her own
+opinion. And when a fit of desperate obstinacy takes possession of a
+woman without rhyme or reason, you cannot shake it. As good try to argue
+with the whistling wind. She did not pretend to see how it could have
+been, she said, but Sir Dace was guilty. And she haunted Paul and
+Chandler's office at Islip, praying them to take the matter up.
+
+At length, to soothe her, and perhaps to prevent her carrying it
+elsewhere, they promised they would. And of course they had to make some
+show of doing it.
+
+One evening Tom Chandler came to Crabb Cot and asked to see me alone.
+"I want you to tell me all the particulars you remember of that fatal
+night," he began, when I went to him in the Squire's little room. "I
+have taken down Captain Tanerton's testimony, and I must have yours,
+Johnny."
+
+"But, are you going to stir in it?"
+
+"We must do something, I suppose. Paul thinks so. I am going to London
+to-morrow on other matters, and shall use the opportunity to make an
+inquiry or two. It is rather a strange piece of business altogether,"
+added Mr. Chandler, as he took his place at the table and drew the
+inkstand towards him. "John Tanerton is innocent. I feel sure of that."
+
+"How strongly Mrs. Tanerton has taken it up!"
+
+"Pretty well for that," answered Tom Chandler, a smile on his
+good-natured face. "She told us yesterday in the office that it must be
+the consciousness of guilt which has worried Sir Dace to a skeleton. Now
+then, we'll begin."
+
+He dotted down my answers to his questions, also what I voluntarily
+added. Then he took a sheet of paper from his pocket, closely written
+upon, and compared its statements--they were Tanerton's--with mine.
+Putting his finger on the paper to mark a place, he looked at me.
+
+"Did Sir Dace speak of Pym or of Captain Tanerton that night, when you
+were playing chess with Miss Fontaine?"
+
+"Sir Dace did not come into the drawing-room. He had left the
+dinner-table in a huff to shut himself up in his library, Miss Fontaine
+said; and he stayed in it."
+
+"Then you did not see Sir Dace at all that night?"
+
+"Oh yes, later--when Captain Tanerton and young Saxby came up to tell
+him of the death. We then all went down to Ship Street together. You
+have taken that down."
+
+"True," said Chandler. "Well, I cannot make much out of it as it
+stands," he concluded, folding the papers and putting them in his
+pocket-book. "What do you say is the number of the house in the
+Marylebone Road?"
+
+I told him, and he went away, wishing he could accept my offer of
+staying to drink tea with us.
+
+"Look here, Chandler," I said to him at the front-door: "why don't you
+take down Sir Dace Fontaine's evidence, as well as mine and Tanerton's?"
+
+"I have done it," he answered. "I was with Sir Dace to-day. Mrs.
+Tanerton's suspicions are of course--absurd," he added, making a pause,
+as if at a loss for a suitable word, "but for her peace of mind, poor
+lady, we would like to pitch upon the right individual if we can. And as
+yet he seems to be a myth."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The good ship, _Rose of Delhi_, came gaily into port, and took up her
+berth in St. Katharine's Docks as before; for she had been chartered
+for London. Her owners, the Freemans, wrote at once from Liverpool to
+Captain Tanerton, begging him to resume command. Jack wrote back, and
+declined.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+How is it that whispers get about! Do the birds in the air carry
+them?--or the winds of heaven? In some cases it seems impossible that
+anything else can have done it. Paul and Chandler, John Tanerton and his
+wife, the Squire and myself: we were the only people cognizant of the
+new suspicion that Alice was striving to cast on Sir Dace, one and all
+of us had kept silent lips: and yet, the rumour got abroad. Sir Dace
+Fontaine was accused of knowing more about Pym's death than he ought to
+know, and Tom Chandler was in London for the purpose of investigating
+it. This might not have mattered very much for ordinary ears, but it
+reached those of Sir Dace.
+
+Coralie Fontaine heard it from Mary Ann Letsom. In Mary Ann's
+indignation at the report, she spoke it out to Coralie; and Coralie,
+laughing at the absurdity of the thing, repeated it to Sir Dace. How
+_he_ received it, or what he said about it, did not transpire.
+
+A stagnant kind of atmosphere seemed to hang over us just then, like the
+heavy, unnatural calm that precedes the storm. Sir Dace got weaker day
+by day, more of a shadow; Herbert Tanerton and his brother were still at
+variance, so far as Jack's future was concerned; and Mr. Chandler seemed
+to have taken up his abode in London for good.
+
+"Does he _never_ mean to come back?" demanded Alice one day of the
+Squire: and her lips and cheeks were red with fever as she asked it. The
+truth was, that some cause of Paul and Chandler's then on at Westminster
+was prolonging itself out--even when it did begin--unconscionably.
+
+One morning I met Ben Rymer as he was leaving Oxlip Grange. Coralie
+Fontaine had walked with him to the gate, talking earnestly, their two
+heads together. Ben shook hands with her and came out, looking as grave
+as a judge.
+
+"How is Sir Dace?" I asked him. "Getting on?"
+
+"Getting off," responded Ben. "For that's what it will be now; and not
+long first, unless he mends."
+
+"Is he worse?"
+
+"He is nearly as bad as he can be, to be alive. And yesterday, he must
+needs go careering off to Islip by himself to transact some business
+with Paul the lawyer! He was no more fit for it than--than _this_ is,"
+concluded Ben, giving a flick to his silk umbrella as he marched off.
+Ben went in for silk umbrellas now: in the old days a cotton one would
+have been too good for him.
+
+"I am so sorry to hear Sir Dace is no better," I said to Coralie
+Fontaine, who had waited at the gate to speak to me.
+
+Coralie shook her head. Some deep feeling sat in her generally passive
+face: the tears stood in her eyes.
+
+"Thank you, Johnny Ludlow. It is very sad. I feel sure Mr. Rymer has
+given up all hope, though he does not say so to me. Verena looks nearly
+as ill as papa. I wish we had never come to Europe!"
+
+"Sir Dace exerts himself too greatly, Mr. Rymer says."
+
+"Yes; and worries himself also. As if his affairs needed as much as a
+thought!--I am sure they must be just as straight and smooth as yonder
+green plain. He had to see Mr. Paul yesterday about some alteration
+in his will, and went to Islip, instead of sending for Paul here.
+I thought he would have died when he got home. Papa has a strange
+restlessness upon him. Good-bye, Johnny. I'd ask you to come in but
+that things are all so miserable."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was late in the evening, getting towards bedtime. Mrs. Todhetley had
+gone upstairs with the face-ache, Tod was over at old Coney's, and I and
+the Squire were sitting alone, when Thomas surprised us by showing in
+Tom Chandler. We did not know he was back from London.
+
+"Yes, I got back this evening," said he, as he sat down near the lamp,
+and spread some papers out on the table. "I am in a bit of a dilemma,
+Mr. Todhetley; and I am come here at this late hour to put it before
+you."
+
+Chandler's voice had dropped to a mysterious whisper; his eyes were
+glancing at the door to make sure it was shut. The Squire pushed up
+his spectacles and drew his chair nearer. I sat on the opposite side,
+wondering what was coming.
+
+"That suspicion of Alice Tanerton's--that Sir Dace killed Pym," went on
+Chandler, his left hand resting on the papers, his eyes on the Squire's.
+"I think it was a true one."
+
+"A what?" cried the pater.
+
+"A true one. That Sir Dace did kill him."
+
+"Goodness bless me!" gasped the Squire, his good old face taking a
+lighter tint. "What on earth do you mean, man?"
+
+"Well, I mean just that," answered Chandler. "And I feel myself to be,
+in consequence, in an uncommonly awkward position. One can't well accuse
+Sir Dace, a man close upon the grave; and Paul's relative in addition.
+And yet, Captain Tanerton must be cleared."
+
+"I can't make top or tail of what you mean, Tom Chandler!" cried the
+Squire, blinking like a bewildered owl. "Don't you think you are
+dreaming?"
+
+"Wish I was," said Tom, "so far as this business goes. Look here. I'll
+begin at the beginning and go through the story. You'll understand it
+then."
+
+"It's more than I do now. Or Johnny, either. Look at him!"
+
+"When Mrs. John Tanerton brought to us that accusation of Sir Dace, on
+the strength of her dream," began Chandler, after glancing at me, "I
+thought she must have turned a little crazy. It was a singular dream;
+there's no denying that; and the exact resemblance to Sir Dace Fontaine
+of the man she saw in it, was still more singular: so much so, that
+I could not help being impressed by it. Another thing that strongly
+impressed me, was Captain Tanerton's testimony: from the moment I heard
+it and weighed his manner in giving it, I felt sure of his innocence.
+Revolving these matters in my own mind, I resolved to go to Sir Dace and
+get him to give me his version of the affair; not in the least endorsing
+in my own mind her suspicion of him, or hinting at it to him, you
+understand; simply to get more evidence. I went to Sir Dace, heard what
+he had to say, and brought away with me a most unpleasant doubt."
+
+"That he was guilty?"
+
+"That he might be. His manner was so confused, himself so agitated when
+I first spoke. His hands trembled, his lips grew white, He strove to
+turn it off, saying I had startled him, but I felt a very queer doubt
+arising in my mind. His narrative had to be drawn from him; it was
+anything but clear, and full of contradictions. 'Why do you come to me
+about this?' he asked: 'have you heard anything?' 'I only come to ask
+you for information,' was my answer: 'Mrs. John Tanerton wants the
+matter looked into. If her husband is not guilty, he ought to be cleared
+in the face of the world.' 'Nobody thinks he was guilty,' retorted Sir
+Dace in a shrill tone of annoyance. 'Nobody was guilty: Pym must have
+fallen and injured himself.' I came away from the interview, as I tell
+you, with my doubts very unpleasantly stirred," resumed Chandler; "and
+it caused me to be more earnest in looking after odds and ends of
+evidence in London than I otherwise might have been."
+
+"Did you pick up any?"
+
+"Ay, I did. I turned the people at the Marylebone lodgings inside out,
+so to say; I found out a Mrs. Ball, where Verena Fontaine had hidden
+herself; and I quite haunted Dame Richenough's in Ship Street, Tower
+Hill. There I met with Mark Ferrar. A piece of good fortune, for he told
+me something that----"
+
+"What was it?" gasped the Squire, eagerly.
+
+"Why this--and a most important piece of evidence it is. That night, not
+many minutes before the fatal accident must have occurred, Ferrar saw
+Sir Dace Fontaine in Ship Street, watching Pym's room. He was standing
+in an entry on the opposite side of the street, gazing across at Pym's.
+This, you perceive, disproves one fact testified to--that Sir Dace spent
+that evening shut up in his library at home. Instead of that he was
+absolutely down on the spot."
+
+The Squire rubbed his face like a helpless man. "Why could not Ferrar
+have said so at the time?" he asked.
+
+"Ferrar attached no importance to it; he thought Sir Dace was but
+looking over to see whether his daughter was at Pym's. But Ferrar had no
+opportunity of giving testimony: he sailed away the next morning in the
+ship. Nothing could exceed his astonishment when I told him in London
+that Captain Tanerton lay under the suspicion. He has taken Crabb on his
+way to Worcester to support this testimony if needful, and to impart it
+privately to Tanerton."
+
+"Well, it all seems a hopeless puzzle to me," returned the pater. "Why
+on earth did not Jack speak out more freely, and say he was not guilty?"
+
+"I don't know. The fact, that Sir Dace did go out that night," continued
+Chandler, "was confirmed by one of the maids in the Marylebone
+Road--Maria; a smart girl with curled hair. She says Sir Dace had not
+been many minutes in the library that night, to which he went straight
+from the dinner-table in a passion, when she saw him leave it again,
+catch up his hat with a jerk as he passed through the hall, and go out
+at the front-door. It was just after Ozias had been to ask him whether
+he would take some coffee, and got sent away with a flea in his ear.
+Whether or not Sir Dace came in during the evening, Maria does not know;
+he may, or may not, have done so, but she did see him come home in a cab
+at ten o'clock, or soon after it. She was gossipping with the maids at a
+house some few doors off, when a cab stopped near to them, Sir Dace got
+out of it, paid the man, and walked on to his own door. Maria supposed
+the driver had made a mistake in the number. So you see there can be no
+doubt that Sir Dace was out that night."
+
+"He was certainly in soon after ten," I remarked. "Verena came home
+about that time, and she saw him downstairs."
+
+"Don't you bring _her_ name up, Johnny," corrected the Squire. "That
+young woman led to all the mischief. Running away, as she did--and
+sending us off to that wax-work show in search of her! Fine figures they
+cut, some of those dumb things!"
+
+"I found also," resumed Chandler, turning over his papers, on which he
+had looked from time to time, "that Sir Dace met with one or two slight
+personal mishaps that night. He sprained his wrist, accounting for it
+the next morning by saying he had slipped in getting into bed; and he
+lost a little piece out of his shirt-front."
+
+"Out of his shirt front!"
+
+"Just here," and Chandler touched the middle button of his shirt. "The
+button-hole and a portion of the linen round it had been torn away.
+Nothing would have been known of that but for the laundress. She brought
+the shirt back before putting it into water, lest it should be said
+she had done it in the washing. Maria remembered this, and told me. A
+remarkably intelligent girl, that."
+
+"Did Maria--I remember the girl--suspect anything?" asked the Squire.
+
+"Nothing whatever. She does not now; I accounted otherwise for my
+inquiries. Altogether, what with these facts I have told you, and a few
+minor items, and Ferrar's evidence, I can draw but one conclusion--that
+Sir Dace Fontaine killed Pym."
+
+"I never heard such a strange thing!" cried the pater. "And what's to be
+done?"
+
+"That's the question," said Chandler. "What _is_ to be done?" And he
+left us with the doubt.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Well, it turned out to be quite true; but I have not space here to go
+more into detail. Sir Dace Fontaine was guilty, and the dream was a true
+dream.
+
+"Did you suspect him?" the Squire asked privately of Jack, who was taken
+into counsel the next day.
+
+"No, I never suspected Sir Dace," Jack answered. "I suspected some one
+else--Verena."
+
+"No!"
+
+"I did. About half-past eight o'clock that night, Ferrar had seen a
+young lady--or somebody dressed as one--watching Pym's house from the
+opposite entry: just where, it now appears, he later saw Sir Dace.
+Ferrar thought it was Verena Fontaine. A little later, in fact just
+after the calamity must have occurred, Alfred Saxby also saw a young
+lady running from the direction of the house, whom he also took to be
+Verena. Ferrar and I came to the same conclusion--I don't know about
+Saxby--that Verena must have been present when it happened. _I_ thought
+that, angry at the state Pym was in, she might have given him a push in
+her vexation, perhaps inadvertently, and that he fell. Who knew?"
+
+"But Verena was elsewhere that evening, you know; at a concert."
+
+"I knew she said so; but I did not believe it. Of course I know now that
+both Ferrar and Saxby were mistaken; that it was somebody else they saw,
+who bore, one must imagine, some general resemblance to her."
+
+"Well, I think you might have known better," cried the Squire.
+
+"Yes, I suppose I ought to. But, before the inquest had terminated, I
+chanced to be alone with Verena; and her manner--nay, her words, two or
+three she said--seemed to imply her guilt, and also a consciousness that
+I must be aware of it. I had no doubt at all from that hour."
+
+"And is it for that reason, consideration for her, that you have
+partially allowed suspicion to rest upon yourself?" pursued the Squire,
+hotly.
+
+"Of course. How could I be the means of throwing it upon a defenceless
+girl?"
+
+"Well, John Tanerton, you are a chivalrous goose!"
+
+"Verena must have known the truth all along."
+
+"_That's_ not probable," contended the Squire. "And Chandler wants to
+know what is to be done."
+
+"Nothing all all, that I can see," answered Jack. "Sir Dace is not in a
+condition to have trouble thrown upon him."
+
+Good Jack! generous Jack! There are not many such self-denying spirits
+in the world.
+
+And what would have been done is beyond guessing, had Sir Dace not
+solved the difficulty himself. Solved it by dying.
+
+But I must first tell of a little matter that happened. Although we had
+heard what we had, one could not treat the man cavalierly, and the
+Squire--just as good at heart as Jack--went up to make inquiries at
+Oxlip Grange, as usual. One day he and Colonel Letsom strolled up
+together, and were asked to walk in. Sir Dace wished to see them.
+
+"If ever you saw a living skeleton, it's what he is," cried the Squire
+to us when he came home. "It is in the nature of the disease, I believe,
+that he should be. Dress him up in his shroud, and you'd take him for
+nothing but bones."
+
+Sir Dace was in the easy-chair by his bedroom fire, Coralie sitting
+with him. By his side stood a round table with papers and letters upon
+it.
+
+"I am glad you have chanced to call," he said to them, as he sent
+Coralie away. "I wanted my signature witnessed by some one in
+influential authority. You are both county magistrates."
+
+"The signature to your will," cried the Squire, falling to that
+conclusion.
+
+"Not my will," answered Sir Dace. "That is settled."
+
+He turned to the table, his long, emaciated, trembling fingers singling
+out a document that lay upon it. "This is a declaration," he said,
+"which I have written out myself, being of sound mind, you perceive, and
+which I wish to sign in your presence. I testify that every word written
+in it is truth; I, a dying man, swear that it is so, before God."
+
+His shaky hands scrawled his signature, Dace Fontaine; and the Squire
+and Colonel Letsom added theirs to it. Sir Dace then sealed up the
+paper, and made them each affix his seal also. He then tottered to a
+cabinet standing by the bed's head, and locked it up in it.
+
+"You will know where to find it when I am gone," he said. "I wish some
+one of you to read it aloud, after the funeral, to those assembled here.
+When my will shall have been read, then read this."
+
+On the third day after this, at evening, Sir Dace Fontaine died. We
+heard no more about anything until the day of the funeral, which took
+place on the following Monday. Sir Dace left a list of those he wished
+invited to it, and they went. Sir Robert Tenby, Mr. Brandon, Colonel
+Letsom and his eldest son; the parsons of Timberdale, Crabb, and Islip;
+the three doctors who had attended him; old Paul and Tom Chandler;
+Captain Tanerton, and ourselves.
+
+He was buried at Islip, by his own directions. And when we got back to
+the Grange, after leaving him in the cold churchyard, Mr. Paul read out
+the will. Coralie and Verena sat in the room in their deep mourning.
+Coralie's eyes were dry, but Verena sobbed incessantly.
+
+Apart from a few legacies, one of which was to his servant Ozias, his
+property was left to his two daughters, in equal shares. The chief
+legacy, a large one, was left to John Tanerton--three thousand pounds.
+You should have seen Jack's face of astonishment as he heard it. Herbert
+looked as if he could not believe his ears. And Verena glanced across
+at Jack with a happy flush.
+
+"Papa charged me, just before he died, to say that a sealed paper of his
+would be found in his private cabinet, which was to be read out now,"
+spoke Coralie, in the pause which ensued, as old Paul's voice ceased.
+"He said Colonel Letsom and Mr. Todhetley would know where to find it,"
+she added; breaking down with a sob.
+
+The paper was fetched, and old Paul was requested to read it. So he
+broke the seals.
+
+You may have guessed what it was: a declaration of his guilt--if
+guilt it could be called. In a straightforward manner he stated the
+particulars of that past night: and the following is a summary of them.
+
+Sir Dace went out again that night after dinner, not in secret, or
+with any idea of secrecy; it simply chanced, he supposed, that no one
+saw him go. He was too uneasy about Verena to rest; he fully believed
+her to be with Pym; and he went down to Ship Street. Before entering
+the street he dismissed the cab, and proceeded cautiously to
+reconnoitre, believing that if he were seen, Pym would be capable of
+concealing Verena. After looking about till he was tired, he took up
+his station opposite Pym's lodgings--which seemed to be empty--and
+stayed, watching, until close upon nine o'clock, when he saw Pym enter
+them. Before he had time to go across, the landlady began to close the
+shutters; while she was doing it, Captain Tanerton came up, and went
+in. Captain Tanerton came out in a minute or two, and walked quickly
+back up the street: he, Sir Dace, would have gone after him to ask him
+whether Verena was indoors with Pym, or not, but the captain's steps
+were too fleet for him. Sir Dace then crossed over, opened the
+street-door, and entered Pym's parlour. A short, sharp quarrel ensued.
+Pym was in liquor, and--consequently--insolent. In the heat of passion
+Sir Dace--he was a strong man then--seized Pym's arm, and shook him.
+Pym flew at him in return like a tiger, twisted his wrist round, and
+tore his shirt. Sir Dace was furious then; he struck him a powerful
+blow on the head--behind the ear no doubt, as the surgeons testified
+afterwards--and Pym fell. Leaving him there, Sir Dace quitted the house
+quietly, never glancing at the thought that the blow could be fatal.
+But, when seated in a cab on the way home, the idea suddenly occurred
+to him--what if he had killed Pym? The conviction, though he knew
+not why, or wherefore, that he had killed him, took hold of him, and
+he went into his house, a terrified man. The rest was known, the
+manuscript went on to say. He allowed people to remain in the belief
+that he had not been out-of-doors that night: though how bitterly he
+repented not having declared the truth at the time, none could know,
+save God. He now, a dying man, about to appear before that God, who had
+been full of mercy to him, declared that this was the whole truth, and
+he further declared that he had no intention whatever of injuring Pym;
+all he thought was, to knock him down for his insolence. He hoped the
+world would forgive him, though he had never forgiven himself; and
+he prayed his daughters to forgive him, especially Verena. He would
+counsel her to return to the West Indies, and marry George Bazalgette.
+
+That ended the declaration: and an astounding surprise it must have been
+to most of the eager listeners. But not one ventured to make any comment
+on it, good or bad. The legacy to John Tanerton was understood now.
+Verena crossed the room as we were filing out, and put her two hands
+into his.
+
+"I have had a dreadful fear upon me that it was papa," she whispered
+to him, the tears running down her cheeks. "Nay, worse than a fear: a
+conviction. I think you have had the same, Captain Tanerton, and that
+you have generously done your best to screen him; and I thank you with
+my whole heart."
+
+"But, indeed," began Jack--and pulled himself up, short.
+
+"Let me tell you all," said Verena. "I saw papa come in that night: I
+mean to our lodgings in the Marylebone Road, so I knew he had been out.
+It was just past ten o'clock: Ozias saw him too--but he is silent and
+faithful. I did not want papa to see me; fate, I suppose, made me
+back into that little room, papa's library, until he should have gone
+upstairs. He did not go up; he came into the room: and I hid myself
+behind the window curtain. I cannot describe to you how strange papa
+looked; _dreadful_; and he groaned and flung up his arms as one does in
+despair. It frightened me so much that I said nothing to anybody. Still
+I had not the key to it: I thought it must be about me: and the torn
+shirt--for I saw that, and saw him button his coat over it--I supposed
+he had, himself, done accidentally. I drew one of the glass doors softly
+open, got out that way, and up to the drawing-room. Then you came in
+with the news of Edward's death. At first, for a day or so, I thought
+as others did--that suspicion lay on you. But, gradually, all these
+facts impressed themselves on my mind in their startling reality; and I
+felt, I saw, it could have been no other than he--my poor father. Oh,
+Captain Tanerton, forgive him! Forgive me!"
+
+"There's nothing to forgive; I am sorry it has come out now," whispered
+Jack, deeming it wise to leave it at that, and he stooped and gave her
+the kiss of peace.
+
+So this was the end of it. Of the affair which had so unpleasantly
+puzzled the world, and tried Jack.
+
+Jack, loyal, honest-hearted Jack, shook hands with everybody, giving a
+double shake to Herbert's, and went forthwith down to Liverpool.
+
+"I will take the _Rose of Delhi_ again, now," he said to the Freemans.
+"For this next voyage, at any rate."
+
+"And for many a one after it, we hope, Captain Tanerton," was their warm
+answer. And Jack and his bright face went direct from the office to New
+Brighton, to tell Aunt Dean.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+And what became of the Miss Fontaines, you would like to ask? Well, I
+have not time at present to tell you about Coralie; I don't know when I
+shall have. But, if you'll believe me, Verena took her father's advice,
+sailed back over the seas, and married George Bazalgette.
+
+
+
+
+A CURIOUS EXPERIENCE.
+
+
+What I am about to tell of took place during the last year of John
+Whitney's life, now many years ago. We could never account for it, or
+understand it: but it occurred (at least, so far as our experience of
+it went) just as I relate it.
+
+It was not the custom for schools to give a long holiday at Easter then:
+one week at most. Dr. Frost allowed us from the Thursday in Passion
+week, to the following Thursday; and many of the boys spent it at
+school.
+
+Easter was late that year, and the weather lovely. On the Wednesday in
+Easter week, the Squire and Mrs. Todhetley drove over to spend the day
+at Whitney Hall, Tod and I being with them. Sir John and Lady Whitney
+were beginning to be anxious about John's health--their eldest son. He
+had been ailing since the previous Christmas, and he seemed to grow
+thinner and weaker. It was so perceptible when he got home from school
+this Easter, that Sir John put himself into a flurry (he was just like
+the Squire in that and in many another way), and sent an express to
+Worcester for Henry Carden, asking him to bring Dr. Hastings with him.
+They came. John wanted care, they said, and they could not discover any
+specific disease at present. As to his returning to school, they both
+thought that question might be left with the boy himself. John told them
+he should prefer to go back, and laughed a little at this fuss being
+made over him: he should soon be all right, he said; people were apt
+to lose strength more or less in the spring. He was sixteen then,
+a slender, upright boy, with a delicate, thoughtful face, dreamy,
+grey-blue eyes and brown hair, and he was ever gentle, sweet-tempered,
+and considerate. Sir John related to the Squire what the doctors had
+said, avowing that he could not "make much out of it."
+
+In the afternoon, when we were out-of-doors on the lawn in the hot
+sunshine, listening to the birds singing and the cuckoo calling,
+Featherston came in, the local doctor, who saw John nearly every day. He
+was a tall, grey, hard-worked man, with a face of care. After talking a
+few moments with John and his mother, he turned to the rest of us on the
+grass. The Squire and Sir John were sitting on a garden bench, some wine
+and lemonade on a little table between them. Featherston shook hands.
+
+"Will you take some?" asked Sir John.
+
+"I don't mind a glass of lemonade with a dash of sherry in it," answered
+Featherston, lifting his hat to rub his brow. "I have been walking
+beyond Goose Brook and back, and upon my word it is as hot as
+midsummer."
+
+"Ay, it is," assented Sir John. "Help yourself, doctor."
+
+He filled a tumbler with what he wanted, brought it over to the opposite
+bench, and sat down by Mrs. Todhetley. John and his mother were at the
+other end of it; I sat on the arm. The rest of them, with Helen and
+Anna, had gone strolling away; to the North Pole, for all we knew.
+
+"John still says he shall go back to school," began Lady Whitney, to
+Featherston.
+
+"Ay; to-morrow's the day, isn't it, John? Black Thursday, some of you
+boys call it."
+
+"I like school," said John.
+
+"Almost a pity, though," continued Featherston, looking up and about
+him. "To be out at will all day in this soft air, under the blue skies
+and the sunbeams, might be of more benefit to you, Master John, than
+being cooped up in a close school-room."
+
+"You hear, John!" cried Lady Whitney. "I wish you would persuade him to
+take a longer rest at home, Mr. Featherston!"
+
+Mr. Featherston stooped for his tumbler, which he had lodged on the
+smooth grass, and took another drink before replying. "If you and John
+would follow my advice, Lady Whitney, I'd give it."
+
+"Yes?" cried she, all eagerness.
+
+"Take John somewhere for a fortnight, and let him go back to school at
+the end," said the surgeon. "That would do him good."
+
+"Why, of course it would," called out Sir John, who had been listening.
+"And I say it shall be done. John, my boy, you and your mother shall go
+to the seaside--to Aberystwith."
+
+"Well, I don't think I should quite say that, Sir John," said
+Featherston again. "The seaside would be all very well in this warm
+weather; but it may not last, it may change to cold and frost. I should
+suggest one of the inland watering-places, as they are called: where
+there's a Spa, and a Pump Room, and a Parade, and lots of gay company.
+It would be lively for him, and a thorough change."
+
+"What a nice idea!" cried Lady Whitney, who was the most unsophisticated
+woman in the world. "Such as Pumpwater."
+
+"Such as Pumpwater: the very place," agreed Featherston. "Well, were
+I you, my lady, I would try it for a couple of weeks. Let John take a
+companion with him; one of his schoolfellows. Here's Johnny Ludlow: he
+might do."
+
+"I'd rather have Johnny Ludlow than any one," said John.
+
+Remarking that his time was up, for a patient waited for him, and that
+he must leave us to settle the question, Featherston took his departure.
+But it appeared to be settled already.
+
+"Johnny can go," spoke up the Squire. "The loss of a fortnight's lessons
+is not much, compared with doing a little service to a friend. Charming
+spots are those inland watering-places, and Pumpwater is about the best
+of them all."
+
+"We must take lodgings," said Lady Whitney presently, when they had done
+expatiating upon the gauds and glories of Pumpwater. "To stay at an
+hotel would be so noisy; and expensive besides."
+
+"I know of some," cried Mrs. Todhetley, in sudden thought. "If you
+could get into Miss Gay's rooms, you would be well off. Do you remember
+them?"--turning to the Squire. "We stayed at her house on our way
+from----"
+
+"Why, bless me, to be sure I do," he interrupted. "Somebody had given us
+Miss Gay's address, and we drove straight to it to see if she had rooms
+at liberty; she had, and took us in at once. We were so comfortable
+there that we stayed at Pumpwater three days instead of two."
+
+It was hastily decided that Mrs. Todhetley should write to Miss Gay, and
+she went indoors to do so. All being well, Lady Whitney meant to start
+on Saturday.
+
+Miss Gay's answer came punctually, reaching Whitney Hall on Friday
+morning. It was addressed to Mrs. Todhetley, but Lady Whitney, as had
+been arranged, opened it. Miss Gay wrote that she should be much pleased
+to receive Lady Whitney. Her house, as it chanced, was then quite
+empty; a family, who had been with her six weeks, had just left: so Lady
+Whitney might take her choice of the rooms, which she would keep vacant
+until Saturday. In conclusion, she begged Mrs. Todhetley to notice that
+her address was changed. The old house was too small to accommodate the
+many kind friends who patronized her, and she had moved into a larger
+house, superior to the other and in the best position.
+
+Thus all things seemed to move smoothly for our expedition; and we
+departed by train on the Saturday morning for Pumpwater.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a handsome house, standing in the high-road, between the parade
+and the principal street, and rather different from the houses on each
+side of it, inasmuch as that it was detached and had a narrow slip of
+gravelled ground in front. In fact, it looked too large and handsome for
+a lodging-house; and Lady Whitney, regarding it from the fly which had
+brought us from the station, wondered whether the driver had made a
+mistake. It was built of red-brick, with white stone facings; the door,
+set in a pillared portico, stood in the middle, and three rooms, each
+with a bay-window, lay one above another on both sides.
+
+But in a moment we saw it was all right. A slight, fair woman, in a
+slate silk gown, came out and announced herself as Miss Gay. She had
+a mild, pleasant voice, and a mild, pleasant face, with light falling
+curls, the fashion then for every one, and she wore a lace cap, trimmed
+with pink. I took to her and to her face at once.
+
+"I am glad to be here," said Lady Whitney, cordially, in answer to Miss
+Gay's welcome. "Is there any one who can help with the luggage? We have
+not brought either man or maid-servant."
+
+"Oh dear, yes, my lady. Please let me show you indoors, and then leave
+all to me. Susannah! Oh, here you are, Susannah! Where's Charity?--my
+cousin and chief help-mate, my lady."
+
+A tall, dark person, about Miss Gay's own age, which might be forty,
+wearing brown ribbon in her hair and a purple bow at her throat, dropped
+a curtsy to Lady Whitney. This was Susannah. She looked strong-minded
+and capable. Charity, who came running up the kitchen-stairs, was a
+smiling young woman-servant, with a coarse apron tied round her, and
+red arms bared to the elbow.
+
+There were four sitting-rooms on the ground-floor: two in front, with
+their large bay-windows; two at the back, looking out upon some bright,
+semi-public gardens.
+
+"A delightful house!" exclaimed Lady Whitney to Miss Gay, after she had
+looked about a little. "I will take one of these front-rooms for our
+sitting-room," she added, entering, haphazard, the one on the right of
+the entrance-hall, and putting down her bag and parasol. "This one, I
+think, Miss Gay."
+
+"Very good, my lady. And will you now be pleased to walk upstairs and
+fix upon the bedrooms."
+
+Lady Whitney seemed to fancy the front of the house. "This room shall be
+my son's; and I should like to have the opposite one for myself," she
+said, rather hesitatingly, knowing they must be the two best chambers of
+all. "Can I?"
+
+Miss Gay seemed quite willing. We were in the room over our sitting-room
+on the right of the house looking to the front. The objection, if it
+could be called one, came from Susannah.
+
+"You can have the other room, certainly, my lady; but I think the young
+gentleman would find this one noisy, with all the carriages and carts
+that pass by, night and morning. The back-rooms are much more quiet."
+
+"But I like noise," put in John; "it seems like company to me. If I
+could do as I would, I'd never sleep in the country."
+
+"One of the back-rooms is very lively, sir; it has a view of the turning
+to the Pump Room," persisted Susannah, a sort of suppressed eagerness
+in her tone; and it struck me that she did not want John to have this
+front-chamber. "I think you would like it best."
+
+"No," said John, turning round from the window, out of which he had been
+looking, "I will have this. I shall like to watch the shops down that
+turning opposite, and the people who go into them."
+
+No more was said. John took this chamber, which was over our
+sitting-room, Lady Whitney had the other front-chamber, and I had a very
+good one at the back of John's. And thus we settled down.
+
+Pumpwater is a nice place, as you would know if I gave its proper name,
+bright and gay, and our house was in the best of situations. The
+principal street, with its handsome shops, lay to our right; the Parade,
+leading to the Spa and Pump Room, to our left, and company and carriages
+were continually passing by. We visited some of the shops and took a
+look at the Pump Room.
+
+In the evening, when tea was over, Miss Gay came in to speak of the
+breakfast. Lady Whitney asked her to sit down for a little chat. She
+wanted to ask about the churches.
+
+"What a very nice house this is!" again observed Lady Whitney presently:
+for the more she saw of it, the better she found it. "You must pay a
+high rent for it, Miss Gay."
+
+"Not so high as your ladyship might think," was the answer; "not high at
+all for what it is. I paid sixty pounds for the little house I used to
+be in, and I pay only seventy for this."
+
+"Only seventy!" echoed Lady Whitney, in surprise. "How is it you get it
+so cheaply?"
+
+A waggonette, full of people, was passing just then; Miss Gay seemed to
+want to watch it by before she answered. We were sitting in the dusk
+with the blinds up.
+
+"For one thing, it had been standing empty for some time, and I suppose
+Mr. Bone, the agent, was glad to have my offer," replied Miss Gay, who
+seemed to be as fond of talking as any one else is, once set on. "It had
+belonged to a good old family, my lady, but they got embarrassed and put
+it up for sale some six or seven years ago. A Mr. Calson bought it. He
+had come to Pumpwater about that time from foreign lands; and he and his
+wife settled down in the house. A puny, weakly little woman she was, who
+seemed to get weaklier instead of stronger, and in a year or two she
+died. After her death her husband grew ill; he went away for change
+of air, and died in London; and the house was left to a little nephew
+living over in Australia."
+
+"And has the house been vacant ever since?" asked John.
+
+"No, sir. At first it was let furnished, then unfurnished. But it had
+been vacant some little time when I applied to Mr. Bone. I concluded he
+thought it better to let it at a low rent than for it to stand empty."
+
+"It must cost you incessant care and trouble, Miss Gay, to conduct a
+house like this--when you are full," remarked Lady Whitney.
+
+"It does," she answered. "One's work seems never done--and I cannot, at
+that, give satisfaction to all. Ah, my lady, what a difference there is
+in people!--you would never think it. Some are so kind and considerate
+to me, so anxious not to give trouble unduly, and so satisfied with all
+I do that it is a pleasure to serve them: while others make gratuitous
+work and trouble from morning till night, and treat me as if I were
+just a dog under their feet. Of course when we are full I have another
+servant in, two sometimes."
+
+"Even that must leave a great deal for yourself to do and see to."
+
+"The back is always fitted to the burden," sighed Miss Gay. "My father
+was a farmer in this county, as his ancestors had been before him,
+farming his three hundred acres of land, and looked upon as a man
+of substance. My mother made the butter, saw to the poultry, and
+superintended her household generally: and we children helped her.
+Farmers' daughters then did not spend their days in playing the piano
+and doing fancy work, or expect to be waited upon like ladies born."
+
+"They do now, though," said Lady Whitney.
+
+"So I was ready to turn my hand to anything when hard times came--not
+that I had thought I should have to do it," continued Miss Gay. "But my
+father's means dwindled down. Prosperity gave way to adversity. Crops
+failed; the stock died off; two of my brothers fell into trouble and it
+cost a mint of money to extricate them. Altogether, when father died,
+but little of his savings remained to us. Mother took a house in the
+town here, to let lodgings, and I came with her. She is dead, my lady,
+and I am left."
+
+The silent tears were running down poor Miss Gay's cheeks.
+
+"It is a life of struggle, I am sure," spoke Lady Whitney, gently. "And
+not deserved, Miss Gay."
+
+"But there's another life to come," spoke John, in a half-whisper,
+turning to Miss Gay from the large bay-window. "None of us will be
+overworked _there_."
+
+Miss Gay stealthily wiped her cheeks. "I do not repine," she said,
+humbly. "I have been enabled to rub on and keep my head above water,
+and to provide little comforts for mother in her need; and I gratefully
+thank God for it."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The bells of the churches, ringing out at eight o'clock, called us up in
+the morning. Lady Whitney was downstairs, first. I next. Susannah, who
+waited upon us, had brought up the breakfast. John followed me in.
+
+"I hope you have slept well, my boy," said Lady Whitney, kissing him. "I
+have."
+
+"So have I," I put in.
+
+"Then you and the mother make up for me, Johnny," he said; "for I have
+not slept at all."
+
+"Oh, John!" exclaimed his mother.
+
+"Not a wink all night long," added John. "I can't think what was the
+matter with me."
+
+Susannah, then stooping to take the sugar-basin out of the side-board,
+rose, turned sharply round and fixed her eyes on John. So curious an
+expression was on her face that I could but notice it.
+
+"Do you not think it was the noise, sir?" she said to him. "I knew that
+room would be too noisy for you."
+
+"Why, the room was as quiet as possible," he answered. "A few carriages
+rolled by last night--and I liked to hear them; but that was all over
+before midnight; and I have heard none this morning."
+
+"Well, sir, I'm sure you would be more comfortable in a backroom,"
+contended Susannah.
+
+"It was a strange bed," said John. "I shall sleep all the sounder
+to-night."
+
+Breakfast was half over when John found he had left his watch upstairs,
+on the drawers. I went to fetch it.
+
+The door was open, and I stepped to the drawers, which stood just
+inside. Miss Gay and Susannah were making the bed and talking, too busy
+to see or hear me. A lot of things lay on the white cloth, and at first
+I could not see the watch.
+
+"He declares he has not slept at all; _not at all_," Susannah was saying
+with emphasis. "If you had only seconded me yesterday, Harriet, they
+need not have had this room. But you never made a word of objection; you
+gave in at once."
+
+"Well, I saw no reason to make it," said Miss Gay, mildly. "If I were to
+give in to your fancies, Susannah, I might as well shut up the room.
+Visitors must get used to it."
+
+The watch had been partly hidden under one of John's neckties. I caught
+it up and decamped.
+
+We went to church after breakfast. The first hymn sung was that one
+beginning, "Brief life."
+
+    "Brief life is here our portion;
+      Brief sorrow, short-lived care.
+    The life that knows no ending,
+      The tearless life, is _there_."
+
+As the verses went on, John touched my elbow: "Miss Gay," he whispered;
+his eyelashes moist with the melody of the music. I have often thought
+since that we might have seen by these very moods of John--his thoughts
+bent upon heaven more than upon earth--that his life was swiftly
+passing.
+
+There's not much to tell of that Sunday. We dined in the middle of the
+day; John fell asleep after dinner; and in the evening we attended
+church again. And I think every one was ready for bed when bedtime came.
+I know I was.
+
+Therefore it was all the more surprising when, the next morning, John
+said he had again not slept.
+
+"What, not at all!" exclaimed his mother.
+
+"No, not at all. As I went to bed, so I got up--sleepless."
+
+"I never heard of such a thing!" cried Lady Whitney. "Perhaps, John, you
+were too tired to sleep?"
+
+"Something of that sort," he answered. "I felt both tired and sleepy
+when I got into bed; particularly so. But I had no sleep: not a wink. I
+could not lie still, either; I was frightfully restless all night; just
+as I was the night before. I suppose it can't be the bed?"
+
+"Is the bed not comfortable?" asked his mother.
+
+"It seems as comfortable a bed as can be when I first lie down in it.
+And then I grow restless and uneasy."
+
+"It must be the restlessness of extreme fatigue," said Lady Whitney. "I
+fear the journey was rather too much for you my dear."
+
+"Oh, I shall be all right as soon as I can sleep, mamma."
+
+We had a surprise that morning. John and I were standing before a
+tart-shop, our eyes glued to the window, when a voice behind us called
+out, "Don't they look nice, boys!" Turning round, there stood Henry
+Carden of Worcester, arm-in-arm with a little white-haired gentleman.
+Lady Whitney, in at the fishmonger's next door, came out while he was
+shaking hands with us.
+
+"Dear me!--is it you?" she cried to Mr. Carden.
+
+"Ay," said he in his pleasant manner, "here am I at Pumpwater! Come all
+this way to spend a couple of days with my old friend: Dr. Tambourine,"
+added the surgeon, introducing him to Lady Whitney. Any way, that was
+the name she understood him to say. John thought he said Tamarind, and I
+Carrafin. The street was noisy.
+
+The doctor seemed to be chatty and courteous, a gentleman of the old
+school. He said his wife should do herself the honour of calling upon
+Lady Whitney if agreeable; Lady Whitney replied that it would be. He and
+Mr. Carden, who would be starting for Worcester by train that afternoon,
+walked with us up the Parade to the Pump Room. How a chance meeting like
+this in a strange place makes one feel at home in it!
+
+The name turned out to be Parafin. Mrs. Parafin called early in the
+afternoon, on her way to some entertainment at the Pump Room: a chatty,
+pleasant woman, younger than her husband. He had retired from practice,
+and they lived in a white villa outside the town.
+
+And what with looking at the shops, and parading up and down the public
+walks, and the entertainment at the Pump Room, to which we went with
+Mrs. Parafin, and all the rest of it, we felt uncommonly sleepy when
+night came, and were beginning to regard Pumpwater as a sort of Eden.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Johnny, have you slept?"
+
+I was brushing my hair at the glass, under the morning sun, when John
+Whitney, half-dressed, and pale and languid, opened my door and thus
+accosted me.
+
+"Yes; like a top. Why? Is anything the matter, John?"
+
+"See here," said he, sinking into the easy-chair by the fireplace, "it
+is an odd thing, but I have again not slept. I _can't_ sleep."
+
+I put my back against the dressing-table and stood looking down at him,
+brush in hand. Not slept again! It _was_ an odd thing.
+
+"But what can be the reason, John?"
+
+"I am beginning to think it must be the room."
+
+"How can it be the room?"
+
+"I don't know. There's nothing the matter with the room that I can see;
+it seems well-ventilated; the chimney's not stopped up. Yet this is the
+third night that I cannot get to sleep in it."
+
+"But _why_ can you not get to sleep?" I persisted.
+
+"I say I don't know why. Each night I have been as sleepy as possible;
+last night I could hardly undress I was so sleepy; but no sooner am I in
+bed than sleep goes right away from me. Not only that: I grow terribly
+restless."
+
+Weighing the problem this way and that, an idea struck me.
+
+"John, do you think it is nervousness?"
+
+"How can it be? I never was nervous in my life."
+
+"I mean this: not sleeping the first night, you may have got nervous
+about it the second and third."
+
+He shook his head. "I have been nothing of the kind, Johnny. But look
+here: I hardly see what I am to do. I cannot go on like this without
+sleep; yet, if I tell the mother again, she'll say the air of the place
+does not suit me and run away from it----"
+
+"Suppose we change rooms to-night, John?" I interrupted. "I can't think
+but you would sleep here. If you do not, why, it must be the air of
+Pumpwater, and the sooner you are out of it the better."
+
+"You wouldn't mind changing rooms for one night?" he said, wistfully.
+
+"Mind! Why, I shall be the gainer. Yours is the better room of the two."
+
+At that it was settled; nothing to be said to any one about the bargain.
+We did not want to be kidnapped out of Pumpwater--and Lady Whitney had
+promised us a night at the theatre.
+
+Two or three more acquaintances were made, or found out, that day. Old
+Lady Scott heard of us, and came to call on Lady Whitney; they used to
+be intimate. She introduced some people at the Pump Room. Altogether, it
+seemed that we should not lack society.
+
+Night came; and John and I went upstairs together. He undressed in his
+own room, and I in mine; and then we made the exchange. I saw him into
+my bed and wished him a good-night.
+
+"Good-night, Johnny," he answered. "I hope you will sleep."
+
+"Little doubt of that, John. I always sleep when I have nothing to
+trouble me. A very good-night to _you_."
+
+I had nothing to trouble me, and I was as sleepy as could be; and yet,
+I did not and could not sleep. I lay quiet as usual after getting into
+bed, yielding to the expected sleep, and I shut my eyes and never
+thought but it was coming.
+
+Instead of that, came restlessness. A strange restlessness quite foreign
+to me, persistent and unaccountable. I tossed and turned from side to
+side, and I had not had a wink of sleep at day dawn, nor any symptom of
+it. Was I growing nervous? Had I let the feeling creep over me that I
+had suggested to John? No; not that I was aware of. What could it be?
+
+Unrefreshed and weary, I got up at the usual hour, and stole silently
+into the other room. John was in a deep sleep, his calm face lying still
+upon the pillow. Though I made no noise, my presence awoke him.
+
+"Oh, Johnny!" he exclaimed, "I have had _such_ a night."
+
+"Bad?"
+
+"No; _good_. I went to sleep at once and never woke till now. It has
+done me a world of good. And you?"
+
+"I? Oh well, I don't think I slept quite as well as I did here; it was
+a strange bed," I answered, carelessly.
+
+The next night the same plan was carried out, he taking my bed; I his.
+And again John slept through it, while I _did not sleep at all_. I said
+nothing about it: John Whitney's comfort was of more importance than
+mine.
+
+The third night came. This night we had been to the theatre, and had
+laughed ourselves hoarse, and been altogether delighted. No sooner was I
+in bed, and feeling dead asleep, than the door slowly opened and in came
+Lady Whitney, a candle in one hand, a wineglass in the other.
+
+"John, my dear," she began, "your tonic was forgotten this evening. I
+think you had better take it now. Featherston said, you know---- Good
+gracious!" she broke off. "Why, it is Johnny!"
+
+I could hardly speak for laughing, her face presented such a picture of
+astonishment. Sitting up in bed, I told her all; there was no help for
+it: that we had exchanged beds, John not having been able to sleep in
+this one.
+
+"And do you sleep well in it?" she asked.
+
+"No, not yet. But I feel very sleepy to-night, dear Lady Whitney."
+
+"Well, you are a good lad, Johnny, to do this for him; and to say
+nothing about it," she concluded, as she went away with the candle and
+the tonic.
+
+Dead sleepy though I was, I could not get to sleep. It would be simply
+useless to try to describe my sensations. Each succeeding night they had
+been more marked. A strange, discomforting restlessness pervaded me; a
+feeling of uneasiness, I could not tell why or wherefore. I saw nothing
+uncanny, I heard nothing; nevertheless, I felt just as though some
+uncanny presence was in the room, imparting a sense of semi-terror. Once
+or twice, when I nearly dozed off from sheer weariness, I started up in
+real terror, wide awake again, my hair and face damp with a nameless
+fear.
+
+I told this at breakfast, in answer to Lady Whitney's questions: John
+confessed that precisely the same sensations had attacked him the three
+nights he lay in the bed. Lady Whitney declared she never heard the
+like; and she kept looking at us alternately, as if doubting what could
+be the matter with us, or whether we had taken scarlet-fever.
+
+On this morning, Friday, a letter came from Sir John, saying that
+Featherston was coming to Pumpwater. Anxious on the score of his son, he
+was sending Featherston to see him, and take back a report. "I think he
+would stay a couple of days if you made it convenient to entertain him,
+and it would be a little holiday for the poor hard-worked man," wrote
+Sir John, who was just as kind-hearted as his wife.
+
+"To be sure I will," said Lady Whitney. "He shall have that room; I dare
+say he won't say he cannot sleep in it: it will be more comfortable for
+him than getting a bed at an hotel. Susannah shall put a small bed into
+the back-room for Johnny. And when Featherston is gone, I will take the
+room myself. I am not like you two silly boys--afraid of lying awake."
+
+Mr. Featherston arrived late that evening, with his grey face of care
+and his thin frame. He said he could hardly recall the time when he had
+had as much as two days' holiday, and thanked Lady Whitney for receiving
+him. That night John and I occupied the back-room, having conducted
+Featherston in state to the front, with two candles; and both of us
+slept excellently well.
+
+At breakfast Featherston began talking about the air. He had always
+believed Pumpwater to have a rather soporific air, but supposed he must
+be mistaken. Any way, it had kept him awake; and it was not a little
+that did that for him.
+
+"Did you not sleep well?" asked Lady Whitney.
+
+"I did not sleep at all; did not get a wink of it all night long. Never
+mind," he added with a good-natured laugh, "I shall sleep all the
+sounder to-night."
+
+But he did not. The next morning (Sunday) he looked grave and tired, and
+ate his breakfast almost in silence. When we had finished, he said he
+should like, with Lady Whitney's permission, to speak to the landlady.
+Miss Gay came in at once: in a light fresh print gown and black silk
+apron.
+
+"Ma'am," began Featherston, politely, "something is wrong with that
+bedroom overhead. What is it?"
+
+"Something wrong, sir?" repeated Miss Gay, her meek face flushing.
+"Wrong in what way, sir?"
+
+"I don't know," answered Featherston; "I thought perhaps you could tell
+me: any way, it ought to be seen to. It is something that scares away
+sleep. I give you my word, ma'am, I never had two such restless nights
+in succession in all my life. Two such _strange_ nights. It was not only
+that sleep would not come near me; that's nothing uncommon you may say;
+but I lay in a state of uneasy, indescribable restlessness. I have
+examined the room again this morning, and I can see nothing to induce
+it, yet a cause there must undoubtedly be. The paper is not made of
+arsenic, I suppose?"
+
+"The paper is pale pink, sir," observed Miss Gay. "I fancy it is the
+green papers that have arsenic in them."
+
+"Ay; well. I think there must be poison behind the paper; in the paste,
+say," went on Featherston. "Or perhaps another paper underneath has
+arsenic in it?"
+
+Miss Gay shook her head, as she stood with her hand on the back of a
+chair. Lady Whitney had asked her to sit down, but she declined. "When
+I came into the house six months ago, that room was re-papered, and
+I saw that the walls were thoroughly scraped. If you think there's
+anything--anything in the room that prevents people sleeping, and--and
+could point out what it is, I'm sure, sir, I should be glad to remedy
+it," said Miss Gay, with uncomfortable hesitation.
+
+But this was just what Featherston, for all he was a doctor, could not
+point out. That something was amiss with the room, he felt convinced,
+but he had not discovered what it was, or how it could be remedied.
+
+"After lying in torment half the night, I got up and lighted my candle,"
+said he. "I examined the room and opened the window to let the cool
+breeze blow in. I could find nothing likely to keep me awake, no
+stuffed-up chimney, no accumulation of dust, and I shut the window and
+got into bed again. I was pretty cool by that time and reckoned I should
+sleep. Not a bit of it, ma'am. I lay more restless than ever, with the
+same unaccountable feeling of discomfort and depression upon me. Just as
+I had felt the night before."
+
+"I am very sorry, sir," sighed Miss Gay, taking her hand from the chair
+to depart. "If the room is close, or anything of that----"
+
+"But it is not close, ma'am. I don't know what it is. And I'm sure I
+hope you will be able to find it out, and get it remedied," concluded
+Featherston as she withdrew.
+
+We then told him of our experience, John's and mine. It amazed him.
+"What an extraordinary thing!" he exclaimed. "One would think the room
+was haunted."
+
+"Do you believe in haunted rooms, sir?" asked John.
+
+"Well, I suppose such things are," he answered. "Folks say so. If
+haunted houses exist, why not haunted rooms?"
+
+"It must lie in the Pumpwater air," said Lady Whitney, who was too
+practical to give in to haunted regions, "and I am very sorry you should
+have had your two nights' rest spoilt by it, Mr. Featherston. I will
+take the room myself: nothing keeps me awake."
+
+"Did you ever see a ghost, sir?" asked John.
+
+"No, never. But I know those who have seen them; and I cannot disbelieve
+what they say. One such story in particular is often in my mind; it was
+a very strange one."
+
+"Won't you tell it us, Mr. Featherston?"
+
+The doctor only laughed in answer. But after we came out of church, when
+he was sitting with me and John on the Parade, he told it. And I only
+wish I had space to relate it here.
+
+He left Pumpwater in the afternoon, and Lady Whitney had the room
+prepared for her use at once, John moving into hers. So that I had mine
+to myself again, and the little bed was taken out of it.
+
+The next day was Monday. When Lady Whitney came down in the morning the
+first thing she told us was, that she had not slept. All the curious
+symptoms of restless disturbance, of inward agitation, which we had
+experienced, had visited her.
+
+"I will not give in, my dears," she said, bravely. "It may be, you know,
+that what I had heard against the room took all sleep out of me, though
+I was not conscious of it; so I shall keep to it. I must say it is a
+most comfortable bed."
+
+She "kept" to the room until the Wednesday; three nights in all; getting
+no sleep. Then she gave in. Occasionally during the third night, when
+she was dropping asleep from exhaustion, she was startled up from it in
+sudden terror: terror of she knew not what. Just as it had been with
+me and with John. On the Wednesday morning she told Susannah that they
+must give her the back-room opposite mine, and we would abandon that
+front-room altogether.
+
+"It is just as though there were a ghost in the room," she said to
+Susannah.
+
+"Perhaps there is, my lady," was Susannah's cool reply.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the Friday evening Dr. and Mrs. Parafin came in to tea. Our visit
+would end on the morrow. The old doctor held John before him in the
+lamplight, and decided that he looked better--that the stay had done
+him good.
+
+"I am sure it has," assented Lady Whitney. "Just at first I feared he
+was going backward: but that must have been owing to the sleepless
+nights."
+
+"Sleepless nights!" echoed the doctor, in a curious tone.
+
+"For the first three nights of our stay here, he never slept; _never
+slept at all_. After that----"
+
+"Which room did he occupy?" interrupted the doctor, breathlessly. "Not
+the one over this?"
+
+"Yes, it was. Why? Do you know anything against it?" questioned Lady
+Whitney, for she saw Dr. and Mrs. Parafin exchange glances.
+
+"Only this: that I have heard of other people who were unable to sleep
+in that room," he answered.
+
+"But what can be amiss with the room, Dr. Parafin?"
+
+"Ah," said he, "there you go beyond me. It is, I believe, a fact, a
+singular fact, that there is something or other in the room which
+prevents people from sleeping. Friends of ours who lived in the house
+before Miss Gay took it, ended by shutting the room up."
+
+"Is it haunted, sir?" I asked. "Mr. Featherston thought it might be."
+
+He looked at me and smiled, shaking his head. Mrs. Parafin nodded hers,
+as much as to say _It is_.
+
+"No one has been able to get any sleep in that room since the Calsons
+lived here," said Mrs. Parafin, dropping her voice.
+
+"How very strange!" cried Lady Whitney. "One might think murder had been
+done in it."
+
+Mrs. Parafin coughed significantly. "The wife died in it," she said.
+"Some people thought her husband had--had--had at least hastened her
+death----"
+
+"Hush, Matty!" interposed the doctor, warningly. "It was all rumour, all
+talk. Nothing was proved--or attempted to be."
+
+"Perhaps there existed no proof," returned Mrs. Parafin. "And if there
+had--who was there to take it up? She was in her grave, poor woman, and
+he was left flourishing, master of himself and every one about him. Any
+way, Thomas, be that as it may, you cannot deny that the room has been
+like a haunted room since."
+
+Dr. Parafin laughed lightly, objecting to be serious; men are more
+cautious than women. "I cannot deny that people find themselves unable
+to sleep in the room; I never heard that it was 'haunted' in any other
+way," he added, to Lady Whitney. "But there--let us change the subject;
+we can neither alter the fact nor understand it."
+
+After they left us, Lady Whitney said she should like to ask Miss Gay
+what her experience of the room had been. But Miss Gay had stepped out
+to a neighbour's, and Susannah stayed to talk in her place. She could
+tell us more about it, she said, than Miss Gay.
+
+"I warned my cousin she would do well not to take this house," began
+Susannah, accepting the chair to which Lady Whitney pointed. "But it is
+a beautiful house for letting, as you see, my lady, and that and the
+low rent tempted her. Besides, she did not believe the rumour about
+the room; she does not believe it fully yet, though it is beginning to
+worry her: she thinks the inability to sleep must lie in the people
+themselves."
+
+"It has been an uncanny room since old Calson's wife died in it, has it
+not, Susannah?" said John, as if in jest. "I suppose he did not murder
+her?"
+
+"_I think he did_," whispered Susannah.
+
+The answer sounded so ghostly that it struck us all into silence.
+
+Susannah resumed. "Nobody _knew_: but one or two suspected. The wife was
+a poor, timid, gentle creature, worshipping the very ground her husband
+trod on, yet always in awe of him. She lay in the room, sick, for many
+many months before she died. Old Sarah----"
+
+"What was her illness?" interrupted Lady Whitney.
+
+"My lady, that is more than I can tell you, more, I fancy, than any
+one could have told. Old Sarah would often say to me that she did not
+believe there was any great sickness, only he made it out there was, and
+persuaded his wife so. He could just wind her round his little finger.
+The person who attended on her was one Astrea, quite a heathenish name I
+used to think, and a heathenish woman too; she was copper-coloured, and
+came with them from abroad. Sarah was in the kitchen, and there was only
+a man besides. I lived housekeeper at that time with an old lady on
+the Parade, and I looked in here from time to time to ask after the
+mistress. Once I was invited by Mr. Calson upstairs to see her, she lay
+in the room over this; the one that nobody can now sleep in. She looked
+so pitiful!--her poor, pale, patient face down deep in the pillow. Was
+she better, I asked; and what was it that ailed her. She thought it was
+not much beside weakness, she answered, and that she felt a constant
+nausea; and she was waiting for the warm weather: her dear husband
+assured her she would be better when that came."
+
+"Was he kind to her, Susannah?"
+
+"He seemed to be, Master Johnny; very kind and attentive indeed. He
+would sit by the hour together in her room, and give her her medicine,
+and feed her when she grew too weak to feed herself, and sit up at night
+with her. A doctor came to see her occasionally; it was said he could
+not find much the matter with her but debility, and that she seemed to
+be wasting away. Well, she died, my lady; died quietly in that room; and
+Calson ordered a grand funeral."
+
+"So did Jonas Chuzzlewit," breathed John.
+
+"Whispers got afloat when she was under ground--not before--that there
+had been something wrong about her death, that she had not come by it
+fairly, or by the illness either," continued Susannah. "But they were
+not spoken openly; under the rose, as may be said; and they died away.
+Mr. Calson continued to live in the house as before; but he became soon
+ill. Real sickness, his was, my lady, whatever his wife's might have
+been. His illness was chiefly on the nerves; he grew frightfully thin;
+and the setting-in of some grave inward complaint was suspected: so if
+he did act in any ill manner to his wife it seemed he would not reap
+long benefit from it. All the medical men in Pumpwater were called to
+him in succession; but they could not cure him. He kept growing thinner
+and thinner till he was like a walking shadow. At last he shut up his
+house and went to London for advice; and there he died, fourteen months
+after the death of his wife."
+
+"How long was the house kept shut up?" asked Lady Whitney, as Susannah
+paused.
+
+"About two years, my lady. All his property was willed away to
+the little son of his brother, who lived over in Australia. Tardy
+instructions came from thence to Mr. Jermy the lawyer to let the house
+furnished, and Mr. Jermy put it into the hands of Bone the house-agent.
+A family took it, but they did not stay: then another family took it,
+and they did not stay. Each party went to Bone and told him that
+something was the matter with one of the rooms and nobody could sleep in
+it. After that, the furniture was sold off, and some people took the
+house by the year. They did not remain in it six months. Some other
+people took it then, and they stayed the year, but it was known that
+they shut up that room. Then the house stayed empty. My cousin, wanting
+a better house than the one she was in, cast many a longing eye towards
+it; finding it did not let, she went to Bone and asked him what the rent
+would be. Seventy pounds to her, he said; and she took it. Of course she
+had heard about the room, but she did not believe it; she thought, as
+Mr. Featherston said the other morning, that something must be wrong
+with the paper, and she had the walls scraped and cleaned and a fresh
+paper put on."
+
+"And since then--have your lodgers found anything amiss with the room?"
+questioned Lady Whitney.
+
+"I am bound to say they have, my lady. It has been the same story
+with them all--not able to get to sleep in it. One gentleman, an old
+post-captain, after trying it a few nights, went right away from
+Pumpwater, swearing at the air. But the most singular experience we have
+had was that of two little girls. They were kept in that room for two
+nights, and each night they cried and screamed all night long, calling
+out that they were frightened. Their mother could not account for it;
+they were not at all timid children, she said, and such a thing had
+never happened with them before. Altogether, taking one thing with
+another, I fear, my lady, that something _is_ wrong with the room. Miss
+Gay sees it now: but she is not superstitious, and she asks _what_ it
+can be."
+
+Well, that was Susannah's tale: and we carried it away with us on the
+morrow.
+
+Sir John Whitney found his son looking all the better for his visit to
+Pumpwater. Temporarily he was so. Temporarily only; not materially: for
+John died before the year was out.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Have I heard anything of the room since, you would like to ask. Yes, a
+little. Some eighteen months later, I was halting at Pumpwater for a few
+hours with the Squire, and ran to the house to see Miss Gay. But the
+house was empty. A black board stood in front with big white letters on
+it TO BE LET. Miss Gay had moved into another house facing the Parade.
+
+"It was of no use my trying to stay in it," she said to me, shaking her
+head. "I moved into the room myself, Master Johnny, after you and my
+Lady Whitney left, and I am free to confess that I could not sleep. I
+had Susannah in, and she could not sleep; and, in short, we had to go
+out of it again. So I shut the room up, sir, until the year had expired,
+and then I gave up the house. It has not been let since, and people say
+it is falling into decay."
+
+"Was anything ever _seen_ in the room, Miss Gay?"
+
+"Nothing," she answered, "or heard either; nothing whatever. The room is
+as nice a room as could be wished for in all respects, light, large,
+cheerful, and airy; and yet nobody can get to sleep in it. I shall never
+understand it, sir."
+
+I'm sure I never shall. It remains one of those curious experiences that
+cannot be solved in this world. But it is none the less true.
+
+
+
+
+ROGER BEVERE.
+
+
+I.
+
+"There's trouble everywhere. It attaches itself more or less to all
+people as they journey through life. Yes, I quite agree with what you
+say, Squire: that I, a man at my ease in the world and possessing no
+close ties of my own, ought to be tolerably exempt from care. But I am
+not so. You have heard of the skeleton in the closet, Johnny Ludlow.
+Few families are without one. I have mine."
+
+Mr. Brandon nodded to me, as he spoke, over the silver coffee-pot. I had
+gone to the Tavistock Hotel from Miss Deveen's to breakfast with him and
+the Squire--who had come up for a week. You have heard of this visit of
+ours to London before, and there's no need to say more about it here.
+
+The present skeleton in Mr. Brandon's family closet was his nephew,
+Roger Bevere. The young fellow, now aged twenty-three, had been for
+some years in London pursuing his medical studies, and giving perpetual
+trouble to his people in the country. During this present visit Mr.
+Brandon had been unable to hear of him. Searching here, inquiring there,
+nothing came of it: Roger seemed to have vanished into air. This morning
+the post had brought Mr. Brandon a brief note:
+
+  "SIR,
+
+  "Roger Bevery is lying at No. 60, Gibraltar Terrace (Islington
+  District), with a broken arm.
+
+  "Faithfully yours,
+  "T. PITT."
+
+The name was spelt Bevery in the note, you observe. Strangers, deceived
+by the pronunciation, were apt to write it so.
+
+"Well, this is nice news!" had been Mr. Brandon's comment upon the short
+note.
+
+"Any way, you will be more at your ease now you have found him,"
+remarked the Squire.
+
+"I don't know that, Todhetley. I have found, it seems, the address of
+the place where he is lying, but I have not found _him_. Roger has been
+going to the bad this many a day; I expect by this time he must be
+nearing the journey's end."
+
+"It is only a broken arm that he has, sir," I put in, thinking what a
+gloomy view he was taking of it all. "That is soon cured."
+
+"Don't you speak so confidently, Johnny Ludlow," reproved Mr. Brandon.
+"We shall find more the matter with Roger than a broken arm; take my
+word for that. He has been on the wrong tack this long while. A broken
+arm would not cause him to hide himself--and that's what he must have
+been doing."
+
+"Some of those hospital students are a wild lot--as I have heard," said
+the Squire.
+
+Mr. Brandon nodded in answer. "When Roger came from Hampshire to
+enter on his studies at St. Bartholomew's, he was as pure-hearted,
+well-intentioned a young fellow as had ever been trained by an anxious
+mother"--and Mr. Brandon poured a drop more weak tea out of his own
+tea-pot to cover his emotion. "Fit for heaven, one might have thought:
+any way, had been put in the road that leads to it. Loose, reckless
+companions got hold of him, and dragged him down to their evil ways."
+
+Breakfast over, little time was lost in starting to find out Gibraltar
+Terrace. The cab soon took us to it. Roger had been lying there more
+than a week. Hastening up that way one evening, on leaving the hospital,
+to call upon a fellow-student, he was knocked down by a fleet hansom
+rounding the corner of Gibraltar Terrace. Pitt the doctor happened to be
+passing at the time, and had him carried into the nearest house: one he
+had attended patients in before. The landlady, Mrs. Mapping, showed us
+upstairs.
+
+(And she, poor faded woman, turned out to have been known to the Squire
+in the days long gone by, when she was pretty little Dorothy Grape.
+But I have told her story already, and there's no need to allude to it
+again.)
+
+Roger lay in bed, in a small back-room on the first-floor; a mild, fair,
+pleasant-looking young man with a white bandage round his head. Mr. Pitt
+explained that the arm was not absolutely broken, but so much contused
+and inflamed as to be a worse hurt. This would not have kept him in
+bed, however, but the head had also been damaged, and fever set in.
+
+"So this is where he has lain, hiding, while I have been ransacking
+London for him!" remarked Mr. Brandon, who was greatly put out by the
+whole affair; and perhaps the word "hiding" might have more truth in it
+than even he suspected.
+
+"When young Scott called last night--a fellow-student of your nephew's
+who comes to see him and bring him changes of clothes from his
+lodgings--he said you were making inquiries at the hospital and had
+left your address," explained Pitt. "So I thought I ought to write to
+you, sir."
+
+"And I am much obliged to you for doing it, and for your care of him
+also," said Mr. Brandon.
+
+And presently, when Pitt was leaving, he followed him downstairs to Mrs.
+Mapping's parlour, to ask whether Roger was in danger.
+
+"I do not apprehend any, now that the fever is subsiding," answered
+Pitt. "I can say almost surely that none will arise if we can only keep
+him quiet. That has been the difficulty throughout--his restlessness. It
+is just as though he had something on his mind."
+
+"What should he have on his mind?" retorted Mr. Brandon, in contention.
+"Except his sins. And I expect _they_ don't trouble him much."
+
+Pitt laughed a little. "Well, sir, he is not in any danger at present.
+But if the fever were to come back again--and increase--why, I can't
+foresee what the result might be."
+
+"Then I shall send for Lady Bevere."
+
+Pitt opened his eyes. "Lady Bevere!" he repeated. "Who is she?"
+
+"Lady Bevere, sir, is Roger's mother and my sister. I shall write
+to-day."
+
+Mr. Brandon had an appointment with his lawyers that morning and went
+out with the Squire to keep it, leaving me with the patient. "And take
+care you don't let him talk, Johnny," was his parting injunction to me.
+"Keep him perfectly quiet."
+
+That was all very well, and I did my best to obey orders; but Roger
+would not be kept quiet. He was for ever sighing and starting, now
+turning to this side, now to that, and throwing his undamaged arm up
+like a ball at play.
+
+"Is it pain that makes you so restless?" I asked.
+
+"Pain, no," he groaned. "It's the bother. The pain is nothing now to
+what it was."
+
+"Bother of what?"
+
+"Oh--altogether. I say, what on earth brought Uncle John to London just
+now?"
+
+"A matter connected with my property. He is my guardian and trustee, you
+know." To which answer Bevere only groaned again.
+
+After taking a great jorum of beef-tea, which Mrs. Mapping brought up
+at mid-day, he was lying still and tranquil, when there came a loud
+knock at the street-door. Steps clattered up the stairs, and a tall,
+dark-haired young man put his head into the room.
+
+"Bevere, old fellow, how are you? We've been so sorry to hear of your
+mishap!"
+
+There was nothing alarming in the words and they were spoken gently; or
+in the visitor either, for he was good-looking; but in a moment Bevere
+was sitting bolt upright in bed, gazing out in fright as though he saw
+an apparition.
+
+"What the deuce has brought you here, Lightfoot?" he cried, angrily.
+
+"Came to see how you were getting on, friend," was the light and
+soothing answer, as the stranger drew near the bed. "Head and arm
+damaged, I hear."
+
+"Who told you where to find me?"
+
+"Scott. At least, he----"
+
+"Scott's a false knave then! He promised me faithfully not to tell a
+soul." And Bevere's inflamed face and passionate voice presented a
+contrast to his usual mild countenance and gentle tones.
+
+"There's no need to excite yourself," said the tall young man, sitting
+down on the edge of the bed and taking the patient's hand. "Dick Scott
+let fall a word unawares--that Pitt was attending you. So I came up to
+Pitt's just now and got the address out of his surgery-boy."
+
+"Who else heard the chance word?"
+
+"No one else. And I'm sure you know that you may trust me. I wanted
+to ask if I could do anything for you. How frightened you look, old
+fellow!"
+
+Bevere lay down again, painfully uneasy yet, as was plain to be seen.
+
+"I didn't want any one to find me out here," he said. "If some--some
+people came, there might be the dickens to pay. And Uncle John is up
+now, worse luck! He does not understand London ways, and he is the
+strictest old guy that ever wore silver shoe-buckles--you should see him
+on state occasions. Ask Johnny Ludlow there whether he is strait-laced
+or not; he knows. Johnny, this is Charley Lightfoot: one of us at
+Bart's."
+
+Charley turned to shake hands, saying he had heard of me. He then set
+himself to soothe Bevere, assuring him he would not tell any one where
+he was lying, or that he had been to see him.
+
+"Don't mind my temper, old friend," whispered Bevere, repentantly,
+his blue eyes going out to the other's in sad yearning. "I am a bit
+tried--as you'd admit, if all were known."
+
+Lightfoot departed. By-and-by the Squire and Mr. Brandon returned, and
+Mrs. Mapping gave us some lunch in her parlour. When the Squire was
+ready to leave, I ran up to say good-bye to Roger. He gazed at me
+questioningly, eyes and cheeks glistening with fever. "Is it true?" he
+whispered.
+
+"Is what true?"
+
+"That Uncle John has written for my mother?"
+
+"Oh yes, that's true."
+
+"Good Heavens!" murmured Bevere.
+
+"Would you not like to see her?"
+
+"It's not that. She's the best mother living. It is--for fear--I didn't
+_want_ to be found out lying here," he broke off, "and it seems that all
+the world is coming. If it gets to certain ears, I'm done for."
+
+Scarlet and more scarlet grew his cheeks. His pulse must have been
+running up to about a hundred-and-fifty.
+
+"As sure as you are alive, Roger, you'll bring the fever on again!"
+
+"So much the better. I do--save for what I might say in my ravings," he
+retorted. "So much the better if it carries me off! There'd be an end to
+it all, then."
+
+"One might think you had a desperate secret on your conscience," I said
+to him in my surprise. "Had set a house on fire, or something as good."
+
+"And I have a secret; and it's something far more dreadful than setting
+a house on fire," he avowed, recklessly, in his distress. "And if it
+should get to the knowledge of Uncle John and the mother--well, I tell
+you, Johnny Ludlow, I'd rather die than face the shame."
+
+Was he raving now?--as he had been on the verge of it, in the fever,
+a day or two ago. No, not by the wildest stretch of the fancy could I
+think so. That he had fallen into some desperate trouble which must be
+kept secret, if it could be, was all too evident. I thought of fifty
+things as I went home and could not fix on one of them as likely. Had he
+robbed the hospital till?--or forged a cheque upon its house-surgeon?
+The Squire wanted to know why I was so silent.
+
+When I next went to Gibraltar Terrace Lady Bevere was there. Such a nice
+little woman! Her face was mild, like Roger's, her eyes were blue and
+kind as his, her tones as genial. As Mary Brandon she had been very
+pretty, and she was pleasing still.
+
+She had married a lieutenant in the navy, Edmund Bevere. Her people did
+not like it: navy lieutenants were so poor, they said. He got on better,
+however, than the Brandons had thought for; got up to be rear-admiral
+and to be knighted. Then he died; and Lady Bevere was left with a lot of
+children and not much to bring them up on. I expect it was her brother,
+Mr. Brandon, who helped to start them all in life. She lived in
+Hampshire, somewhere near Southsea.
+
+In a day or two, when Roger was better and sat up in blankets
+in an easy-chair, Mr. Brandon and the Squire began about his
+shortcomings--deeming him well enough now to be tackled. Mr. Brandon
+demanded where his lodgings were, for their locality seemed to be a
+mystery; evidently with a view of calling and putting a few personal
+questions to the landlady; and Roger had to confess that he had had no
+particular lodgings lately; he had shared Dick Scott's. This took Mr.
+Brandon aback. No lodgings of his own!--sharing young Scott's! What was
+the meaning of it? What did he do with all the money allowed him, if he
+could not pay for rooms of his own? And to the stern questioning Roger
+only answered that he and Scott liked to be together. Pitt laughed a
+little to me when he heard of this, saying Bevere was too clever for the
+old mentors.
+
+"Why! don't you believe he does live with Scott?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, he may do that; it's likely enough," said Pitt. "But medical
+students, running their fast career in London, are queer subjects, let
+me tell you, Johnny Ludlow; they don't care to have their private
+affairs supervised."
+
+"All of them are not queer--as you call it, Pitt."
+
+"No, indeed," he answered, warmly: "or I don't know what would become of
+the profession. Many of them are worthy, earnest fellows always, steady
+as old time. Others pull up when they have had their fling, and make
+good men: and a few go to the bad altogether."
+
+"In which class do you put Roger Bevere?"
+
+Pitt took a minute to answer. "In the second, I hope," he said. "To
+speak the truth, Bevere somewhat puzzles me. He seems well-intentioned,
+anxious, and can't have gone so far but he might pull-up if he could.
+But----"
+
+"If he could! How do you mean?"
+
+"He has got, I take it, into the toils of a fast, bad set; and he
+finds their habits too strong to break through. Any way without great
+difficulty."
+
+"Do you think he--drinks?" I questioned, reluctantly.
+
+"No mistake about that," said Pitt. "Not so sharply as some of them do,
+but more than is good for him."
+
+I'm sure if Roger's pulling-up depended upon his mother, it would have
+been done. She was so gentle and loving with him; never finding fault,
+or speaking a harsh word. Night and morning she sat by the bed, holding
+his hands in hers, and reading the Psalms to him--or a prayer--or a
+chapter in the Bible. I can see her now, in her soft black gown and
+simple little white lace cap, under which her hair was smoothly braided.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Whatever doubts some of us might be entertaining of Roger, nothing
+unpleasant in regard to him transpired. Dreaded enemies did not find
+him out, or come to besiege the house; though he never quite lost his
+undercurrent of uneasiness. He soon began to mend rapidly. Scott visited
+him every second or third day; he seemed to be fully in his confidence,
+and they had whisperings together. He was a good-natured, off-hand kind
+of young man, short and thick-set. I can't say I much cared for him.
+
+The Squire had left London. I remained on with Miss Deveen, and went
+down to Gibraltar Terrace most days. Lady Bevere was now going home and
+Mr. Brandon with her. Some trouble had arisen about the lease of her
+house in Hampshire, which threatened to end in a lawsuit, and she
+wanted him to see into it. They fixed upon some eligible lodgings for
+Roger near Russell Square, into which he would move when they left. He
+was sufficiently well now to go about; and would keep well, Pitt said,
+if he took care of himself. Lady Bevere held a confidential interview
+with the landlady, about taking care of her son Roger.
+
+And she gave a last charge to Bevere himself, when taking leave of him
+the morning of her departure. The cab was at the door to convey her and
+Mr. Brandon to Waterloo Station, and I was there also, having gone
+betimes to Gibraltar Terrace to see the last of them.
+
+"For my sake, my dear," pleaded Lady Bevere, holding Roger to her, as
+the tears ran down her cheeks: "you will do your best to keep straight
+for my sake!"
+
+"I will, I will, mother," he whispered back in agitation, his own eyes
+wet; "I will keep as straight as I can." But in his voice there lay, to
+my ear, a ring of hopeless despair. I don't know whether she detected
+it.
+
+She turned and took my hands. She and Mr. Brandon had already exacted a
+promise from me that once a-week at least, so long as I remained in
+London, I would write to each of them to give news of Roger's welfare.
+
+"You will be sure not to forget it, Johnny? I am very anxious about
+him--his health--and--and all," she added in a lowered voice. "I am
+always fearing lest I did not do my duty by my boys. Not but that I ever
+tried to do it; but somehow I feel that perhaps I might have done it
+better. Altogether I am full of anxiety for Roger."
+
+"I will be sure to write to you regularly as long as I am near him, dear
+Lady Bevere."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was on a Tuesday morning that Lady Bevere and Mr. Brandon left
+London. In the afternoon Roger was installed in his new lodgings by Mr.
+Pitt, who had undertaken to see him into them. He had the parlour and
+the bed-chamber behind it. Very nice rooms they were, the locality and
+street open and airy; and the landlady, Mrs. Long, was a comfortable,
+motherly woman. Where his old lodgings had been situated, he had never
+said even to me: the Squire's opinion was (communicated in confidence to
+Mr. Brandon), that he had played up "Old Gooseberry" in them, and was
+afraid to say.
+
+I had meant to go to him on the Wednesday, to see that the bustle of
+removal had done him no harm; but Miss Deveen wanted me, so I could not.
+On the Thursday I got a letter from the Squire, telling me to do some
+business for him at Westminster. It took me the whole of the day: that
+is, the actual business took about a quarter-of-an-hour, and waiting to
+see the people (lawyers) took the rest. This brought it, you perceive,
+to Friday.
+
+On that morning I mounted to the roof of a city omnibus, which set me
+down not far off the house. Passing the parlour-windows to knock at the
+door, I saw in one of them a card: "Apartments to let." It was odd, I
+thought, they should put it in a room that was occupied.
+
+"Can I see Mr. Bevere?" I asked of the servant.
+
+"Mr. Bevere's gone, sir."
+
+"Gone where? Not to the hospital?" For he was not to attempt to go there
+until the following week.
+
+"He is gone for good, sir," she answered. "He went away in a cab
+yesterday evening."
+
+Not knowing what to make of this strange news, hardly believing it, I
+went into the parlour and asked to see the landlady--who came at once.
+It was quite true: Bevere had left. Mrs. Long, who, though elderly, was
+plump and kindly, sat down to relate the particulars.
+
+"Mr. Bevere went out yesterday morning, sir, after ordering his
+dinner--a roast fowl--for the same hour as the day before; two o'clock.
+It was past three, though, before he came in: and when the girl brought
+the dinner-tray down, she said Mr. Bevere wanted to speak to me. I came
+up, and then he told me he was unexpectedly obliged to leave--that he
+might have to go into the country that night; he didn't yet know. Well,
+sir, I was a little put out: but what could I say? He paid me what was
+due and the rent up to the week's end, and began to collect his things
+together: Sarah saw him cramming them into his new portmanteau when she
+brought his tea up. And at the close of the evening, between the lights,
+he had a cab called and went away in it."
+
+"Alone?"
+
+"Quite alone, sir. On the Wednesday afternoon Dr. Pitt came to see him,
+and that same evening a young man called, who stayed some time; Scott,
+I think the name was; but nobody at all came yesterday."
+
+"And you do not know where Mr. Bevere is?--where he went to?"
+
+"Why no, sir; he didn't say. The cab might have taken him to one of the
+railway-stations, for all I can tell. I did not ask questions. Of course
+it is not pleasant for a lodger to leave you in that sudden manner,
+before he has well been three days in the house," added Mrs. Long,
+feelingly, "especially with the neighbours staring out on all sides, and
+I might have asked him for another week's rent in lieu of proper notice;
+but I couldn't be hard with a well-mannered, pleasant young gentleman
+like Mr. Bevere--and with his connections, too. I'm sure when her
+ladyship came here to fix on the rooms, she was that kind and affable
+with me I shall never forget it--and talked to me so lovingly about
+him--and put half-a-crown into Sarah's hand when she left! No, sir, I
+couldn't be hard upon young Mr. Bevere."
+
+Mrs. Long had told all she knew, and I wished her good-day. Where to
+now? I deliberated, as I stood on the doorstep. This sudden flight
+looked as though Roger wanted to avoid people. If any one was in the
+secret of it, it would be Richard Scott, I thought; and I turned my
+steps to St. Bartholomew's Hospital.
+
+I suppose I interrupted Scott at some critical performance, for he came
+to me with his coat-cuffs turned up and no wristbands on.
+
+"Glad to see you, I'm sure," cried he; "thought it might be an
+out-patient. Bevere?--oh, do you want him?" he ran on, not giving
+himself time to understand me perfectly, or pretending at it. "Bevere is
+at his new lodgings near Russell Square. He will not be back here until
+next week."
+
+"But he is not at his new lodgings," I said. "He has left them."
+
+"Left!" cried Scott, staring.
+
+"Left for good, bag and baggage. Gone altogether."
+
+"Gone where?" asked Scott.
+
+"That's what I have come to ask you. I expect you know."
+
+Scott's face presented a puzzle. I wondered whether he was as innocent
+as he looked.
+
+"Let us understand one another," said he. "Do you tell me that Bevere
+has left his _new_ lodgings?"
+
+"He has. He left them last night. Ran away from them, as one may say."
+
+"Why, he had only just got into them! Were the people sharks? I was with
+him on Wednesday night: he did not complain of anything then."
+
+"He must have left, I fancy, for some private reason of his own. Don't
+you _know_ where he is gone, Scott? You are generally in his
+confidence."
+
+"Don't know any more than the dead."
+
+To dispute the declaration was not in my power. Scott seemed utterly
+surprised, and said he should go to Mrs. Long's the first leisure moment
+he had, to see if any note or message had been left for him. But I had
+already put that question to the landlady, and she answered that neither
+note nor message of any kind had been left for anybody. So there we
+were, nonplussed, Scott standing with his hands in his pockets. Make the
+best of it we would, it resolved itself into nothing more than this:
+Bevere had vanished, leaving no clue.
+
+From thence I made my way to Mr. Pitt's little surgery near Gibraltar
+Terrace. The doctor was alone in it, and stood compounding pills behind
+the counter.
+
+"Bevere run away!" he exclaimed at my first words. "Why, what's the
+meaning of that? _I_ don't know anything about it. I was going to see
+him this afternoon."
+
+With my arms on the counter, my head bending towards him, I recounted
+to Pitt the particulars Mrs. Long had given me, and Scott's denial of
+having any finger in the pie. The doctor gave his head a twist.
+
+"Says he knows no more than the dead, does he! That may be the case; or
+it may _not_. Master Richard Scott's assertions go for what they are
+worth with me where Bevere's concerned: the two are as thick as thieves.
+I'll find him, if I can. What do you say?--that Bevere would not conceal
+himself from me? Look here, Johnny Ludlow," continued Pitt rapidly,
+bringing forward his face till it nearly touched mine, and dropping his
+voice to a low tone, "that young man must have got into some dangerous
+trouble, and has to hide himself from the light of day."
+
+Leaving Pitt to make his patients' physic, I went out into the world,
+not knowing whether to seek for Bevere in this quarter or in that. But,
+unless I found him, how could I carry out my promise of writing to Lady
+Bevere?
+
+I told Miss Deveen of my dilemma. She could not help me. No one could
+help, that I was able to see. There was nothing for it but to wait
+until the next week, when Bevere might perhaps make his appearance at
+the hospital. I dropped a note to Scott, asking him to let me know of it
+if he did.
+
+But of course the chances were that Bevere would not appear at the
+hospital: with need to keep his head en cachette, he would be no more
+safe there than in Mrs. Long's rooms: and I might have been hunting for
+him yet, for aught I can tell, but for coming across Charley Lightfoot.
+
+It was on the following Monday. He was turning out of the
+railway-station near Miss Deveen's, his uncle, Dr. Lightfoot, being
+in practice close by. Telling him of Roger Bevere's flight, which he
+appeared not to have heard of, I asked if he could form any idea where
+he was likely to have got to.
+
+"Oh, back to the old neighbourhood that he lived in before his accident,
+most likely," carelessly surmised Lightfoot, who did not seem to think
+much of the matter.
+
+"And where is that?"
+
+"A goodish distance from here. It is near the Bell-and-Clapper Station
+on the underground line."
+
+"The Bell-and-Clapper Station!"
+
+Lightfoot laughed. "Ironically called so," he said, "from a bell at the
+new church close by, that claps away pretty well all day and all night
+in the public ears."
+
+"Not one of our churches?"
+
+"Calls itself so, I believe. I wouldn't answer for it that its clergy
+have been licensed by a bishop. Bevere lived somewhere about there; I
+never was at his place; but you'll easily find it out."
+
+"How? By knocking at people's doors and inquiring for him?"
+
+Lightfoot put on his considering-cap. "If you go to the refreshment-room
+of the Bell-and-Clapper Station and ask his address of the girls there,"
+said he, "I dare say they can give it you. Bevere used to be uncommonly
+fond of frequenting their company, I believe."
+
+Running down to the train at once I took a ticket for the
+Bell-and-Clapper Station, and soon reached it. It was well named: the
+bell was clanging away with a loud and furious tongue, enough to drive
+a sick man mad. What a dreadful infliction for the houses near it!
+
+Behind the counter in the refreshment-room stood two damsels,
+exchanging amenities with a young man who sat smoking a cigar, his legs
+stretched out at ease. Before I had time to speak, the sound of an
+up-train was heard; he drank up the contents of a glass that stood at
+his elbow, and went swiftly out.
+
+It was a pretty looking place: with coloured decanters on its shelves
+and an array of sparkling glass. The young women wore neat black gowns,
+and might have looked neat enough altogether but for their monstrous
+heads of hair. That of one in particular was a sight to be seen, and
+must have been copied from some extravagant fashion plate. She was
+dark and handsome, with a high colour and a loud voice, evidently a
+strong-minded young woman, perfectly able to take care of herself. The
+other girl was fair, smaller and slighter, with a somewhat delicate
+face, and a quiet manner.
+
+"Can you give me the address of Mr. Roger Bevere?" I asked of this
+younger one.
+
+The girl flushed scarlet, and looked at her companion, who looked back
+again. It was a curious sort of look, as much--I thought--as to say,
+what are we to do? Then they both looked at me. But neither spoke.
+
+"I am told that Mr. Bevere often comes here, and that you can give me
+his address."
+
+"Well, sir--I don't think we can," said the younger one, and her speech
+was quite proper and modest. "We don't know it, do we, Miss Panken?"
+
+"Perhaps you'll first of all tell me who it was that said we could give
+it you," cried Miss Panken, in tones as strong-minded as herself, and as
+though she were by a very long way my superior in the world.
+
+"It was one of his fellow-students at the hospital."
+
+"Oh--well--I suppose we can give it you," she concluded. "Here, I'll
+write it down. Lend me your pencil, Mabel: mine has disappeared. There,"
+handing me the paper, "if he is not there, we can't tell you where he
+is."
+
+"Roger Bevary, 22, New Crescent," was what she wrote. I thanked her and
+went out, encountering two or three young men who rushed in from another
+train and called individually for refreshment.
+
+New Crescent was soon found, but not Bevere. The elderly woman-servant
+who answered me said Mr. Bevere formerly lived with them, but left about
+eighteen months back. He had not left the neighbourhood, she thought,
+as she sometimes met him in it. She saw him only the past Saturday night
+when she was out on an errand.
+
+"What, this past Saturday!" I exclaimed. "Are you certain?"
+
+"To be sure I am, sir. He was smoking a pipe and looking in at the
+shop windows. He saw me and said, Good-night, Ann: he was always very
+pleasant. I thought he looked ill."
+
+Back I went to the refreshment-room. Those girls knew his address well
+enough, but for some reason would not give it--perhaps by Bevere's
+orders. Two young men were there now, sipping their beer, or whatever
+it was, and exchanging compliments with Miss Panken. I spoke to her
+civilly.
+
+"Mr. Bevere does not live at New Crescent: he left it eighteen months
+ago. Did you not know that? I think you can give me his address if you
+will."
+
+_She did not answer me at all._ It may be bar-room politeness. Regarding
+me for a full minute superciliously from my head to my boots, she slowly
+turned her shoulders the other way, and resumed her talk with the
+customers.
+
+I spoke then to the other, who was wiping glasses. "It is in Mr.
+Bevere's own interest that I wish to find him; I wish it very
+particularly indeed. He lives in this neighbourhood; I have heard that:
+if you can tell me where, I shall be very much obliged to you."
+
+The girl's face looked confused, timid, full of indecision, as if she
+knew the address but did not know whether to answer or not. By this time
+I had attracted attention, and silence fell on the room. Strong-minded
+Miss Panken came to the relief of her companion.
+
+"Did you call for a glass of ale?" she asked me, in a tone of incipient
+mockery.
+
+"Nor for soda?--nor bitters?--not even cherry-brandy?" she ran on. "No?
+Then as you don't seem to want anything we supply here, perhaps you'll
+take yourself off, young man, and leave space for them that do. Fancy
+this room being open to promiscuous inquirers, and us young ladies being
+obliged to answer 'em!" added Miss Panken affably to her two friends.
+"I'd like to see it!"
+
+Having thus put me down and turned her back upon me, I had nothing to
+wait for, and walked out of the lady's presence. The younger one's eyes
+followed me with a wistful look. I'm sure she would have given the
+address had she dared.
+
+After that day, I took to haunt the precincts of the Bell-and-Clapper,
+believing it to be my only chance of finding Bevere. Scott had a brief
+note from him, no address to it, stating that he was not yet well enough
+to resume his duties; and this note Scott forwarded to me. A letter also
+came to me; from Lady Bevere asking what the matter was that I did not
+write, and whether Roger was worse. How _could_ I write, unless I found
+him?
+
+So, all the leisure time that I could improvise I spent round about the
+Bell-and-Clapper. Not inside the room, amid its manifold attractions:
+Circe was a wily woman, remember, and pretty bottles are insidious. That
+particular Circe, also, Miss Panken, might have objected to my company
+and ordered me out of it.
+
+Up one road, down another, before this row of houses and that, I hovered
+for ever like a walking ghost. But I saw nothing of Bevere.
+
+Luck favoured me at last. One afternoon towards the end of the week, I
+was standing opposite the church, watching the half-dozen worshippers
+straggling into it, for one of its many services, listening to the
+irritating ding-dong of its bell, and wondering the noise was put up
+with, when suddenly Richard Scott came running up from the city train.
+Looking neither to the right nor the left, or he must inevitably have
+seen me, he made straight for a cross-road, then another, and presently
+entered one of a row of small houses whose lower rooms were on a level
+with the ground and the yard or two of square garden that fronted them.
+"Paradise Place." I followed Scott at a cautious distance.
+
+"Bevere lives there!" quoth I, mentally.
+
+Should I go in at once boldly, and beard him? While deliberating--for
+somehow it goes against my nature to beard anybody--Scott came striding
+out and turned off the other way: which led to the shops. I crossed over
+and went in quietly at the open door.
+
+The parlour, small and shabby as was Mrs. Mapping's in Gibraltar
+Terrace, was on the left, its door likewise open. Seated at a table,
+taking his tea, was Roger Bevere; opposite to him, presiding over the
+ceremonies, sat a lady who must unquestionably have been first-cousin
+to those damsels at the Bell-and-Clapper, if one might judge by the
+hair.
+
+"Roger!" I exclaimed. "What a dance you have led us!"
+
+He started up with a scarlet face, his manner strangely confused, his
+tongue for the moment lost. And then I saw that he was without his coat,
+and his arm was bandaged.
+
+"I was going to write to you," he said--an excuse invented on the spur
+of the moment, "I thought to be about before now, but my arm got bad
+again."
+
+"How was that?"
+
+"Well, I hurt it, and did not pay attention to it. It is properly
+inflamed now."
+
+I took a seat on the red stuff sofa without being invited, and Bevere
+dropped into his chair. The lady at the tea-tray had been regarding me
+with a free, friendly, unabashed gaze. She was a well-grown, attractive
+young woman, with a saucy face and bright complexion, fine dark eyes,
+and full red lips. Her abundant hair was of the peculiar and rare colour
+that some people call red and others gold. As to her manners, they were
+as assured as Miss Panken's, but a great deal pleasanter. I wondered who
+she was and what she did there.
+
+"So this is Johnny Ludlow that I've heard tell of!" she exclaimed,
+catching up my name from Bevere, and sending me a gracious nod. "Shall
+I give you a cup of tea?"
+
+"No, thank you," was my answer, though all the while as thirsty as a
+fish, for the afternoon was hot.
+
+"Oh, you had better: don't stand on ceremony," she said, laughing.
+"There's nothing like a good cup of tea when the throat's dry and the
+weather's baking. Come! make yourself at home."
+
+"Be quiet, Lizzie," struck in Bevere, his tone ringing with annoyance
+and pain. "Let Mr. Ludlow do as he pleases." And it struck me that he
+did not want me to take the tea.
+
+Scott came in then, and looked surprised to see me: he had been out to
+get something for Bevere's arm. I felt by intuition that he had known
+where Bevere was all along, that his assumption of ignorance was a
+pretence. He and the young lady seemed to be upon excellent terms, as
+though they had been acquainted for ages.
+
+The arm looked very bad: worse than it had at Gibraltar Terrace. I
+stood by when Scott took off the bandages. He touched it here and there.
+
+"I tell you what, Bevere," he said: "you had better let Pitt see to this
+again. He got it right before; and--I don't much like the look of it."
+
+"Nonsense!" returned Bevere. "I don't want Pitt here."
+
+"I say nonsense to that," rejoined Scott. "Who's Pitt?--he won't hurt
+you. No good to think you can shut yourself up in a nutshell--with such
+an arm as this, and--and--" he glanced at me, as if he would say, "and
+now Ludlow has found you out."
+
+"You can do as much for the arm as Pitt can," said Bevere, fractiously.
+
+"Perhaps I could: but I don't mean to try. I tell you, Bevere, I do
+not like the look of it," repeated Scott. "What's more, I, not being a
+qualified practitioner yet, would not take the responsibility."
+
+"Well, I will go to Pitt to-morrow if I'm no better and can get my coat
+on," conceded Bevere. "Lizzie, where's the other bandage?"
+
+"Oh, I left it in my room," said Lizzie; and she ran up the stairs in
+search of it.
+
+So she lived there! Was it her home, I wondered; or Bevere's; or their
+home conjointly? The two might have vowed eternal friendship and set up
+housekeeping together on a platonic footing. Curious problems do come
+into fashion in the great cities of this go-ahead age; perhaps that one
+had.
+
+Scott finished dressing the arm, giving the patient sundry cautions
+meanwhile; and I got up to leave. Lizzie had stepped outside and was
+leaning over the little wooden entrance-gate, chanting a song to herself
+and gazing up and down the quiet road.
+
+"What am I to say to your mother?" I said to Bevere in a low tone. "You
+knew I had to write to her."
+
+"Oh, say I am all right," he answered. "I have written to her myself
+now, and had two letters from her."
+
+"How do the letters come to you? Here?"
+
+"Scott gets them from Mrs. Long's. Johnny"--with a sharp pressure of
+the hand, and a beseeching look from his troubled blue eyes--"be a good
+fellow and don't talk. _Anywhere._"
+
+Giving his hand a reassuring shake, and lifting my hat to the lady at
+the gate as I passed her, I went away, thinking of this complication and
+of that. In a minute, Scott overtook me.
+
+"I think you knew where he was, all along," I said to him; "that your
+ignorance was put on."
+
+"Of course it was," answered Scott, as coolly as you please. "What would
+you? When a fellow-chum entrusts confidential matters to you and puts
+you upon your honour, you can't betray him."
+
+"Oh, well, I suppose not. That damsel over there, Scott--is she his
+sister, or his cousin, or his aunt?"
+
+"You can call her which you like," replied Scott, affably. "Are you very
+busy this afternoon, Ludlow?"
+
+"I am not busy at all."
+
+"Then I wish you would go to Pitt. I can't spare the time. I've a heap
+of work on my shoulders to-day: it was only the pressing note I got
+from Bevere about his arm that brought me out of it. He is getting a bit
+doubtful himself, you see; and Pitt had better come to it without loss
+of time."
+
+"Bevere won't thank me for sending Pitt to him. You heard what he said."
+
+"Nonsense as to Bevere's thanks. The arm is worse than he thinks for. In
+my opinion, he stands a good chance of losing it."
+
+"No!" I exclaimed in dismay. "Lose his arm!"
+
+"Stands a chance of it," repeated Scott. "It will be his own fault. A
+week yesterday he damaged it again, the evening he came back here, and
+he has neglected it ever since. You tell Pitt what I say."
+
+"Very well, I will. I suppose the account Bevere gave to his mother and
+Mr. Brandon--that he had been living lately with you--was all a fable?"
+
+Scott nodded complaisantly, striding along at the pace of a
+steam-engine. "Just so. He couldn't bring them down upon him here, you
+know."
+
+I did not exactly know. And thoughts, as the saying runs, are free.
+
+"So he hit upon the fable, as you call it, of saying he had shared
+my lodgings," continued Scott. "Necessity is a rare incentive to
+invention."
+
+We had gained the Bell-and-Clapper Station as he spoke: two minutes yet
+before the train for the city would be in. Scott utilized the minutes by
+dashing to the bar for a glass of ale, chattering to Miss Panken and the
+other one while he drank it. Then we both took the train; Scott going
+back to the hospital--where he fulfilled some official duty beyond that
+of ordinary student--and I to see after Pitt.
+
+
+II.
+
+Roger Bevere's arm proved obstinate. Swollen and inflamed as I had never
+seen any arm yet, it induced fever, and he had to take to his bed.
+Scott, who had his wits about him in most ways, had not spoken a minute
+too soon, or been mistaken as to the probable danger; while Mr. Pitt
+told Roger every time he came to dress it, beginning with the first
+evening, that he deserved all he got for being so foolhardy as to
+neglect it: as a medical man in embryo, he ought to have foreseen the
+hazard.
+
+It seemed to me that Roger was just as ill as he was at Gibraltar
+Terrace, when they sent for his mother: if not worse. Most days I got
+down to Paradise Place to snatch a look at him. It was not far, taking
+the underground-railway from Miss Deveen's.
+
+I made the best report I could to Lady Bevere, telling
+nothing--excepting that the arm was giving a little trouble. If she
+got to learn the truth about certain things, she would think the
+letters deceitful. But what else could I do?--I wished with all my
+heart some one else had to write them. As Scott had said to me about
+the flitting from Mrs. Long's (the reason for which or necessity, I
+was not enlightened upon yet), I could not betray Bevere. Pitt assured
+me that if any unmanageable complications arose with the arm, both
+Lady Bevere and Mr. Brandon should be at once telegraphed for. A fine
+complication it would be, of another sort, if they did come! How about
+Miss Lizzie?
+
+Of all the free-and-easy young women I had ever met with, that same
+Lizzie was the freest and easiest. Many a time have I wondered Bevere
+did not order her out of the room when she said audacious things to him
+or to me--not to say out of the house. He did nothing of the kind; he
+lay passive as a bird that has had its wings clipped, all spirit gone
+out of him, and groaning with bodily pain. Why on earth did he allow
+her to make his house her abode, disturbing it with her noise and her
+clatter? Why on earth--to go on further--did he rent a house at all,
+small or large? No one else lived in it, that I saw, except a little
+maid, in her early teens, to do the work. Later I found I was mistaken:
+they were only lodgers: an old landlady, lame and quiet, was in the
+kitchen.
+
+"Looks fearfully bad, don't he?" whispered Lizzie to me on one occasion
+when he lay asleep, and she came bursting into the room for her bonnet
+and shawl.
+
+"Yes. Don't you think you could be rather more quiet?"
+
+"As quiet as a lamb, if you like," laughed Lizzie, and crept out on
+tiptoe. She was always good-humoured.
+
+One afternoon when I went in, Lizzie had a visitor in the parlour. Miss
+Panken! The two, evidently on terms of close friendship, were laughing
+and joking frantically; Lizzie's head, with its clouds of red-gold hair,
+was drawn close to the other head and the mass of black braids adorning
+it. Miss Panken sat sipping a cup of tea; Lizzie a tumbler of hot water
+that gave forth a suspicious odour.
+
+"I've got a headache, Mr. Johnny," said she: and I marvelled that she
+did not, in her impudence, leave the "Mr." out. "Hot gin-and-water is
+the very best remedy you can take for it."
+
+Shrieks of laughter from both the girls followed me upstairs to Roger's
+bedside: Miss Panken was relating some joke about her companion, Mabel.
+Roger said his arm was a trifle better. It always felt so when Pitt had
+been to it.
+
+"Who is it that's downstairs now?" he asked, fretfully, as the bursts of
+merriment sounded through the floor. "Sit down, Johnny."
+
+"It's a girl from the Bell-and-Clapper refreshment-room. Miss Panken
+they call her."
+
+Roger frowned. "I have told Lizzie over and over again that I wouldn't
+have those girls encouraged here. What can possess her to do it?" And,
+after saying that, he passed into one of those fits of restlessness that
+used to attack him at Gibraltar Terrace.
+
+"Look here, Roger," I said, presently, "couldn't you--pull up a bit?
+Couldn't you put all this nonsense away?"
+
+"Which nonsense?" he retorted.
+
+"What would Mr. Brandon say if he knew it? I'll not speak of your
+mother. It is not nice, you know; it is not, indeed."
+
+"Can't you speak out?" he returned, with intense irritation. "Put what
+away?"
+
+"Lizzie."
+
+I spoke the name under my breath, not liking to say it, though I had
+wanted to for some time. All the anger seemed to go out of Roger. He lay
+still as death.
+
+"_Can't_ you, Roger?"
+
+"Too late, Johnny," came back the answer in a whisper of pain.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"She is my wife."
+
+I leaped from my chair in a sort of terror. "No, no, Roger, don't say
+that! It cannot be."
+
+"But it _is_," he groaned. "These eighteen months past."
+
+I stood dazed; all my senses in a whirl. Roger kept silence, his face
+turned to the pillow. And the laughter from below came surging up.
+
+I had no heart affection that I was aware of, but I had to press my hand
+to still its thumping as I leaned over Roger.
+
+"Really married? Surely married?"
+
+"As fast and sure as the registrar could marry us," came the smothered
+answer. "We did not go to church."
+
+"Oh, Roger! _How_ came you to do it?"
+
+"Because I was a fool."
+
+I sat down again, right back in the chair. Things that had puzzled me
+before were clearing themselves now. _This_ was the torment that had
+worried his mind and prolonged, if not induced, the fever, when he first
+lay ill of the accident; this was the miserable secret that had gone
+well-nigh to disturb the brain: partly for the incubus the marriage
+entailed upon him, partly lest it should be found out. It had caused him
+to invent fables in more ways than one. Not only had he to conceal his
+proper address from us all when at Gibraltar Terrace, especially from
+his mother and Mr. Brandon; but he had had to scheme with Scott to keep
+his wife in ignorance altogether--of his accident and of where he was
+lying, lest Lizzie should present herself at his bedside. To account for
+his absence from home, Scott had improvised a story to her of Roger's
+having been despatched by the hospital authorities to watch a case of
+illness at a little distance; and Lizzie unsuspiciously supplied Scott
+with changes of raiment and other things Roger needed from his chest of
+drawers.
+
+This did for a time. But about the period of Roger's quitting Gibraltar
+Terrace, Lizzie unfortunately caught up an inkling that she was being
+deceived. Miss Panken's general acquaintance was numerous, and one day
+one of them chanced to go into the bar-room of the Bell-and-Clapper,
+and to mention, incidentally, that Roger Bevere had been run over by a
+hansom cab, and was lying disabled in some remote doctor's quarters--for
+that's what Scott told his fellow-students. Madam Lizzie rose in
+rebellion, accused Scott of being no gentleman, and insisted upon her
+right to be enlightened. So, to stop her from making her appearance at
+St. Bartholomew's with inconvenient inquiries, and possibly still more
+inconvenient revelations, Roger had promptly to quit the new lodgings at
+Mrs. Long's, and return to the old home near the Bell-and-Clapper. But
+I did not learn these particulars at first.
+
+"Who knows it, Roger?" I asked, breaking the silence.
+
+"Not one of them but Scott," he answered, supposing I alluded to the
+hospital. "I see Pitt has his doubts."
+
+"But they know--some of them--that Lizzie is here!"
+
+"Well? So did you, but you did not suspect further. They think of course
+that--well, there's no help for what they think. When a fellow is in
+such a position as mine, he has to put up with things as they come. I
+can't quite ruin myself, Johnny; or let the authorities know what an
+idiot I've been. Lizzie's aunt knows it; and that's enough at present;
+and so do those girls at the Bell-and-Clapper--worse luck!"
+
+It was impossible to talk much of it then, at that first disclosure; I
+wished Roger good-afternoon, and went away in a fever-dream.
+
+My wildest surmises had not pictured this dismal climax. No, never; for
+all that Mistress Lizzie's left hand displayed a plain gold ring of
+remarkable thickness. "She would have it thick," Roger said to me later.
+Poor Roger! poor Roger!
+
+I felt it like a blow--like a blow. No good would ever come of it--to
+either of them. Worse than no good to him. It was not so much the
+unsuitableness of the girl's condition to his; it was the girl herself.
+She would bring him no credit, no comfort as long as she lived: what
+happiness could he ever find with her? I had grown to like Roger, with
+all his faults and failings, and it almost seemed to me, in my sorrow
+for him, as if my own life were blighted.
+
+It might not have been quite so bad--not _quite_--had Lizzie been a
+different girl. Modest, yielding, gentle, like that little Mabel I had
+seen, for instance, learning to adapt her manners to the pattern of her
+husband's; had she been that, why, in time, perhaps, things might have
+smoothed down for him. But Lizzie! with her free and loud manners, her
+off-hand ways, her random speech, her vulgar laughs! Well, well!
+
+How was it possible she had been able to bring her fascinations to bear
+upon him--he with his refinement? One can but sit down in amazement and
+ask how, in the name of common-sense, such incongruities happen in the
+world. She must have tamed down what was objectionable in her to sugar
+and sweetness while setting her cap at Bevere; while he--he must have
+been blind, physically and mentally. But no sooner was the marriage over
+than he awoke to see what he had done for himself. Since then his time
+had been principally spent in setting up contrivances to keep the truth
+from becoming known. Mr. Brandon had talked of his skeleton in the
+closet: he had not dreamt of such a skeleton as this.
+
+"Must have gone in largely for strong waters in those days, and been in
+a chronic state of imbecility, I should say," observed Pitt, making his
+comments to me confidentially.
+
+For I had spoken to him of the marriage, finding he knew as much as I
+did. "I shall never be able to understand it," I said.
+
+"_That's_ easy enough. When Circe and a goose sit down to play chess,
+no need to speculate which will win the game."
+
+"You speak lightly of it, Mr. Pitt."
+
+"Not particularly. Where's the use of speaking gravely now the deed's
+done? It is a pity for Bevere; but he is only one young man amidst many
+such who in one way or another spoil their lives at its threshold.
+Johnny Ludlow, when I look about me and see the snares spread abroad
+in this great metropolis by night and by day, and at the crowds of
+inexperienced lads--they are not much better--who have to run to and fro
+continually, I marvel that the number of those who lose themselves is
+not increased tenfold."
+
+He had changed his tone to one solemn enough for a judge.
+
+"I cannot _think_ how he came to do it," I argued. "Or how such a one as
+Bevere, well-intentioned, well brought up, could have allowed himself to
+fall into what Mr. Brandon calls loose habits. How came he to take to
+drinking ways, even in a small degree?"
+
+"The railway refreshment-bars did that for him, I take it," answered
+Pitt. "He lived up here from the first, by the Bell-and-Clapper, and I
+suppose found the underground train more convenient than the omnibus. Up
+he'd rush in a morning to catch--say--the half-past eight train, and
+would often miss it by half-a-minute. A miss is as good as a mile.
+Instead of cooling his heels on the draughty and deserted platform, he
+would turn into the refreshment-room, and find there warmth and sociable
+company in the shape of pretty girls to chat with: and, if he so minded,
+a glass of something or other to keep out the cold on a wintry morning."
+
+"As if Bevere would!--at that early hour!"
+
+"Some of them do," affirmed Pitt. "Anyway, that's how Bevere fell into
+the habit of frequenting the bar-room of the Bell-and-Clapper. It lay
+so handy, you see; right in his path. He would run into it again of an
+evening when he returned: he had no home, no friends waiting for him,
+only lodgings. There----"
+
+"I thought Bevere used to board with a family," I interrupted.
+
+"So he did at first; and very nice people they were: Mr. Brandon took
+care he should be well placed. That's why Bevere came up this way at
+all: it was rather far from the hospital, but Mr. Brandon knew the
+people. In a short time, however, the lady died, the home was broken up,
+and Bevere then took lodgings on his own account; and so--there was no
+one to help him keep out of mischief. To go on with what I was saying.
+He learnt to frequent the bar-room at the Bell-and-Clapper: not only to
+run into it in a morning, but also on his return in the evening. He had
+no sociable tea or dinner-table waiting for him, you see, with pleasant
+faces round it. All the pleasant faces he met were those behind the
+counter; and there he would stay, talking, laughing, chaffing with the
+girls, one of whom was Miss Lizzie, goodness knows how long--the places
+are kept open till midnight."
+
+"It had its attractions for him, I suppose--what with the girls and the
+bottles."
+
+Pitt nodded. "It has for many a one besides him, Johnny. Roger had to
+call for drink; possibly without the slightest natural inclination for
+anything, he had perforce to call for it; he could hardly linger there
+unless he did. By-and-by, I reckon, he got to like the drink; he
+acquired the taste for it, you see, and habit soon becomes second
+nature; one glass became two glasses, two glasses three. This went on
+for a time. The next act in the young man's drama was, that he allowed
+himself to glide into an entanglement of some sort with one of the said
+girls, Miss Lizzie Field, and was drawn in to marry her."
+
+"How have you learnt these particulars?"
+
+"Partly from Scott. They are true. Scott has a married brother living up
+this way, and is often running up here; indeed at one time he lived with
+him, and he and Bevere used to go to and fro to St. Bartholomew's in
+company. Yes," slowly added the doctor, "that refreshment-room has been
+the bane of Roger Bevere."
+
+"And not of Scott?"
+
+"It did Scott no good; you may take a vow of that. But Scott has some
+plain, rough common-sense of his own, which kept him from going too far.
+He may make a good man yet; and a name also, for he possesses all the
+elements of a skilful surgeon. Bevere succumbed to the seductions of the
+bar-room, as other foolish young fellows, well-intentioned at heart,
+but weak in moral strength, have done, and will do again. Irresistible
+temptations they present, these places, to the young men who have to
+come in contact with them. If the lads had to go out of their way to
+seek the temptation, they might never do it; but it lies right in their
+path, you perceive, and they can't pass it by. Of course I am not
+speaking of all young men; only of those who are deficient in moral
+self-control. To some, the Bell-and-Clapper bar-room presents no more
+attraction than the Bell-and-Clapper Church by its side; or any other
+of such rooms, either."
+
+"Is there not any remedy for this state of things?"
+
+Pitt shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose not," he said. "Since I pulled
+up from drinking, I have been unable to see what these underground
+railway-rooms are needed for: why a man or woman, travelling for
+half-an-hour, more or less, must needs be provided with places to drink
+in at both ends of the journey and all the middles. Biscuits and buns
+are there as well, you may say--serving an excuse perhaps. But for one
+biscuit called for, there are fifty glasses of ale, or what not. Given
+the necessity for the rooms," added Pitt, with a laugh, "I should do
+away with the lady-servers and substitute men; which would put an end
+to three parts of the attraction. No chance of _that_ reformation."
+
+"Because it would do away with three parts of the custom," I said,
+echoing his laugh.
+
+"Be you very sure of that, Johnny Ludlow. However, it is no business of
+mine to find fault with existing customs, seeing that I cannot alter
+them," concluded the doctor.
+
+What he said set me thinking. Every time I passed by one of these
+stations, so crowded with the traffic of young city men, and saw the
+bottles arrayed to charm the sight, their bright colours gleaming and
+glistening, and looked at the serving-damsels, with their bedecked
+heads, arrayed to charm also, I knew Pitt must be right. These rooms
+might bring in grist to their owners' mill; but it struck me that I
+should not like, when I grew old, to remember that I had owned one.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Roger Bevere's arm began to yield to treatment, but he continued very
+ill in himself; too ill to get up. Torment of mind and torment of body
+are a bad complication.
+
+One afternoon when I was sitting with him, sundry quick knocks
+downstairs threatened to disturb the doze he was falling into--and Pitt
+had said that sleep to him just now was like gold. I crept away to stop
+it. In the middle of the parlour, thumping on the floor with her cotton
+umbrella--a huge green thing that must have been the fellow, when made,
+to Sairey Gamp's--stood Mrs. Dyke, a stout, good-natured, sensible
+woman, whom I often saw there. Her husband was a well-to-do coachman,
+whose first wife had been sister to Lizzie's mother, and this wife was
+their cousin.
+
+"Where's Lizzie, sir?" she asked. "Out, I suppose?"
+
+"Yes, I think so. I saw her with her bonnet on."
+
+"The girl's out, too, I take it, or she'd have heard me," remarked Mrs.
+Dyke, as she took her seat on the shabby red sofa, and pushed her bonnet
+back from her hot and comely face. "And how are we going on up there,
+sir?"--pointing to the ceiling.
+
+"Very slowly. He cannot get rid of the fever."
+
+She lodged the elegant umbrella against the sofa's arm and turned
+sideways to face me. I had sat down by the window, not caring to go back
+and run the risk of disturbing Roger.
+
+"Now come, sir," she said, "let us talk comfortable: you won't mind
+giving me your opinion, I dare say. I have looked out for an opportunity
+to ask it: you being what you are, sir, and his good friend. Them
+two--they don't hit it off well together, do they?"
+
+Knowing she must allude to Bevere and his wife, I had no ready answer
+at hand. Mrs. Dyke took silence for assent.
+
+"Ah, I see how it is. I thought I must be right; I've thought it for
+some time. But Lizzie only laughs in my face, when I ask her. There's
+no happiness between 'em; just the other thing; I told Lizzie so only
+yesterday. But they can't undo what they have done, and there's nothing
+left for them, sir, but to make the best of it."
+
+"That's true, Mrs. Dyke. And I think Lizzie might do more towards it
+than she does. If she would only----"
+
+"Only try to get a bit into his ways and manners and not offend him with
+hers," put in discerning Mrs. Dyke, when I hesitated, "He is as nice a
+young gentleman as ever lived, and I believe has the making in him of a
+good husband. But Lizzie is vulgar and her ways are vulgar; and instead
+of checking herself and remembering that he is just the opposite, and
+that naturally it must offend him, she lets herself grow more so day by
+day. I know what's what, sir, having been used to the ways of gentry
+when I was a young woman, for I lived cook for some years in a good
+family."
+
+"Lizzie's ways are so noisy."
+
+"Her ways are noisy and rampagious," assented Mrs. Dyke, "more
+particularly when she has been at her drops; and noise puts out a sick
+man."
+
+"Her drops!" I repeated, involuntarily, the word calling up a latent
+doubt that lay in my mind.
+
+"When girls that have been in busy employment all day and every day,
+suddenly settle down to idleness, they sometimes slip into this habit or
+that habit, not altogether good for themselves, which they might never
+else have had time to think of," remarked Mrs. Dyke. "I've come in here
+more than once lately and seen Lizzie drinking hot spirits-and-water in
+the daytime: I know you must have seen the same, sir, or I'd not mention
+it--and beer she'll take unlimited."
+
+Of course I had seen it.
+
+"I think she must have learnt it at the counter; drinking never was in
+our family, and I never knew that it was in her father's," continued
+Mrs. Dyke. "But some of the young women, serving at these bars, get to
+like the drink through having the sight and smell of it about 'em all
+day long."
+
+That was more than likely, but I did not say so, not caring to continue
+that branch of the subject.
+
+"The marriage was a misfortune, Mrs. Dyke."
+
+"For him I suppose you gentlemen consider it was," she answered. "It
+will be one for her if he should die: she'd have to go back to work
+again and she has got out o' the trick of it. Ah! she thought grand
+things of it at first, naturally, marrying a gentleman! But unequal
+marriages rarely turn out well in the long run. I knew nothing of it
+till it was done and over, or I should have advised her against it; my
+husband's place lay in a different part of London then--Eaton Square
+way. Better, perhaps, for Lizzie had she gone out to service in the
+country, like her sister."
+
+"Did she always live in London?"
+
+"Dear, no, sir, nor near it; she lived down in Essex with her father
+and mother. But she came up to London on a visit, and fell in love with
+the public life, through getting to know a young woman who was in it.
+Nothing could turn her, once her mind was set upon it; and being sharp
+and clever, quick at figures, she got taken on at some wine-vaults
+in the city. After staying there awhile and giving satisfaction, she
+changed to the refreshment-room at the Bell-and-Clapper. Miss Panken
+went there soon after, and they grew very intimate. The young girl left,
+who had been there before her; very pretty she was: I don't know what
+became of her. At some of the counters they have but one girl; at
+others, two."
+
+"It is a pity girls should be at them at all--drawing on the young men!
+I am speaking generally, Mrs. Dyke."
+
+"It is a pity the young men should be so soft as to be drawn on by
+them--if you'll excuse my saying it, sir," she returned, quickly. "But
+there--what would you? Human nature's the same all the world over: Jack
+and Jill. The young men like to talk to the girls, and the girls like
+very much to talk to the young men. Of course these barmaids lay
+themselves out to the best advantage, in the doing of their hair and
+their white frills, and what not, which is human nature again, sir. Look
+at a young lady in a drawing-room: don't she set herself off when she is
+expecting the beaux to call?"
+
+Mrs. Dyke paused for want of breath. Her tongue ran on fast, but it told
+of good sense.
+
+"The barmaids are but like the young ladies, sir; and the young fellows
+that congregate there get to admire them, while sipping their drops at
+the counter; if, as I say, they are soft enough. When the girls get hold
+of one softer than the rest, why, perhaps one of them gets over him so
+far as to entrap him to give her his name--just as safe as you hook and
+land a fish."
+
+"And I suppose it has a different termination sometimes?"
+
+Honest Mrs. Dyke shook her head. "We won't talk about that, sir: I can't
+deny that it may happen once in a way. Not often, let's hope. The young
+women, as a rule, are well-conducted and respectable: they mostly know
+how to take care of themselves."
+
+"I should say Miss Panken does."
+
+Mrs. Dyke's broad face shone with merriment. "Ain't she impudent? Oh
+yes, sir, Polly Panken can take care of herself, never fear. But it's
+not a good atmosphere for young girls to be in, you see, sir, these
+public bars; whether it may be only at a railway counter, or at one of
+them busy taverns in the town, or at the gay places of amusement, the
+manners and morals of the girls get to be a bit loose, as it were, and
+they can't help it."
+
+"Or anybody else, I suppose."
+
+"No, sir, not as things are; and it's just a wrong upon them that they
+should be exposed to it. They'd be safer and quieter in a respectable
+service, which is the state of life many of 'em were born to--though a
+few may be superior--and better behaved, too: manners is sure to get a
+bit corrupted in the public line. But the girls like their liberty;
+they like the free-and-easy public life and its idleness; they like the
+flirting and the chaffing and the nonsense that goes on; they like to be
+dressed up of a day as if they were so many young ladies, their hair
+done off in bows and curls and frizzes, and their hands in cuffs and
+lace-edgings; now and then you may see 'em with a ring on. That's a
+better life, they think, than they'd lead as servants or shop-women, or
+any of the other callings open to this class of young women: and perhaps
+it is. It's easier, at any rate. I've heard that some quite superior
+young people are in it, who might be, or were, governesses, and couldn't
+find employment, poor young ladies, through the market being so
+overstocked. Ah, it is a hard thing, sir, for a well-brought-up young
+woman to find lady-like employment nowadays. One thing is certain,"
+concluded Mrs. Dyke, "that we shall never have a lack of barmaids in
+this country until a law is passed by the legislature--which, happen,
+never will be passed--to forbid girls serving in these places. There'd
+be less foolishness going on then, and a deal less drinking."
+
+These were Pitt's ideas over again.
+
+A loud laugh outside, and Lizzie came running in. "Why, Aunt Dyke, are
+you there!--entertaining Mr. Johnny Ludlow!" she exclaimed, as she threw
+herself into a chair. "Well, I never. And what _do_ you two think I am
+going to do to-morrow?"
+
+"Now just you mind your manners, young woman," advised the aunt.
+
+"I am minding them--don't you begin blowing-up," retorted Lizzie, her
+face brimming over with good-humour.
+
+"You might have your things stole; you and the girl out together," said
+Mrs. Dyke.
+
+"There's nothing to steal but chairs and tables. I'm sure I'm much
+obliged to you both for sitting here to take care of them. You'll
+never guess what I am going to do," broke off Lizzie, with shrieks
+of laughter. "I am going to take my old place again at the
+Bell-and-Clapper, and serve behind the counter for the day: Mabel
+Falkner wants a holiday. Won't it be fun!"
+
+"Your husband will not let you; he would not like it," I said in my
+haste, while Mrs. Dyke sat in open-mouthed amazement.
+
+"And I shall put on my old black dress; I've got it yet; and be a
+regular barmaid again. A lovely costume, that black is!" ironically ran
+on Lizzie. "Neat and not gaudy, as the devil said when he painted his
+tail pea-green. You need not look as though you thought I had made
+acquaintance with him and heard him say it, Mr. Johnny; I only borrowed
+it from one of Bulwer's novels that I read the other day."
+
+If I did not think that, I thought Madam Lizzie had been making
+acquaintance this afternoon with something else. "Drops!" as Mrs. Dyke
+called it.
+
+"There I shall be to-morrow, at the old work, and you can both come and
+see me at it," said Lizzie. "I'll treat you more civilly, Mr. Johnny,
+than Polly Panken did."
+
+"But I say that your husband will not allow you to go," I repeated to
+her.
+
+"Ah, he's in bed," she laughed; "he can't get out of it to stop me."
+
+"You are all on the wrong tack, Lizzie girl," spoke up the aunt,
+severely. "If you don't mind, it will land you in shoals and quicksands.
+How dare you think of running counter to what you know your husband's
+wishes would be?"
+
+She received this with a louder laugh than ever. "He will not know
+anything about it, Aunt Dyke. Unless Mr. Johnny Ludlow here should tell
+him. It would not make any difference to me if he did," she concluded,
+with candour.
+
+And as I felt sure it would not, I held my tongue.
+
+By degrees, as the days went on, Roger got about again, and when I
+left London he was back at St. Bartholomew's. Other uncanny things had
+happened to me during this visit of mine, but not one of them brought
+with it so heavy a weight as the thought of poor Roger Bevere and his
+blighted life.
+
+"His health may get all right if he will give up drinking," were the
+last words Pitt said to me. "He has promised to do so."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The weather was cold and wintry as we began our railway journey. From
+two to three years have gone on, you must please note, since the time
+told of above. Mr. Brandon was about to spend the Christmas with his
+sister, Lady Bevere--who had quitted Hampshire and settled not far from
+Brighton--and she had sent me an invitation to accompany him.
+
+We took the train at Evesham. It was Friday, and the shortest day in the
+year; St. Thomas, the twenty-first of December. Some people do not care
+to begin a journey on a Friday, thinking it bodes ill-luck: I might have
+thought the same had I foreseen what was to happen before we got home
+again.
+
+London reached, we met Roger Bevere at the Brighton Station, as agreed
+upon. He was to travel down with us. I had not seen him since the time
+of his illness in London, except for an hour once when I was in town
+upon some business for the Squire. Nothing had transpired to his
+friends, so far as I knew, of the fatal step he had taken; that was a
+secret still.
+
+I cannot say I much liked Roger's appearance now, as he sat
+opposite me in the railway-carriage, leaning against the arm of the
+comfortably-cushioned seat. His fair, pleasant face was gentle as ever,
+but the once clear blue eyes no longer looked very clear and did not
+meet ours freely; his hands shook, his fingers were restless. Mr.
+Brandon did not much like the signs either, to judge by the way he
+stared at him.
+
+"Have you been well lately, Roger?"
+
+"Oh yes, thank you, Uncle John."
+
+"Well, your looks don't say much for you."
+
+"I am rather hard-worked," said Roger. "London is not a place to grow
+rosy in."
+
+"Do you like your new work?" continued Mr. Brandon. For Roger had done
+with St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and was outdoor assistant to a surgeon
+in private practice, a Mr. Anderson.
+
+"I like it better than the hospital work, Uncle John."
+
+"Ah! A fine idea that was of yours--wanting to set up in practice
+for yourself the minute you had passed. Your mother did well to send
+the letter to me and ask my advice. Some of you boys--boys, and no
+better--fresh from your hospital studies, screw a brass-plate on your
+door, announcing yourselves to the world as qualified surgeons. A few of
+you go a step further and add M.D."
+
+"Many of us take our degree as physician at once, Uncle John," said
+Roger. "It is becoming quite the custom."
+
+"Just so: the custom!" retorted Mr. Brandon, cynically. "Why didn't
+_you_ do it, and modestly call yourself Dr. Bevere? In my former days,
+young man, when some ultra-grave ailment necessitated application to a
+physician, we went to him in all confidence, knowing that he was a man
+of steady years, of long-tried experience, whose advice was to be relied
+upon. Now, if you are dying and call in some Dr. So-and-so, you may find
+him a young fellow of three or four and twenty. As likely as not only an
+M.B. in reality, who has arrogated to himself the title of Doctor. For I
+hear some of them do it."
+
+"But they think they have a right to be called so, Uncle John. The
+question----"
+
+"What right?" sharply demanded Mr. Brandon. "What gives it them?"
+
+"Well--courtesy, I suppose," hesitated Roger.
+
+"Oh," said Mr. Brandon.
+
+I laughed. His tone was so quaint.
+
+"Yes, you may laugh, Johnny Ludlow--showing your thoughtlessness!
+There'll soon be no modesty left in the world," he continued; "there'll
+soon be no hard, plodding work. Formerly, men were content to labour
+on patiently for years, to attain success, whether in fame, fortune,
+or for a moderate competency. Now they must take a leap into it.
+Tradespeople retire before middle-age, merchants make colossal fortunes
+in a decade, and (to leave other anomalies alone) you random young
+hospital students spring into practice full-fledged M.D.'s."
+
+"The world is changing, Uncle John."
+
+"It is," assented Mr. Brandon. "I'm not sure that we shall know it
+by-and-by."
+
+From Brighton terminus we had a drive of two or three miles across
+country to get to Prior's Glebe--as Lady Bevere's house was named. It
+was old-fashioned and commodious, and stood in a large square garden
+that was encircled by a thick belt of towering shrubs. Nothing was to be
+seen around it but a huge stretch of waste land; half a-mile-off, rose a
+little church and a few scattered cottages. "The girls must find this
+lively!" exclaimed Roger, taking a comprehensive look about him as we
+drove up in the twilight.
+
+Lady Bevere, kind, gentle, simple-mannered as ever, received us
+lovingly. Mr. Brandon kissed her, and she kissed me and Roger. It was
+the first Christmas Roger had spent at home since rushing into that mad
+act of his; he had always invented some excuse for declining. The eldest
+son, Edmund, was in the navy; the second, George, was in the Church;
+Roger was the third; and the youngest, John, had a post in a merchant's
+house in Calcutta. Of the four girls, only the eldest, Mary, and the
+youngest were at home. The little one was named Susan, but they called
+her Tottams. The other two were on a visit to their aunt, the late Sir
+Edmund Bevere's sister.
+
+Dinner was waiting when we got in, and I could not snatch half a word
+with Roger while making ready for it. He and I had two little rooms
+opening to each other. But when we went upstairs for the night we could
+talk at will; and I put my candle down on his chest of drawers.
+
+"How are things going with you, Roger?"
+
+"Don't talk of it," he cried, with quite a burst of emotion. "Things
+cannot be worse than they are."
+
+"I fancy you have not pulled up much, as Pitt used to call it, have you,
+old friend? Your hands and your face tell tales."
+
+"How can I pull up?" he retorted.
+
+"You promised that you would."
+
+"Ay. Promised! When all the world's against a fellow, he may not be
+able to keep his promises. Perhaps may not care to."
+
+"How is Lizzie?" I said then, dropping my voice.
+
+"Don't talk of her," repeated Bevere, in a tone of despair; despair if
+I ever heard it. It shut me up.
+
+"Johnny, I'm nearly done over; sick of it all," he went on. "You don't
+know what I have to bear."
+
+"Still--as regards yourself, you might pull up," I persisted, for to
+give in to him, and his mood and his ways, would never do. "You might
+if you chose, Bevere."
+
+"I suppose I might, if I had any hope. But there's none; none. People
+tell us that as we make our bed so we must lie upon it. I made mine in
+an awful fashion years ago, and I must pay the penalty."
+
+"I gather from this--forgive me, Bevere--that you and your wife don't
+get along together."
+
+"Get along! Things with her are worse than you may think for.
+She--she--well, _she_ has not done her best to turn out well. Heaven
+knows I'd have tried _my_ best; the thing was done, and nothing else was
+left for us: but she has not let me. We are something like cat-and-dog
+now, and I am not living with her."
+
+"No!"
+
+"That is, I inhabit other lodgings. She is at the old place. I am with a
+medical man in Bloomsbury, you know. It was necessary for me to be near
+him, and six months ago I went. Lizzie acquiesced in that; the matter
+was obvious. I sometimes go to see her; staying, perhaps, from Saturday
+to Monday, and come away cursing myself."
+
+"Don't. _Don't_, Bevere."
+
+"She has taken to drink," he whispered, biting his agitated lips. "For
+pretty near two years now she has not been a day sober. As Heaven hears
+me, I believe _not one day_. You may judge what I've had to bear."
+
+"Could nothing be done?"
+
+"I tried to do it, Johnny. I coaxed, persuaded, threatened her by turns,
+but she would not leave it off. For four months in the autumn of last
+year, I did not let a drop of anything come into the house; drinking
+water myself all the while--for her sake. It was of no use: she'd go out
+and get it: every public-house in the place knows her. I'd come home
+from the hospital in the evening and find her raving and rushing about
+the rooms like a mad woman, or else lying incapable on the bed. Believe
+me, I tried all I could to keep her straight; and Mrs. Dyke, a good,
+motherly woman, you remember, did her best to help me; but she was too
+much for both of us, the demon of drink had laid too fast hold of her."
+
+"Does she come bothering you at your new lodgings?"
+
+"She doesn't know where to come," replied Bevere; "I should not dare to
+tell her. She thinks I am in the doctor's house, and she does not know
+where that is. I have told her, and her Aunt Dyke has told her, that if
+ever she attempts to come after me there, I shall stop her allowance.
+Scott--you remember Richard Scott!"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Well, Scott lives now near the Bell-and-Clapper: he is with a surgeon
+there. Scott goes to see her for me once a-week, or so, and brings me
+news of her. I declare to you, Johnny Ludlow, that when I first catch
+sight of his face I turn to a cold shiver, dreading what he may have to
+say. And you talk about pulling up! With such a wife as that, one is
+thankful to drown care once in a way."
+
+"I--I suppose, Roger, nothing about her has ever come out _here_?"
+
+He started up, his face on fire. "Johnny, lad, if it came out here--to
+my mother--to all of them--I should die. Say no more. The case is
+hopeless, and I am hopeless with it."
+
+Any way, it seemed hopeless to talk further then, and I took up my
+candle. "Just one more word, Roger: Does Lizzie know you have come down
+here? She might follow you."
+
+His face took a look of terror. The bare idea scared him. "I say, don't
+you invent impossible horrors," gasped he. "She _couldn't_ come; she
+has never heard of the place in connection with me. She has never heard
+anything about my people, or where they live, or don't live, or whether
+I have any. Good-night."
+
+"Good-night, Roger."
+
+
+III.
+
+People say you can never sleep well in a strange bed. I know I did not
+sleep well, but very badly, that first night at Lady Bevere's. It was
+not the fault of the bed, or of its strangeness; it was Roger's trouble
+haunting me.
+
+He did not seem to have slept well either, to judge by his looks when I
+went into his room in the morning. His fair, pleasant face was pale; his
+lips trembled, the blue eyes had torment in their depths.
+
+"I have had a bad dream," he said, in answer to a remark I made. "An
+awful dream. It came to me in my last sleep this morning; and morning
+dreams, they say, come true. I'm afraid I have you to thank for it,
+Johnny."
+
+"Me!"
+
+"You suggested last night, startling me well-nigh out of my senses by
+it, that Lizzie might follow me down here. Well, I dreamt she did so.
+I saw her in the dining-room, haranguing my mother, her red-gold hair
+streaming over her shoulders and her arms stretched wildly out. Uncle
+John stood in a corner of the room, looking on."
+
+I felt sorry, and told him so: of course my speaking had prompted the
+dream. He need not fear. If Lizzie did not know he had come down here,
+or that his family lived here, or anything about them, she could not
+follow him.
+
+"You see shadows where no shadows are, Roger."
+
+"When a man spoils his life on its threshold, it is all shadow; past,
+present, and future."
+
+"Things may mend, you know."
+
+"Mend!" he returned: "how can they mend? They may grow worse; never
+mend. My existence is one long torment. Day by day I live in dread of
+what may come: of her bringing down upon herself some public disgrace
+and my name with it. No living being, man or woman, can imagine what
+it is to me; the remorse for my folly, the mortification, the shame. I
+believe honestly that but for a few things instilled into me at my
+mother's knee in childhood, I should have put an end to myself."
+
+"It is a long lane that has no turning."
+
+"Lanes have different outlets: bad as well as good."
+
+"I think breakfast must be ready, Roger."
+
+"And I started with prospects so fair!" he went on. "Never a thought or
+wish in my heart but to fulfil honestly the duties that lay in my way to
+the best of my power, to God and to man. And I should have done it, but
+for---- Johnny Ludlow," he broke off, with a deep breath of emotion,
+"when I see other young fellows travelling along the same wrong road,
+once earnest, well-meaning lads as I was, not turning aside of their own
+wilful, deliberate folly, but ensnared to it by the evil works and ways
+they encounter in that teeming city, my soul is wrung with pity for
+them. I sometimes wonder whether God will punish them for what they can
+hardly avoid; or whether He will not rather let His anger fall on those
+who throw temptations in their way."
+
+Poor Roger, poor Roger! Mr. Brandon used to talk of the skeleton in
+_his_ closet: he little suspected how terrible was the skeleton in
+Roger's.
+
+Lady Bevere kept four servants: for she was no better off, except for a
+little income that belonged to herself, than is many another admiral's
+widow. An upper maid, Harriet, who helped to wait, and did sewing: a
+housemaid and a cook; and an elderly man, Jacob, who had lived with them
+in the time of Sir Edmund.
+
+During the afternoon of this day, Saturday, Roger and I set off to walk
+to Brighton with the two girls. Not by the high-road, but by a near way
+(supposed to cut off half the distance) across a huge, dreary, flat
+marsh, of which you could see neither the beginning nor the end. In
+starting, we had reached the gate at the foot of the garden, when
+Harriet came running down the path. She was a tall, thin, civil young
+woman, with something in her voice or in her manner of speaking that
+seemed to my ear familiar, though I knew not how or why.
+
+"Miss Mary," she said, "my lady asks have you taken umbrellas, if you
+please. She thinks it will snow when the sun goes down."
+
+"Yes, yes; tell mamma we have them," replied Mary: and Harriet ran back.
+
+"How was it the mother came to so lonely a spot as this?" questioned
+Roger, as we went along, the little one, Tottams, jumping around me.
+"You girls must find it lively?"
+
+Mary laughed as she answered. "We _do_ find it lively, Roger, and we
+often ask her why she came. But when mamma and George looked at the
+place, it was a bright, hot summer's day. They liked it then: it has
+plenty of rooms in it, you see, though they are old-fashioned; and the
+rent was so very reasonable. Be quiet, Tottams."
+
+"So reasonable that I should have concluded the place had a ghost in
+it," said Roger.
+
+"George's curacy was at Brighton in those days, you know, Roger: that is
+why we came to the neighbourhood."
+
+"And George had left for a better curacy before you had well settled
+down here! Miss Tottams, if you pull at Johnny Ludlow like that, I shall
+send you back by yourself."
+
+"True. But we like the place very well now we are used to it, and we
+know a few nice people. One family--the Archers--we like very much. Six
+daughters, Roger; one of them, Bessy, would make you a charming wife.
+You will have to marry, you know, when you set up in practice. They are
+coming to us next Wednesday evening."
+
+My eye caught Roger's. I did not intend it. Caught the bitter expression
+in it as he turned away.
+
+Brighton reached, we went on the pier. Then, while they did some
+commissions for Lady Bevere at various shops, I went to the post-office,
+to register two letters for Mr. Brandon. Tottams wanted to keep with me,
+but they took her, saying she'd be too troublesome. The letters
+registered, I came out of the office, and was turning away, when some
+one touched me on the arm.
+
+"Mr. Ludlow, I think! How are you?"
+
+To my surprise it was Richard Scott. He seemed equally surprised to see
+me. I told him I had come down with Roger Bevere to spend Christmas week
+at Prior's Glebe.
+
+"Lucky fellow!" exclaimed Scott, "I have to go back to London and
+drudgery this evening: came down with my governor last night for an
+operation to-day. Glad to say it's all well over."
+
+But a thought had flashed into my mind: I ought not to have said so
+much. Drawing Scott out of the passing crowd, I spoke.
+
+"Look here, Scott: you must be cautious not to say that Bevere's down
+here. You must not speak of it."
+
+"Speak where?" asked Scott, turning his head towards me. He had put his
+arm within mine as we walked along. "Where?"
+
+"Oh--well--up with you, you know--in Bevere's old quarters. Or--or in
+the railway-room at the Bell-and-Clapper."
+
+Scott laughed. "_I_ understand. Madam Lizzie might be coming after him
+to his mother's. But--why, what an odd thing!"
+
+Some thought seemed to have struck him suddenly. He paused in his walk
+as well as in his speech.
+
+"I dare say it was nothing," he added, going on again. "Be at ease as
+to Bevere, Ludlow. I should as soon think of applying to him a lighted
+firebrand."
+
+"But what is it you call odd?" I asked, feeling sure that, whatever it
+might be, it was connected with Bevere.
+
+"Why, this," said Scott. "Last night, when we got here, I left my
+umbrella in the carriage, having a lot of other things to see to of my
+own and the governor's. I went back as soon as I found it out, but could
+hear nothing of it. Just now I went up again and got it"--slightly
+showing the green silk one he held in his hand. "A train from London
+came in while I stood there, bringing a heap of passengers. One of them
+looked like Lizzie."
+
+I could not speak from consternation.
+
+"Having nothing to do while waiting for my umbrella to be brought, I was
+watching the crowd flock out of the station," continued Scott. "Amidst
+it I saw a head of red-gold hair, just like Lizzie's. I could not see
+more of her than that; some other young woman's head was close to hers."
+
+"But do you think it was Lizzie?"
+
+"No, I do not. So little did I think it that it went clean out of my
+mind until you spoke. It must have been some accidental resemblance;
+nothing more; red-gold hair is not so very uncommon. There's nothing to
+bring her down to Brighton."
+
+"Unless she knows that he is here."
+
+"That's impossible."
+
+"What a wretched business it is altogether!"
+
+"You might well say that if you knew all," returned Scott. "She drinks
+like a fish. Like a fish, I assure you. Twice over she has had a
+shaking-fit of three days' duration--I suppose you take me, Ludlow--had
+to be watched in her bed; the last time was not more than a week ago.
+She'll do for herself, if she goes on. It's an awful clog on Bevere. The
+marriage in itself was a piece of miserable folly, but if she had been a
+different sort of woman and kept herself steady and cared for him----"
+
+"The problem to me is, how Bevere could have been led away by such a
+woman."
+
+"Ah, but you must not judge of that by what she is now. She was a very
+attractive girl, and kept her manners within bounds. Just the kind of
+girl that many a silly young ape would lose his head for; and Bevere,
+I take it, lost his heart as well as his head."
+
+"Did you know of the marriage at the time?"
+
+"Not until after it had taken place."
+
+"They could never have pulled well together as man and wife; two people
+so opposite as they are."
+
+"No, I fancy not," answered Richard Scott, looking straight out before
+him, but as though he saw nothing. "She has not tried at it. Once
+his wife, safe and sure, she thought she had it all her own way--as
+of course in one sense she had, and could give the reins to her
+inclination. Nothing that Bevere wanted her to do, would she do. He
+wished her to give up all acquaintance with the two girls at the
+Bell-and-Clapper; but not she. He----"
+
+"Is Miss Panken flourishing?"
+
+"Quite," laughed Scott, "The other one came to grief--Mabel Falkner."
+
+"Did she! I thought she seemed rather nice."
+
+"She was a very nice little girl indeed, as modest as Polly Panken is
+impudent. The one could take care of herself; the other couldn't--or
+didn't. Well, Mabel fell into trouble, and of course lost her post.
+Madam Lizzie immediately gave her house-room, setting Bevere, who
+forbade it, at defiance. What with grief and other disasters, the girl
+fell sick there; had an illness, and had to be kept I don't know how
+long. It put Bevere out uncommonly."
+
+"Is this lately?"
+
+"Oh no; last year. Lizzie---- By the way," broke off Scott, stopping
+again and searching his pocket, "I've got a note from her for Bevere.
+You can give it him."
+
+The words nearly seared away my senses. A note from Lizzie to Bevere!
+"Why, then, she must know he is here!" I cried.
+
+"You don't understand," quietly said Scott, giving me a note from his
+pocket-book. "A day or two ago, I met Lizzie near the Bell-and-Clapper.
+She----"
+
+"She is well enough to be out, then!"
+
+"Yes. At times she is as well as you are. Well, I met her, and she began
+to give me a message for her husband, which I could not then wait to
+hear. So she sent this note to me later, to be delivered to him when we
+next met. I had not time to go to him yesterday, and here the note is
+still."
+
+It was addressed "Mr. Bevary." I pointed out the name to Scott.
+
+"Does she not know better, think you?"
+
+"Very likely not," he answered. "A wrong letter, more or less, in a
+name, signifies but little to one of Lizzie's standard of education. It
+is not often, I expect, she sees the name on paper, or has to write it.
+Fare you well, Ludlow. Remember me to Bevere."
+
+Scott had hardly disappeared when they met me. I said nothing of having
+seen him. After treating Tottams to some tarts and a box of bonbons, we
+set off home again; the winter afternoon was closing, and it was nearly
+dark when we arrived. Getting Roger into his room, I handed him the
+note, and told him how I came by it. He showed me the contents.
+
+  "DEAR ROGER,
+
+  "When you where last at home, you said you should not be able to
+  spend Christmas with me, so I am thinking of trying a little jaunt
+  for myself. I am well now and mean to keep so, and a few days in
+  the country air may help me and set me up prime. I inscribe this to
+  let you know, and also to tell you that I shall pay my journey with
+  the quarter's rent you left, so you must send or bring the sum
+  again. Aunt Dyke has got the rumaticks fine, she can't come
+  bothering me with her lectures quite as persistent as usual.
+  Wishing you the compliments of the season, I remain,
+
+  "Your affectionate wife,
+  "LIZZIE."
+
+"Gone into Essex, I suppose; she has talked sometimes of her cousin
+there," was all the remark made by Bevere. And he set the note alight,
+and sent it blazing up the chimney. Of course I did not mention Scott's
+fancy about the red-gold hair.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sunday. We crossed the waste land in the morning to the little church I
+have spoken of. A few cottages stood about it, and a public-house with
+a big sign, on which was painted a yellow bunch of wheat, and the words
+The Sheaf o' Corn. It was bitterly cold weather, the wind keen and
+cutting, the ground a sort of grey-white from a sprinkling of snow that
+had fallen in the night. I suppose they don't, as a rule, warm these
+rural churches, from want of means or energy, but I think I never felt
+a church so cold before. Mr. Brandon said it had given him a chill.
+
+In the evening, after tea, we went to church by moonlight. Not all of
+us this time. Mr. Brandon stayed away to nurse his chill, and Roger on
+the plea of headache. The snow was beginning to come down smartly. The
+little church was lighted with candles stuck in tin sconces nailed to
+the wall, and was dim enough. Lady Bevere whispered to me that the
+clergyman had a service elsewhere in the afternoon, so could only hold
+his own in the evening.
+
+It was snowing with a vengeance when we came out--large flakes half as
+big as a shilling, and in places already a foot deep. We made the best
+of our way home, and were white objects when we got there.
+
+"Ah!" remarked Mr. Brandon, "I thought we should have it. Hope the wind
+will go down a little now."
+
+The girls and their mother went upstairs to take off their cloaks. I
+asked Mr. Brandon where Roger was. He turned round from his warm seat by
+the fire to answer me.
+
+"Roger is outside, enjoying the benefit of the snow-storm. That young
+man has some extraordinary care upon his conscience, Johnny, unless I
+am mistaken," he added, his thin voice emphatic, his eyes throwing an
+inquiry into mine.
+
+"Do you fancy he has, sir?" I stammered. At which Mr. Brandon threw a
+searching look at me, as if he had a mind to tax me with knowing what it
+was.
+
+"Well, you had better tell him to come in, Johnny."
+
+Roger's great-coat, hanging in the hall, seemed to afford an index that
+he had not strayed beyond the garden. The snow, coming down so thick and
+fast but a minute or two ago, had temporarily ceased, following its own
+capricious fashion, and the moon was bright again. Calling aloud to
+Roger as I stood on the door-step, and getting no answer, I went out to
+look for him.
+
+On the side of the garden facing the church, was a little entrance-gate,
+amid the clusters of laurels and other shrubs. Hearing footsteps
+approach this, and knowing all were in from church, for the servants got
+back before we did, I went down the narrow cross-path leading to it, and
+looked out. It was not Roger, but a woman. A lady, rather, by what the
+moonbeams displayed of her dress, which looked very smart. As she seemed
+to be making for the gate, I stepped aside into the shrubs, and peered
+out over the moor for Roger. The lady gave a sharp ring at the bell,
+and old Jacob came from the side-door of the house to answer it.
+
+"Is this Prior's Glebe?" she asked--and her voice gave an odd thrill to
+my pulses, for I thought I recognized it.
+
+"Yes, ma'am," said Jacob.
+
+"Lady Beveer's, I think."
+
+"That's near enough," returned Jacob, familiar with the eccentricities
+of pronunciation accorded to the name. "What did you please to want?"
+
+"I want Miss Field."
+
+"Miss Field!" echoed the old man.
+
+"Harriet Field. She lives here, don't she? I'd like to see her."
+
+"Oh--Harriet! I'll send her out," said he, turning away.
+
+The more I heard of the voice, the greater grew my dismay. Surely it
+was that of Roger's wife! Was it really she that Scott had seen at the
+station? Had she come after Roger? Did she know he was here? I stood
+back amid the sheltering laurels, hardly daring to breathe. Waiting
+there, she began a little dance, or shuffle of the feet, perhaps to warm
+herself, and broke into a verse of a gay song. "As I live, she's not
+sober!" was the fear that flashed across me. Harriet, her things still
+on, just as she came in from church, came swiftly to the gate.
+
+"Well, Harriet, how are you?"
+
+"Why, Lizzie!--it's never you!" exclaimed Harriet, after an amazed stare
+at the visitor.
+
+"Yes, it's me. I thought I'd come over and see you. That old man was
+polite though, to leave me standing here."
+
+"But where have you come from? And why are you so late?"
+
+"Oh, I'm staying at Brighton; came down on the spree yesterday. I'm
+late because I lost my way on this precious moor--or whatever it calls
+itself--and got a mile, or so, too far. When the snow came on--and ain't
+it getting deep!--I turned into a house to shelter a bit, and here I am.
+A man that was coming out of church yonder directed me to the place
+here."
+
+She must have been at The Sheaf o' Corn. What if she had chanced to ask
+the route of _me_!
+
+"You got my letter, then, telling you I had left my old place at
+Worthing, and taken service here," said Harriet.
+
+"I got it safe enough; it was directed to the Bell-and-Clapper room,"
+returned Lizzie. "What a stick of a hand you do write! I couldn't
+decipher whether your new mistress was Lady Beveen or Lady Beveer. I had
+thought you never meant to write to me again."
+
+"Well, you know, Lizzie, that quarrel between us years back, after
+father and mother died, was a bitter one; but I'm sure I don't want to
+be anything but friendly for the future. You haven't written, either. I
+never had but that one letter from you, telling me you had got married,
+and that he was a gentleman."
+
+"And you wrote back asking whether it was true, or whether I had jumped
+over the broomstick," retorted Lizzie, with a laugh. "You always liked
+to be polite to me, Harriet."
+
+"Do you ever see Uncle Dyke up in London, Lizzie?"
+
+"And Aunt Dyke too--she's his second, you know. They are both
+flourishing just now with rheumatism. He has got it in his chest, and
+she in her knees--tra, la, la, la! I say, are you not going to invite me
+in?"
+
+Lizzie's conversation had been interspersed with laughs and antics. I
+saw Harriet look at her keenly. "Was it a public-house you took shelter
+in, Lizzie?" she asked.
+
+"As if it could have been a private one! That's good."
+
+"Is your husband with you at Brighton? I suppose you _are_ married,
+Lizzie?"
+
+"As safe as that you are an old maid--or going on for one. My husband's
+a doctor and can't leave his patients. I came down with a friend of
+mine, Miss Panken; she has to go back to-night, but I mean to stay over
+Christmas-Day. I'll tell you all about my husband if you'll be civil
+enough to take me indoors."
+
+"I can't take you in to-night, Lizzie. It's too late, for one thing, and
+we must not have visitors on a Sunday. But you can come over to tea
+to-morrow evening; I'm sure my lady won't object. Come early in the
+afternoon. And look here," added Harriet, dropping her voice, "don't
+_drink_ anything beforehand; come quiet and decent."
+
+"Who has been telling you that I do drink?" demanded Lizzie, in a sharp
+tone.
+
+"Well, nobody has told me. But I can see it. I hope it's not a practice
+with you; that's all."
+
+"A practice! There you go! It wouldn't be you, Harriet, if you didn't
+say something unpleasant. One must take a sup of hot liquor when
+benighted in such freezing snow as this. And I did not put on my warm
+cloak; it was fine and bright when I started."
+
+"Shall I lend you one? I'll get it in a minute. Or a waterproof?"
+
+"Thanks all the same, no; I shall walk fast, I don't feel cold--and I
+should only have the trouble of bringing it back to-morrow afternoon.
+I'll be here by three o'clock. Good-night, Harriet."
+
+"Good-night, Lizzie. Go round to that path that branches off from our
+front-gate; keep straight on, and you can't miss the way."
+
+I had heard it all; every syllable; unable to help it. The least rustle
+of the laurels might have betrayed me. Betrayed me to Lizzie.
+
+What a calamity! She did not appear to have come down after Roger, did
+not appear to know that he was connected with Lady Bevere--or that the
+names were the same. But at the tea-table the following evening she
+would inevitably learn all. Servants talk of their masters and their
+doings. And to hear Roger's name would be ruin.
+
+I found Roger in his chamber. "Uncle Brandon was putting inconvenient
+questions to me," he said, "so I got away under pretence of looking at
+the weather. How cold you look, Johnny!"
+
+"I am cold. I went into the garden, looking for you, and I had a fright
+there."
+
+"Seen a ghost?" returned he, lightly.
+
+"Something worse than a ghost. Roger, I have some disagreeable news for
+you."
+
+"Eh?--what?" he cried, his fears leaping up: indeed they were very
+seldom _down_. "They don't suspect anything, do they? What is it? Why do
+you beat about the bush?"
+
+"I should like to prepare you. If----"
+
+"Prepare me!" sharply interrupted Roger, his nerves all awry. "Do you
+think I am a girl? Don't I live always in too much mental excruciation
+to need preparation for any mortal ill?"
+
+"Well, Lizzie's down here."
+
+In spite of his boast, he turned as white as the counterpane on his bed.
+I sat down and told him all. His hair grew damp as he listened, his face
+took the hue of despair.
+
+"Heaven help me!" he gasped.
+
+"I suppose you did not know Harriet was her sister?"
+
+"How was I to know it? Be you very sure Lizzie would not voluntarily
+proclaim to me that she had a sister in service. What wretched luck! Oh,
+Johnny, what is to be done?"
+
+"Nothing--that I see. It will be sure to come out over their tea
+to-morrow. Harriet will say 'Mr. Roger's down here on a visit, and has
+brought Mr. Johnny Ludlow with him'--just as a little item of gossip.
+And then--why, then, Lizzie will make but one step of it into the family
+circle, and say 'Roger is my husband.' It is of no use to mince the
+matter, Bevere," I added, in answer to a groan of pain; "better look the
+worst in the face."
+
+The worst was a very hopeless worst. Even if we could find out where
+she was staying in Brighton, and he or I went to her to try to stop her
+coming, it would not avail; she would come all the more.
+
+"You don't know her depth," groaned Roger. "She'd put two and two
+together, and jump to the right conclusion--that it is my home. No,
+there's nothing that can be done, nothing; events must take their
+course. Johnny," he passionately added, "I'd rather die than face the
+shame."
+
+Lady Bevere's voice on the stairs interrupted him. "Roger! Johnny! Why
+don't you come down? Supper's waiting."
+
+"I can't go down," he whispered.
+
+"You must, Roger. If not, they'll ask the reason why."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+A fine state of mental turbulence we were in all day on Monday. Roger
+dared not stir abroad lest he should meet her and have to bring her home
+clinging to his coat-tails. Not that much going abroad was practicable,
+save in the beaten paths. Snow had fallen heavily all night long. But
+the sky to-day was blue and bright.
+
+With the afternoon began the watching and listening. I wonder whether
+the reader can picture our mental state? Roger had made a resolve that
+as soon as Lizzie's foot crossed the threshold, he would disclose all to
+his mother, forestalling her tale. Indeed, he could do nothing less.
+Says Lord Byron, "Whatever sky's above me, here's a heart for every
+fate." I fear we could not then have said the same.
+
+Three o'clock struck. Roger grew pale to the lips as he heard it. I am
+not sure but I did. Four o'clock struck; and yet she did not come. The
+suspense, the agony of those few afternoon hours brought enough pain for
+a lifetime.
+
+At dusk, when she could not have known me at a distance, I went out to
+reconnoitre, glad to go somewhere or do something, and prowled about
+under shelter of the dark shrubs, watching the road. She was not in
+sight anywhere; coming from any part; though I stayed there till I was
+blue with cold.
+
+"Not in a state to come, I expect," gasped Roger, when I got in, and
+reported that I could see nothing of her, and found him still sitting
+over the dining-room fire.
+
+He gave a start as the door was flung open. It was only Harriet, with
+the tea-tray and candles. We had dined early. George, the clergyman,
+was expected in the evening, and Lady Bevere thought it would be more
+sociable if we all took supper with him. Tottams followed the tea-tray,
+skipping and singing.
+
+"I wish it was Christmas-Eve every day!" cried the child. "Cook's making
+such a lot of mince pies and cakes in the kitchen."
+
+"Why, dear me, somebody has been drawing the curtains without having
+shut the shutters first!" exclaimed Harriet, hastening to remedy the
+mistake.
+
+I could have told her it was Roger. As the daylight faded and the fire
+brightened, he had shut out the window, lest dreaded eyes should peer
+through it and see him.
+
+"Your sister's not come yet, Harriet!" said Tottams. For the advent of
+Harriet's expected visitor was known in the household.
+
+"No, Miss Tottams, she is not," replied Harriet, "I can't think why,
+unless she was afraid of the snow underfoot."
+
+"There's no snow to hurt along the paths," contended Tottams.
+
+"Perhaps she'd not know that," said Harriet. "But she may come yet; it
+is only five o'clock--and it's a beautiful moon."
+
+Roger got up to leave the room and met Lady Bevere face to face. She
+caught sight of the despair on his, for he was off his guard. But off
+it, or on it, no one could fail to see that he was ill at ease. Some
+young men might have kept a smooth countenance through it all, for
+their friends and the world; Roger was sensitive to a degree, refined,
+thoughtful, and could not hide the signs of conflict.
+
+"What is it that is amiss with him, Johnny?" Lady Bevere said, coming
+to me as I stood on the hearthrug before the fire, Tottams having
+disappeared with Harriet. "He looks wretchedly ill; _ill with care_,
+as it seems to me; and he cannot eat."
+
+What could I answer? How was it possible, with those kind, candid blue
+eyes, so like Roger's, looking confidingly into mine, to tell her that
+nothing was amiss?
+
+"Dear Lady Bevere, do not be troubled," I said at length. "A little
+matter has been lately annoying Roger in London, and--and--I suppose he
+cannot forget it down here."
+
+"Is it money trouble?" she asked.
+
+"Not exactly. No; it's not money. Perhaps Roger will tell you himself.
+But please do not say anything to him unless he does."
+
+"Why cannot you tell me, Johnny?"
+
+Had Madam Lizzie been in the house, rendering discovery inevitable, I
+would have told her then, and so far spared Roger the pain. But she was
+not; she might not come; in which case perhaps the disclosure need not
+be made--or, at any rate, might be staved off to a future time. Lady
+Bevere held my hands in hers.
+
+"You know what this trouble is, Johnny; all about it?"
+
+"Yes, that's true. But I cannot tell it you. I have no right to."
+
+"I suppose you are right," she sighed. "But oh, my dear, you young
+people cannot know what such griefs are to a mother's heart; the dread
+they inflict, the cruel suspense they involve."
+
+And the evening passed on to its close, and Lizzie had not come.
+
+A little circumstance occurred that night, not much to relate, but not
+pleasant in itself. George, a good-looking young clergyman, got in
+very late and half-frozen--close upon eleven o'clock. He would not
+have supper brought back, but said he should be glad of some hot
+brandy-and-water. The water was brought in and put with the brandy on
+a side-table. George mixed a glass for himself, and Roger went and
+mixed one. By-and-bye, when Roger had disposed of that, he went back
+to mix a second. Mr. Brandon glided up behind him.
+
+"No, Roger, not in your mother's house," he whispered, interposing a
+hand of authority between Roger and the brandy. "Though you may drink
+to an unseemly extent in town, you shall not here."
+
+"Roger got some brandy-and-water from mamma this afternoon," volunteered
+Miss Tottams, dancing up to them. She had been allowed to sit up to help
+dress the rooms; and, of all little pitchers, she had the sharpest ears.
+"He said he felt sick, Uncle John."
+
+They came back to the fire and sat down again, Roger looking in truth
+sick; sick almost unto death.
+
+Mr. Brandon went up to bed; Lady Bevere soon followed, and we began
+the rooms, Harriet and Jacob coming in to help. Roger exclaimed at the
+splendid heaps of holly. Of late years he had seen only the poor scraps
+they get in London.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"A merry Christmas to you, Roger!"
+
+"Don't, Johnny! Better that you should wish me dead."
+
+The bright sun was shining into his room as I entered it on this
+Christmas morning: Roger stood brushing his hair at the glass. He looked
+very ill.
+
+"How can I look otherwise?" retorted poor Roger. "Two nights and not
+a wink of sleep!--nothing but fever and apprehension and intolerable
+restlessness. And you come wishing me a merry Christmas!"
+
+Well, of course it did sound like a mockery. "I will wish you a happier
+one for next year, then, Roger. Things may be brighter then."
+
+"How can they be?--with that dreadful weight that I must carry about
+with me for life? Do you see this?"--sweeping his hand round towards the
+window.
+
+I saw nothing but the blessed sunlight--and said so.
+
+"That's it," he answered: "that blessed sunlight will bring her here
+betimes. With a good blinding snowfall, or a pelting downpour of cats
+and dogs, I might have hoped for a respite. What a Christmas offering
+for my mother! I say!--don't go away for a minute--did you hear Uncle
+John last night about the brandy?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"It is not that I _like_ drink, or care for it for drinking's sake;
+I declare it to you, Johnny Ludlow; but I take it, and must take it,
+to drown care. With that extra glass last night, I might have got to
+sleep--I don't know. Were my mind at ease, I should be as sober as you
+are."
+
+"But don't you see, Roger, that unless you pull up now, while you _can_,
+you may not be able to do it later."
+
+"Oh yes, I see it all," he carelessly said. "Well, it no longer matters
+much what becomes of me. There's the breakfast-bell. You can go on,
+Johnny."
+
+The rooms looked like green bowers, for we had not spared either our
+pains or the holly-branches, and it would have been as happy a
+Christmas-Day as it was a bright one, but for the sword that was hanging
+over Roger Bevere's head. Neither he nor I could enjoy it. He declined
+to go to church with us, saying he felt ill: the truth being that he
+feared to meet Lizzie. Not to attend divine service on Christmas-Day was
+regarded by Mr. Brandon as one of the cardinal sins. To my surprise he
+did not remonstrate with Roger in words: but he looked the more.
+
+Lady Bevere's dinner hour on Christmas-Day was four o'clock, which
+gave a good long evening. Roger ate some turkey and some plum-pudding,
+mechanically; his ears were listening for the dreaded sound of the
+door-bell. We were about half-way through dinner, when there came a peal
+that shook the house. Lady Bevere started in her chair. I fancy Roger
+went nearly out of his.
+
+"Why, who can be coming here now--with such a ring as that?" she
+exclaimed.
+
+"Perhaps it is Harriet's sister!" cried the little girl, in her sharp,
+quick way. "Do you think it is, Harriet?"
+
+"She's free enough for it," returned Harriet, in a vexed tone. "I told
+her she might come yesterday, Miss Tottams, my lady permitting it, but I
+did not tell her she might come to-day."
+
+I glanced at Roger. His knife and fork shook in his hands; his face wore
+the hue of the grave. I was little less agitated than he.
+
+Another respite. It was only a parcel from the railway-station, which
+had been delayed in the delivery. And the dinner went on.
+
+And the evening went on too, as the past one went on--undisturbed.
+Later, when some of us were playing at snap-dragon in the little
+breakfast-room, Harriet came in to march Miss Tottams off to bed.
+
+"Your sister did not come after all, did she, Harriet?" said Mary.
+
+"No, Miss Mary. She's gone back to London," continued Harriet, after a
+pause. "Not enough life for her, I dare say, down here."
+
+Roger glanced round. He did not dare ask whether Harriet knew she was
+gone back, or only supposed it.
+
+Mary laughed. "Fond of life, is she?"
+
+"She always was, Miss Mary. She is married to a gentleman. At least,
+that is her account of him: he is a medical man, she says. But it may be
+he is only a medical man's assistant."
+
+"Did she go back yesterday, or to-day?" I inquired, carelessly. "She
+would have a cold journey."
+
+"Yesterday, if she's gone at all, sir," replied Harriet: "she'd hardly
+travel on Christmas-Day. If not, she'll be here to-morrow."
+
+Roger groaned--and turned it off with a desperate cough, as though the
+raisins burnt his throat.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next day came, Wednesday, again clear, cold, and bright. At
+breakfast George and Mary agreed to walk to Brighton. "You will come
+too," said George, looking at us.
+
+I said nothing. Roger shook his head. Of all places in the known world
+he'd not have ventured into Brighton, and run the risk of meeting _her_,
+perambulating its streets.
+
+"No!--why, it will be a glorious walk," remonstrated George.
+
+"Don't care for it this morning," shortly answered Roger. "I'm sure
+Johnny doesn't."
+
+Mr. Brandon came, if I may so put it, to the rescue. "I shall take a
+walk myself, and you two may go with me," said he to us. "I should like
+to see what the country looks like yonder"--pointing to the unknown
+regions beyond the little church. And as this was just in the opposite
+direction to Brighton, Roger made no objection, and we set off soon
+after breakfast. The sky overhead was blue and clear, the snow on the
+ground dazzlingly white.
+
+The regions beyond the church were the same as these: a
+long-stretched-out moor of flat dreariness. Mr. Brandon walked on.
+"We shall come to something or other in time," said he. Walking with
+him meant walking when he was in the mood for it.
+
+A mile or two onwards, more or less, a small settlement loomed into
+view, with a pound and a set of rusty stocks, and an old-fashioned inn,
+its swinging sign, The Rising Sun, as splendid as that other sign nearer
+Prior's Glebe: and it really appeared to us as if all the inhabitants
+had turned out to congregate round the inn-door.
+
+"What's to do, I wonder?" cried Mr. Brandon: "seems to be some
+excitement going on." When near enough he inquired whether anything was
+amiss, and the whole throng answered together.
+
+A woman had been found that morning frozen to death in the snow, and had
+been carried into The Rising Sun. A young woman wearing smart clothes,
+added a labourer, as the rest of the voices died away: got benighted,
+perhaps, poor thing, and lost her way, and so lay down to die; seemed to
+have been dead quite a day or two, if not more. The missis at The Sheaf
+o' Corn yonder had been over, and recognized her as having called in
+there on Sunday night and had some drink.
+
+Why, as the man spoke, should the dread thought have flashed into my
+mind--was it Lizzie? Why should it have flashed simultaneously into
+Roger's? Had Lizzie lost her way that past Sunday night--and sunk down
+into some sheltered nook to rest awhile, and so sleep and then death
+overtook her? Roger glanced at me with frightened eyes, a dawn of horror
+rising to his countenance.
+
+"I will just step in and take a look at her," I said, and bore on
+steadily for the door of the inn, deaf for once to Mr. Brandon's
+authoritative call. What did I want looking at dead women, he asked: was
+the sight so pleasant? No, it was not pleasant, I could have answered
+him, and I'd rather have gone a mile away from it; but I went in for
+Roger's sake.
+
+The innkeeper--an elderly man, with a bald head and red nose--came
+forward, grumbling that for the past hour or two it had been sharp work
+to keep out the crowd, all agape to see the woman. I asked him to let me
+see her, assuring him it was not out of idle curiosity that I wished it.
+Believing me, he acquiesced at once; civilly remarking, as he led the
+way through the house, that he had sent for the police, and expected
+them every minute.
+
+On the long table of a bleak-looking outer kitchen, probably used only
+in summer, lay the dead. I took my look at her.
+
+Yes, it was Lizzie. Looking as peaceful as though she had only just gone
+to sleep. Poor thing!
+
+"Do you recognize her, sir? Did you think you might?"
+
+I shook my head in answer. It would not have done to acknowledge it.
+Thanking him, I went out to Roger. Mr. Brandon fired off a tirade of
+reproaches at me, and said he was glad to see I had turned white.
+
+"_Yes_," I emphatically whispered to Roger in the midst of it. "Go you
+in, and satisfy yourself."
+
+Roger disappeared inside the inn. Mr. Brandon was so indignant at the
+pair of us, that he set off at a sharp pace for home again, I with him,
+Roger presently catching us up. Twice during the walk, Roger was taken
+with a shivering-fit, as though sickening for the ague. Mr. Brandon held
+his tongue then, and recommended him, when we got in, to put himself
+between some hot blankets.
+
+In the dead woman's pocket was found Harriet Field's address; and a
+policeman presented himself at Prior's Glebe with the news of the
+calamity and to ask what Harriet knew of her. Away went Harriet to The
+Rising Sun, and recognized the dead. It was her sister, she said; she
+had called to see her on Sunday night, having walked over from Brighton,
+and must have lost her way on the waste land in returning. What name,
+was the next question put; and, after a moment's hesitation, Harriet
+answered "Elizabeth Field." Not feeling altogether sure of the marriage,
+she said nothing about it.
+
+Will you accuse Roger Bevere of cowardice for holding aloof; for keeping
+silence? Then you must accuse me for sanctioning it. He _could_ not
+bring himself to avow all the past shame to his mother. And what end
+would it answer now if he did?--what good effect to his poor, wretched,
+foolish wife? None.
+
+"Johnny," he said to me, with a grasp of his fevered hand, "is it wrong
+to feel as if a great mercy had been vouchsafed me?--is it _wicked_?
+Heaven knows, I pity her fate; I would have saved her from it if I
+could. Just as I'd have kept her from her evil ways, and tried to be a
+good husband to her--but she would not let me."
+
+They held an inquest upon her next day: or, as the local phraseology of
+the place put it, "Sat upon the body of Elizabeth Field." The landlady
+of The Sheaf o' Corn was an important witness.
+
+She testified that the young woman came knocking at the closed door of
+the inn on the Sunday evening during church time, saying she had lost
+her way. Nobody was at home but herself and the servant-girl, her
+husband having gone to church. They let her in. She called for a good
+drop of drink--brandy-and-water--while sitting there, and was allowed to
+have it, though it was out of serving hours, as she declared she was
+perishing with cold. Before eight o'clock, she left, and was away about
+half-an-hour. Then she came back again, had more to drink, and bought a
+pint bottle of brandy, to carry, as she told them, home to her lodgings,
+and she got the girl to draw the cork, saying her rooms did not
+possess a corkscrew. She took the bottle away with her. Was she tipsy?
+interposed the coroner at this juncture. Not very, the witness replied,
+not so tipsy but that she could walk and talk, but she had had quite
+enough. She went away, and they saw her no more.
+
+Harriet's evidence, next given, did not amount to much. The deceased,
+her younger sister, had lived for some years in London, but she did not
+know at what address latterly; she used to serve at a refreshment-bar,
+but had left it. Until the past Sunday night, when Lizzie called
+unexpectedly at Prior's Glebe, they had not met for five or six years:
+it was then arranged that Lizzie should come to drink tea with her the
+next afternoon: but she never came. Felt convinced that the death was
+pure accident, through her having lost her way in the snow.
+
+With this opinion the room agreed. Instead of taking the direct path
+to Brighton, as Harriet had enjoined, she must have turned back
+The Sheaf o' Corn for more drink. And that she had wandered in a wrong
+direction, upon quitting it, across the waste land, there could not be
+any doubt; or that she had sat down, or _fallen_ down, possibly from
+fatigue, in the drift where she was found. The brandy bottle lay near
+her, _empty_. Whether she died of the brandy, or of the exposure to
+the cold night, might be a question. The jury decided that it was the
+latter.
+
+And nothing whatever had come out touching Roger.
+
+Harriet had already given orders for a decent funeral, in the
+neighbouring graveyard. It took place on the afternoon of the following
+day, Friday. By a curious little coincidence, George Bevere was asked to
+take the service, the incumbent being ill with a cold. It afforded a
+pretext for Roger's attending. He and I walked quietly up in the wake
+of George, and stood at the grave together. Harriet thanked us for it
+afterwards: she looked upon it as a compliment paid to herself.
+
+"Scott shall forward to her every expense she has been put to as soon as
+I am back in London," said Roger to me. "He will know how to manage it."
+
+"Shall you tell Mrs. Dyke?"
+
+"To be sure I shall. She is a trustworthy, good woman."
+
+Our time at Prior's Glebe was up, and we took our departure from it on
+the Saturday morning; another day of intense cold, of dark blue skies,
+and of bright sunshine. George left with us.
+
+"My dear, you will try--you will _try_ to keep straight, won't you;
+to be what you ought to be," whispered Lady Bevere in the bustle of
+starting, as she clasped Roger's hands in the hall, tears falling from
+her eyes: all just as it was that other time in Gibraltar Terrace. "For
+my sake, dear; for my sake."
+
+"I shall do now, mother," he whispered back, meeting her gaze through
+his wet eyelashes, his manner strangely solemn. "God has been very good
+to me, and I--I will try from henceforth to do my best in all ways."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+And Roger kept his word.
+
+
+
+
+KETIRA THE GIPSY.
+
+
+I.
+
+"I tell you what it is, Abel. You think of everybody else before
+yourself. The Squire says there's no sense in it."
+
+"No sense in what, Master Johnny?"
+
+"Why, in supplying those ill-doing Standishes with your substance.
+Herbs, and honey, and medicine--they are always getting something or
+other out of you."
+
+"But they generally _need_ it, sir."
+
+"Well, they don't deserve it, you know. The Squire went into a temper
+to-day, saying the vagabonds ought to be left to starve if they did not
+choose to work, instead of being helped by the public."
+
+Our hen-roosts had been robbed, and it was pretty certain that one or
+other of the Standish brothers was the thief. Perhaps all three had a
+hand in it. Chancing to pass Abel Carew's garden, where he was at work,
+I turned in to tell him of the raid; and stayed, talking. It was
+pleasant to sit on the bench outside the cottage-window, and watch him
+tend his roots and flowers. The air was redolent of perfume; the bees
+were humming as they sailed in the summer sunshine from herb to herb,
+flower to flower; the dark blue sky was unclouded.
+
+"Just look at those queer-looking people, Abel! They must be gipsies."
+
+Abel let his hands rest on his rake, and lifted his eyes to the common.
+Crossing it, came two women, one elderly, one very young--a girl, in
+fact. Their red cloaks shone in the sun; very coarse and sunburnt straw
+hats were tied down with red kerchiefs. That they belonged to the gipsy
+fraternity was apparent at the first glance. Pale olive complexions, the
+elder one's almost yellow, were lighted up with black eyes of wonderful
+brilliancy. The young girl was strikingly beautiful; her features
+clearly cut and delicate, as though carved from marble, her smooth and
+abundant hair of a purple black. The other's hair was purple black also,
+and had not a grey thread in it.
+
+"They must be coming to tell our fortunes, Abel," I said jestingly. For
+the two women seemed to be making direct for the gate.
+
+No answer from Abel, and I turned to look at him. He was gazing at the
+coming figures with the most intense gaze, a curious expression of
+inquiring doubt on his face. The rake fell from his hand.
+
+"My search is ended," spoke the woman, halting at the gate, her
+glittering black eyes scanning him intently. "You are Abel Carew."
+
+"Is it Ketira?" he asked, the words dropping from him in slow
+hesitation, as he took a step forward.
+
+"Am I so much changed that you need doubt it for a moment?" she
+returned: and her tone and accent fell soft and liquid; her diction was
+of the purest, with just the slightest foreign ring in it. "Forty years
+have rolled on since you and I met, Abel Carew; but I come of a race
+whose faces do not change. As we are in youth, so we are in age--save
+for the inevitable traces left by time."
+
+"And this?" questioned Abel, as he looked at the girl and drew back his
+gate.
+
+"She is Ketira also; my youngest and dearest. The youngest of sixteen
+children, Abel Carew; and every one of them, save herself, lying under
+the sod."
+
+"What--dead?" he exclaimed. "Sixteen!"
+
+"Fifteen are dead, and are resting in peace in different lands: ten of
+them died in infancy ere I had well taken my first look at their little
+faces. She is the sixteenth. See you the likeness?" added the gipsy,
+pointing to the girl's face; as she stood, modest and silent, a
+conscious colour tingeing her olive cheeks, and glancing up now and
+again through her long black eyelashes at Abel Carew.
+
+"Likeness to you, Ketira?"
+
+"Not to me: though there exists enough of it between us to betray that
+we are mother and daughter. To him--her father."
+
+And, while Abel was looking at the girl, I looked. And in that moment
+it struck me that her face bore a remarkable likeness to his own. The
+features were of the same high-bred cast, pure and refined; you might
+have said they were made in the same mould.
+
+"I see; yes," said Abel.
+
+"He has been gone, too, this many a year; as you, perhaps, may know,
+Abel; and is with the rest, waiting for us in the spirit-land. Kettie
+does not remember him, it is so long ago. There are only she and I left
+to go now. Kettie----"
+
+She suddenly changed her language to one I did not understand. Neither,
+as was easy to be seen, did Abel Carew. Whether it was Hebrew, or
+Egyptian, or any other rare tongue, I knew not; but I had never in my
+life heard its sounds before.
+
+"I am telling Kettie that in you she may see what her father was--for
+the likeness in your face and his, allowing for the difference of age,
+is great."
+
+"Does Kettie not speak English?" inquired Abel.
+
+"Oh yes, I speak it," answered the girl, slightly smiling, and her tones
+were soft and perfect as those of her mother.
+
+"And where have you been since his death, Ketira? Stationary in Ai----"
+
+He dropped his voice to a whisper at the last word, and I did not catch
+it. I suppose he did not intend me to.
+
+"Not stationary for long anywhere," she answered, passing into the
+cottage with a majestic step. I lifted my hat to the women--who, for all
+their gipsy dress and origin, seemed to command consideration--and made
+off.
+
+The arrival of these curious people caused some commotion at Church
+Dykely. It was so rare we had any event to enliven us. They took up
+their abode in a lonely cottage no better than a hut (one room up and
+one down) that stood within that lively place, the wilderness on the
+outskirts of Chanasse Grange; and there they stayed. How they got a
+living nobody knew: some thought the gipsy must have an income, others
+that Abel helped them.
+
+"She was very handsome in her youth," he said to me one day, as if he
+wished to give some explanation of the arrival I had chanced to witness.
+"Handsomer and finer by far than her daughter is; and one who was very
+near of kin to me married her--_would_ marry her. She was a born gipsy,
+of what is called a high-caste tribe."
+
+That was all he said. For Abel's sake, who was so respected, Church
+Dykely felt inclined to give respect to the women. But, when it was
+discovered that Ketira would tell the fortune of any one who cared to
+go surreptitiously to her lonely hut, the respect cooled down. "Ketira
+the gipsy," she was universally called: nobody knew her by any other
+name. The fortune-telling came to the ears of Abel, arousing his
+indignation. He went to Ketira in distress, begging of her to cease
+such practices--but she waved him majestically out of the hut, and
+bade him mind his own business. Occasionally the mother and daughter
+shut up their dwelling and disappeared for weeks together. It was
+assumed they went to attend fairs and races, camping out with the
+gipsy fraternity. Kettie at all times and seasons was modest and good;
+never was an unmaidenly look seen from her, or a bold word heard. In
+appearance and manner and diction she might have been a born lady, and
+a high-bred one. Graceful and innocent was Kettie; but heedless and
+giddy, as girls are apt to be.
+
+"Look there, Johnny!"
+
+We were at Worcester races, walking about on the course. I turned at
+Tod's words, and saw Ketira the gipsy, her red cloak gleaming in the
+sun, just as it had gleamed that day, a year before, on Dykely Common.
+For the past month she had been away, and her cottage shut up.
+
+She stood at the open door of a carriage, reading the hand of the lady
+inside it. A notable object was Ketira on the course, with her quaint
+attire, her majestic figure, her fine olive-dark features, and the fire
+of her brilliant eyes. What good or ill luck she was promising, I know
+not; but I saw the lady turn pale and snatch her hand away. "You cannot
+_know_ what you tell me," she cried in a haughty tone, sharp enough and
+loud enough to be heard.
+
+"Wait and see," rejoined Ketira, turning away.
+
+"So you have come here to see the fun, Ketira," I said to her, as she
+was brushing by me. During the past year I had seen more of her than
+many people had, and we had grown familiar; for she, as she once
+expressed it, "took" to me.
+
+"The fun and the business; the pleasure and the wickedness," she
+answered, with a sweep of the hand round the course. "There's plenty of
+it abroad."
+
+"Is Kettie not here?" I asked: and the question made her eyes glare.
+Though, why, I was at a loss to know, seeing that a race-ground is the
+legitimate resort of gipsies.
+
+"Kettie! Do you suppose I bring Kettie to _these_ scenes--to be gazed at
+by this ribald mass?"
+
+"Well, it is a rabble, and a good one," I answered, looking at the
+crowd.
+
+"Nay, boy," said she, following my glance, "it's not the rabble Kettie
+need fear, as you count rabble; it's their betters"--swaying her arms
+towards the carriages, and the dandies, their owners or guests; some of
+whom were balancing themselves on the steps to talk to the pretty girls
+within, and some were strolling about the enclosed paddock, forbidden
+ground but to the "upper few." "Ketira is too fair to be shown to
+_them_."
+
+"They would not eat her, Ketira."
+
+"No, they would not eat her," she replied in a dreamy tone, as if her
+thoughts were elsewhere.
+
+"And I don't see any other harm they could do her, guarded by you."
+
+"Boy," she said, dropping her voice to an impressive whisper, and
+lightly touching my arm with her yellow hand, "I have read Kettie's fate
+in the stars, and I see that there is some great and grievous peril
+approaching her. It _may_ be averted; there's just a chance that it may:
+meanwhile I am encompassing her about with care, guarding her as the
+apple of my eye."
+
+"And if it should not be averted?" I asked in the moment's impulse,
+carried away by the woman's impressive earnestness.
+
+"Then woe be to those who bring the evil upon her!"
+
+"And of what nature is the evil?"
+
+"I know not," she replied, her eyes taking again their dreamy, far-off
+look. "Woe is me!--for I know it not."
+
+"How do you do, Ludlow? Not here alone, are you?"
+
+A good-looking young fellow, Hyde Stockhausen, had reined in his horse
+to ask the question: giving at the same time a keen glance to the gipsy
+woman and then a half-smile at me, as if he suspected I was having my
+fortune told.
+
+"The rest are on the course somewhere. The Squire is driving old
+Jacobson about."
+
+As Hyde nodded and rode on, I chanced to see Ketira's face. It was
+stretched out after him with the most eager gaze on it, a defiant look
+in her black eyes. I thought Stockhausen must have offended her.
+
+"Do you know him?" I asked involuntarily.
+
+"I never saw him before; but I don't like him," she answered, showing
+her white and gleaming teeth. "Who is he?"
+
+"His name is Stockhausen."
+
+"I don't like him," she repeated in a muttering tone. "He is an enemy.
+I don't like his look."
+
+Considering that he was a well-looking man, with a pleasant face and gay
+blue eyes, a face that no reasonable spirit could take umbrage at, I
+wondered to hear her say this.
+
+"You must have a peculiar taste in looks, Ketira, to dislike his."
+
+"You don't understand," she said abruptly: and, turning away,
+disappeared in the throng.
+
+Only once more did I catch sight of Ketira that day. It was at the lower
+end of Pitchcroft, near the show. She was standing in front of a booth,
+staring at a group of horsemen who seemed to have met and halted there,
+one of whom was young Stockhausen. Again the notion crossed me that he
+must in some way have affronted her. It was on him her eyes were fixed:
+and in them lay the same curious, defiant expression of antagonism,
+mingled with fear.
+
+Hyde Stockhausen was the step-son of old Massock of South Crabb. The
+Stockhausens had a name in Worcestershire for dying off, as I have told
+the reader before. Hyde's father had proved no exception. After his
+death the widow married Massock the brickmaker, putting up with the
+man's vulgarity for the sake of his riches. It took people by surprise:
+for she had been a lady always, as Miss Hyde and as Mrs. Stockhausen;
+one might have thought she would rather have put up with a clown from
+Pershore fair than with Massock the illiterate. Hyde Stockhausen was
+well educated: his uncle, Tom Hyde the parson, had taken care of that.
+At twenty-one he came into some money, and at once began to do his best
+to spend it. He was to have been a parson, but could not get through at
+Oxford, and gave up trying for it. His uncle quarrelled with him then:
+he knew Hyde had not _tried_ to pass, and that he openly said nobody
+should make a parson of _him_. After the quarrel, Hyde went off to see
+what the Continent was like. He stayed so long that the world at home
+thought he was lost. For the past ten or eleven months he had been back
+at his mother's at South Crabb, knocking about, as Massock phrased it to
+the Squire one day. Hyde said he was "looking-out" for something to do:
+but he was quite easy as to the future, feeling sure his old uncle would
+leave him well off. Parson Hyde had never married; and had plenty of
+money to bequeath to somebody. As to Hyde's own money, that had nearly
+come to an end.
+
+Naturally old Massock (an ill-conditioned kind of man) grew impatient
+over this state of things, reproaching Hyde with his idle habits, which
+were a bad example for his own sons. And only just before this very day
+that we were on Worcester racecourse, rumours reached Church Dykely that
+Stockhausen was coming over to settle there and superintend certain
+fields of brick-making, which Massock had recently purchased and
+commenced working. As if Massock could not have kept himself and his
+bricks at South Crabb! But it was hardly likely that Hyde, really a
+gentleman, would take to brick-making.
+
+We did not know much of him. His connection with Massock had kept people
+aloof. Many who would have been glad enough to make friends with Hyde
+would not do it as long as he had his home at Massock's. His mother's
+strange and fatal marriage with the man (fatal as regarded her place in
+society) told upon Hyde, and there's no doubt he must have felt the
+smart.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The rumour proved to be correct. Hyde Stockhausen took up his abode at
+Church Dykely, as overseer, or clerk, or manager--whatever might be
+the right term for it--of the men employed in his step-father's brick
+operations. The pretty little house, called Virginia Cottage, owned by
+Henry Rimmer, which had the Virginia creeper trailing up its red walls,
+and flowers clustering in its productive garden, was furnished for him;
+and Hyde installed himself in it as thoroughly and completely as though
+he had entered on brick-making for life. Some people laughed. "But it's
+only while I am turning myself round," he said, one day, to the Squire.
+
+Hyde soon got acquainted with Church Dykely, and would drop into
+people's houses of an evening, laughing over his occupation, and saying
+he should be able to make bricks himself in time. His chief work seemed
+to be in standing about the brick-yard watching the men, and in writing
+and book-keeping at home. Old Massock made his appearance once a month,
+when accounts and such-like items were gone over between them.
+
+When it was that Hyde first got on speaking terms with Kettie, or
+where, or how, I cannot tell. So far as I know, nobody could tell. It
+was late in the autumn when Ketira and her daughter came back to their
+hut; and by the following early spring some of us had grown accustomed
+to seeing Hyde and Kettie together in an evening, snatching a short
+whisper or a five-minutes' walk. In March, I think it was, she and
+Ketira went away again, and returned in May.
+
+The twenty-ninth of May was at that time kept as a holiday in
+Worcestershire, though it has dropped out of use as such in late years.
+In Worcester itself there was a grand procession, which country people
+went in to see, and a special service in the cathedral. We had service
+also at Church Dykely, and the villagers adorned their front-doors with
+immense oak boughs, sprays of which we young ones wore in our jackets,
+the oak-balls and leaves gilded. I remember one year that the big bough
+(almost a tree) which Henry Rimmer had hoisted over his sign, the
+"Silver Bear," came to grief. Whether Rimmer had not secured it as
+firmly as usual, or that the cords were rotten, down came the huge bough
+with a crash on old Mr. Stirling's head, who chanced to be coming out of
+the inn. He went on at Rimmer finely, vowing his neck was broken, and
+that Rimmer ought to be hung up there himself.
+
+On this twenty-ninth of May I met Kettie. It was on the common, near
+Abel Carew's. Kettie had caught up the fashion of the place, and wore a
+little spray of oak peeping out from between the folds of her red cloak.
+And I may as well say that neither she nor her mother ever went out
+without the cloak. In cold and heat, in rain and sunshine, the red cloak
+was worn out-of-doors.
+
+"Are you making holiday to-day, Kettie?"
+
+"Not more than usual; all days are the same to us," she answered, in her
+sweet, soft voice, and with the slightly foreign accent that attended
+the speech of both. But Kettie had it more strongly than her mother.
+
+"You have not gilded your oak-ball."
+
+Kettie glanced down at the one ball, nestling amid its green leaves.
+"I had no gilding to put on it, Mr. Johnny."
+
+"No! I have some in my pocket. Let me gild it for you."
+
+Her teeth shone like pearls as she smiled and held out the spray. How
+beautiful she was! with those delicate features and the large dark
+eyes!--eyes that were softer than Ketira's. Taking the little paper
+book from my pocket, and some of the gilt leaf from between its tissue
+leaves, I wetted the oak-ball and gilded it. Kettie watched intently.
+
+"Where did you get it all from?" she asked, meaning the gilt leaf.
+
+"I bought it at Hewitt's. Don't you know the shop? A stationer's; next
+door to Pettipher the druggist's. Hewitt does no end of a trade in these
+leaves on the twenty-ninth of May."
+
+"Did you buy it to gild oak-balls for yourself, sir?"
+
+"For the young ones at home: Hugh and Lena. There it is, Kettie."
+
+Had it been a ball of solid gold that I put into her hand, instead of
+a gilded oak-ball, Kettie could not have shown more intense delight.
+Her cheeks flushed; the wonderful brilliancy that joy brought to her
+eyes caused my own eyes to turn away. For her eighteen years she was
+childish in some things; very much so, considering the experience that
+her wandering life must (as one would suppose) have brought her. In
+replacing the spray within her cloak, Kettie dropped something out of
+her hand--apparently a small box folded in paper. I picked it up.
+
+"Is it a fairing, Kettie? But this is not fair time."
+
+"It is--I forget the name," she replied, looking at me and hesitating.
+"My mother is ill; the pains are in her shoulder again; and my uncle
+Abel has given me this to rub upon it, the same that did her good
+before. I cannot just call the name to mind in the English tongue."
+
+"Say it in your own."
+
+She spoke a very outlandish word, laughed, and turned red again.
+Certainly there never lived a more modest girl than Kettie.
+
+"Is it liniment?--ointment?"
+
+"Yes, it is that, the last," she said: "Abel calls it so. I thank you
+for what you have done for me, sir. Good-day."
+
+To show so much gratitude for that foolish bit of gilt leaf on her
+oak-ball! It illumined every line of her face. I liked Kettie: liked her
+for her innocent simplicity. Had she not been a gipsy, many a gentleman
+might have been proud to make her his wife.
+
+Close upon that, it was known that Ketira was laid up with rheumatism.
+The weather came in hot, and the days went on: and Kettie and Hyde were
+now and then seen together.
+
+One evening, on leaving Mrs. Scott's, where we had been to arrange with
+Sam to go fishing with us on the morrow, Tod said he would invite Hyde
+Stockhausen to be of the party; so we took Virginia Cottage on our road
+home, and asked for Hyde.
+
+"Not at home!" retorted Tod, resenting the old woman's answer, as though
+it had been a personal affront. "Where is he?"
+
+"Master Hyde has only just stepped out, sir; twenty minutes ago, or so,"
+said she, pleadingly excusing the fact. Which was but natural: she had
+been Hyde's nurse when he was a child; and had now come here to do for
+him. "I dare say, sir, he be only walking about a bit, to get the fresh
+air."
+
+Tod whistled some bars of a tune thoughtfully. He did not like to be
+crossed.
+
+"Well, look here, Mrs. Preen," said he. "Some of us are going to fish in
+the long pond on Mr. Jacobson's grounds to-morrow: tell Mr. Hyde that
+if he would like to join us, I shall be happy to see him. Breakfast,
+half-past eight o'clock; sharp."
+
+In turning out beyond the garden, I could not help noticing how pretty
+and romantic was the scene. A good many trees grew about that part,
+thick enough almost for a wood in places; and the light and shade, cast
+by the moon on the grass amidst them, had quite a weird appearance. It
+was a bright night; the moon high in the sky.
+
+"Is that Hyde?" cried Tod.
+
+Halting for a moment in doubt, he peered out over the field to the
+distance. Some one was leisurely pacing under the opposite trees. _Two_
+people, I thought: but they were completely in the shade.
+
+"I think it is Hyde, Tod. Somebody is with him."
+
+"Just wait another instant, lad, and they'll be in that patch of
+moonlight by the turning."
+
+But they did not go into that patch of moonlight. Just before they
+reached it (and the two figures were plain enough now) they turned back
+again and took the narrow inlet that led to Oxlip Dell. Whoever it was
+with Hyde had a hooded cloak on. Was it a red one? Tod laughed.
+
+"Oh, by George, here's fun! He has got Kettie out for a moonlight
+stroll. Let's go and ask them how they enjoy it."
+
+"Hyde might not like us to."
+
+"There you are again, Johnny, with your queer scruples! Stuff and
+nonsense! Stockhausen can't have anything to say to Kettie that all the
+world may not hear. I want to tell him about to-morrow."
+
+Tod made off across the grass for the inlet, I after him. Yes, there
+they were, promenading Oxlip Dell in the flickering light, now in the
+shade, now in the brightest of the moonbeams; Hyde's arm hugging her red
+cloak.
+
+Tod gave a grunt of displeasure. "Stockhausen must be doing it for
+pastime," he said; "but he ought not to be so thoughtless. Ketira the
+gipsy would give the girl a shaking if she knew: she----"
+
+The words came to an abrupt ending. There stood Ketira herself.
+
+She was at the extreme end of the inlet amid the trees, holding on by
+the trunk of one, round which her head was cautiously pushed to view
+the promenaders. Comparatively speaking, it was dark just here; but I
+could see the strangely-wild look in the gipsy's eyes: the woe-begone
+expression of her remarkable face.
+
+"It is coming," she said, apparently in answer to Tod's remarks, which
+she could not have failed to hear. "It is coming quickly."
+
+"What is coming?" I asked.
+
+"The fate in store for her. And it's worse than death."
+
+"If you don't like her to walk out by moonlight, why not keep her
+in?--not that there can be any harm in it," interposed Tod. "If you
+don't approve of her being friendly with Hyde Stockhausen," he went on
+after a pause, for Ketira made no answer, "why don't you put a stop to
+it?"
+
+"Because she has her mother's spirit and her mother's _will_" cried
+Ketira. "And she likes to have her own way: and I fear, woe's me! that
+if I forced her to mine, things might become worse than they are even
+now: that she might take some fatal step."
+
+"I am going home," said Tod at this juncture, perhaps fancying
+the matter was getting complicated: and, of all things, he hated
+complications. "Good-night, old lady. We heard you were in bed with
+rheumatism."
+
+He set off back, up the narrow inlet. I said I'd catch him up: and
+stayed behind for a last word with Ketira.
+
+"What did you mean by a fatal step?"
+
+"That she might leave me and seek the protection of the Tribe. We
+have had words about this. Kettie says little, but I see the signs of
+determination in her silent face. 'I will not have you meet or speak to
+that man,' I said to her this morning--for she was out with him last
+evening also. She made me no reply: but--you see--how she has obeyed!
+Her heart's life has been awakened, and by _him_. There's only one
+object to whom she clings now in all the whole earth; and that is to
+him. I am nothing."
+
+"He will not bring any great harm upon her: you need not fear that of
+Hyde Stockhausen."
+
+"Did I say he would?" she answered fiercely, her black eyes glaring and
+gleaming. "But he will bring _sorrow_ on her and rend her heart-strings.
+A man's fancies are light as the summer wind, fickle as the ocean waves:
+but when a woman loves it is for life; sometimes for death."
+
+Hyde and Kettie had disappeared at the upper end of the dell, taking the
+way that in a minute or two would bring them out in the open fields.
+Ketira turned back along the narrow path, and I with her.
+
+"I knew he would bring some ill upon me, that first moment when I saw
+him on Worcester race-ground," resumed Ketira in a low tone of pain.
+"Instinct warned me that he was an enemy. And what ill can be like that
+of stealing my young child's heart! Once a girl's heart is taken--and
+taken but to be toyed with, to be flung back at will--her day-dreams in
+this life are over."
+
+Emerging into the open ground, the first thing we saw was the pair of
+lovers about to part. They were standing face to face: Hyde held both
+her hands while speaking his last words, and then bent suddenly down, as
+if to whisper them. Ketira gave a sharp cry at that, perhaps she fancied
+he was stealing a kiss, and lifted her right hand menacingly. The girl
+ran swiftly in the direction of her home--which was not far off--and
+Hyde strode, not much less quickly, towards his. Ketira stood as still
+as a stone image, watching him till he disappeared within his gate.
+
+"There's no harm in it," I persuasively said, sorry to see her so full
+of trouble. But she was as one who heard not.
+
+"No harm at all, Ketira. I dare answer for it that a score of lads and
+lasses are out. Why should we not walk in the moonlight as well as the
+sunlight? For my part, I should call it a shame to stay indoors on this
+glorious night."
+
+"An enemy, an enemy! A grand gentleman, who will leave her to pine
+her heart away! What kind of man is he, that Hyde Stockhausen?" she
+continued, turning to me fiercely.
+
+"Kind of man? A pleasant one. I have not heard any ill of him."
+
+"Rich?"
+
+"No. Perhaps he will be rich some time. He makes bricks, you know, now.
+That is, he superintends the men."
+
+"Yes, I know," she answered: and I don't suppose there was much
+connected with Hyde she did not know. Looking this way, looking that,
+she at length began to walk, slowly and painfully, towards Hyde's gate.
+The thought had crossed me--why did she not take Kettie away on one of
+their long expeditions, if she dreaded him so much. But the rheumatism
+lay upon her still too heavily.
+
+Flinging open the gate, she went across the garden, not making for the
+proper entrance, but for a lighted room, whose French-window stood open
+to the ground. Hyde was there, just sitting down to supper.
+
+"Come in with me," she said, turning her head round to beckon me on.
+
+But I did not choose to go in. It was no affair of mine that I should
+beard Hyde in his den. Very astonished indeed must he have been, when
+she glided in at the window, and stood before him. I saw him rise from
+his chair; I saw the astounded look of old Deborah Preen when she came
+in with his supper ale in a jug.
+
+What they said to one another, I know not. I did not wish to listen:
+though it was only natural I should stay to see the play out. Just as
+natural as it was for Preen to come stealing round through the kidney
+beans to the front-garden, an anxious look on her face.
+
+"What does that old gipsy woman want with the young master, Mr. Ludlow?
+Is he having his fortune told?"
+
+"I shouldn't wonder. Wish some good genius would tell mine!"
+
+The interview seemed to have been short and sharp. Ketira was coming out
+again. Hyde followed her to the window. Both were talking at once, and
+the tail of the dispute reached our ears.
+
+"I repeat to you that you are totally mistaken," Hyde was saying. "I
+have no 'designs,' as you put it, on your daughter, good or bad; no
+design whatever. She is perfectly free to go her own way, for me. My
+good woman, you have no cause to adjure me in that solemn manner.
+Sacred? 'Under Heaven's protection?' Well, so she may be. I hope she is.
+Why should I wish to hinder it? I don't wish to, I don't intend to. You
+need not glare so."
+
+Ketira, outside the window now, turned and faced him, her great eyes
+fixed on him, her hand raised in menace.
+
+"Do not forget that. I have warned you, Hyde Stockhausen. By the Great
+Power that regulates all things, human and divine, I affirm that I speak
+the truth. If harm in any shape or of any kind comes to my child, my
+dear one, my only one, through you, it will cost you more than you would
+now care to have foretold."
+
+"Bless my heart!" faintly ejaculated old Preen. And she drew away, and
+backed for shelter into the bean rows.
+
+Ketira brushed against me as she passed, taking no notice whatever; left
+the garden, and limped away. Hyde saw me swinging through the gate.
+
+"Are you there, Johnny?" he said, coming forward. "Did you hear that old
+gipsy woman?" And in a few words I told him all about it.
+
+"Such a fuss for nothing!" he exclaimed. "I'm sure I wish no ill to the
+girl. Kettie's very nice; bright as the day: and I thought no more harm
+of strolling a bit with her in the moonlight than I should think it if
+she were my sister."
+
+"But she is not your sister, you see, Hyde. And old Ketira does not like
+it."
+
+"I'll take precious good care to keep Kettie at arm's-length for the
+future; make you very sure of that," he said, in a short, fractious
+tone. "I don't care to be blamed for nothing. Tell Todhetley I can't
+spare the time to go fishing to-morrow--wish I could. Good-night."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+A fine commotion. Church Dykely up in arms. Kettie had disappeared.
+
+About a fortnight had gone on since the above night, during which period
+Ketira's rheumatism took so obstinate a turn that she had the felicity
+of keeping her bed. And one morning, upon Duffham's chancing to pay his
+visit to her before breakfast, for he was passing the hut on his way
+home from an early patient, he found the gipsy up and dressed, and just
+as wild as a lioness rampant. Kettie had gone away in the night.
+
+"Where's she gone to?" naturally asked Duffham, leaning on his cane, and
+watching the poor woman; who was whirling about like one demented, her
+rheumatism forgotten.
+
+"Ah, where's she gone to?--where?" raved old Ketira. "When I lay down
+last night, leaving her to put the plates away and to follow me up when
+she had done it, I dropped asleep at once. All night long I never woke;
+the pain was easier, all but gone, and I had been well-nigh worn out
+with it. 'Why, what's the time, Kettie?' I said to her in our own
+tongue, when I opened my eyes and saw the sun was high. She did not
+answer, and I supposed she had gone down to get the breakfast. I called,
+and called; in vain. I began to put my clothes on; and then I found that
+she had not lain down that night; and--woe's me! she's gone."
+
+Duffham could not make anything of it; it was less in his line than
+rheumatism and broken legs. Being sharp-set for his breakfast, he came
+away, telling Ketira he would see her again by-and-by.
+
+And, shortly afterwards, he chanced to meet her. Coming out on his round
+of visits, he encountered Ketira near Virginia Cottage. She had been
+making a call on Hyde Stockhausen.
+
+"He baffles me," she said to the doctor: and Duffham thought if ever
+a woman's face had the expression "baffled" plainly written on it,
+Ketira's had then. "I don't know what to make of him. His speech is
+fair: but--there's the instinct lying in my heart."
+
+"Why, you don't suppose, do you, that Mr. Stockhausen has stolen the
+child?" questioned Duffham, after a good pause of thought.
+
+"And by whom do _you_ suppose the child has been stolen, if not by him?"
+retorted the gipsy.
+
+"Nay," said Duffham, "I should say she has not been stolen at all. It
+is difficult to steal girls of her age, remember. Last night was fine;
+the stars were bright as silver: perhaps, tempted by it, she went out
+a-roaming, and you will see her back in the course of the day."
+
+"I suspect him," repeated Ketira, her great black eyes flashing their
+anger on Hyde's cottage. "He acts cleverly; but, I suspect him."
+
+Drawing her scarlet cloak higher on her shoulders, she bent her steps
+towards Oxlip Dell. Duffham was turning on his way, when old Abel Crew
+came up. We called him "Crew," you know, at Church Dykely.
+
+"Are you looking for Kettie?" questioned Duffham.
+
+"I don't know where to look for her," was Abel's answer. "This morning
+I was out before sunrise searching for rare herbs: the round I took
+was an unusually large one, but I did not see anything of the child.
+Ketira suspects that Mr. Stockhausen must know where she is."
+
+"And do you suspect he does?"
+
+"It is a question that I cannot answer, even to my own mind," replied
+Abel. "That they were sometimes seen talking and walking together, is
+certain; and, so far, he may be open to suspicion. But, sir, I know
+nothing else against him, and I cannot think he would wish to hurt her.
+I am on my way to ask him."
+
+Interested by this time in the drama, Duffham followed Abel to Virginia
+Cottage. Hyde Stockhausen was in the little den that he made his
+counting-house, adding up columns of figures in a ledger, and stared
+considerably upon being thus pounced upon.
+
+"I wonder what next!" he burst forth, turning crusty before Abel had got
+out half a sentence. "That confounded old gipsy has just been here with
+her abuse; and now you have come! She has accused me of I know not what
+all."
+
+"Of spiriting away her daughter," put in Duffham; who was standing back
+against the shelves.
+
+"But I have not done it," spluttered Hyde, talking too fast for
+convenience in his passion. "If I had spirited her away, as you call it,
+here she would be. Where could I spirit her to?--up into the air, or
+below the ground?"
+
+"That's just the question--where is she?" rejoined Duffham, gently
+swaying his big cane.
+
+"How should I know where she is?" retorted Hyde. "If I had 'spirited'
+her away--I must say I like that word!--here she'd be. Do you suppose I
+have got her in my house?--or down at the brick-kilns?"
+
+Abel, since his first checked sentence, had been standing quietly and
+thoughtfully, giving his whole attention to Hyde, as if wanting to see
+what he was made of. For the second time he essayed to speak.
+
+"You see, sir, we do not know that she is not here. We have your word
+for it; but----"
+
+"Then you had better look," interrupted Hyde, adding something about
+"insolence" under his breath. "Search the house. You are welcome to. Mr.
+Duffham can show you about it; he knows all its turnings and windings."
+
+What could have been in old Abel's thoughts did not appear on the
+surface; but he left the room with just a word of respectful apology for
+accepting the offer. Hyde, who had made it at random in his passion,
+never supposing it would be caught at, threw back his head disdainfully,
+and sent a contemptuous word after him. But when Duffham moved off in
+the same direction, he was utterly surprised.
+
+"Are _you_ going to search?"
+
+"I thought you meant me to be his pilot," said Duffham, as cool as you
+please. "There's not much to be seen. I expect, but the chairs and
+tables."
+
+Any way, Kettie was not to be seen. The house was but a small one, with
+no surreptitious closets or cupboards, or other hiding-places. All the
+rooms and passages stood open to the morning sun, and never a suspicious
+thing was in them.
+
+Hyde had settled to his accounts again when they got back. He did not
+condescend to turn his head or notice the offenders any way. Abel waited
+a moment, and then spoke.
+
+"It may seem to you that I have done a discourteous thing in availing
+myself of your offer, Mr. Stockhausen; if so, I crave your pardon for
+it. Sir, you cannot imagine how seriously this disappearance of the
+child is affecting her mother. Let it plead my excuse."
+
+"It cannot excuse your suspicion of me," returned Hyde, pausing for a
+moment in his adding up.
+
+"In all the ends of this wide earth there lies not elsewhere a shadow of
+clue to any motive for her departure. At least, none that we can gather.
+The only ground for thinking of you, sir, is that you and she have been
+friendly. For all our sakes, Mr. Stockhausen, I trust that she will be
+found, and the mystery cleared up."
+
+"Don't you think you had better have the brick-kilns visited--as well
+as my house?" sarcastically asked Hyde. But Abel, making no rejoinder,
+save a civil good-morning, departed.
+
+"And now I'll go," said Duffham.
+
+"The sooner the better," retorted Hyde, taking a penful of ink and
+splashing some of it on the floor.
+
+"There's no cause for you to put yourself out, young man."
+
+"I think there is cause," flashed Hyde. "When you can come to my house
+with such an accusation as this!--and insolently search it!"
+
+"The searching was the result of your own proposal. As to an accusation,
+none has been made in my hearing. Kettie has mysteriously disappeared,
+and it is only natural her people should wish to know where she is, and
+to look for her. You take up the matter in a wrong light, Mr. Hyde."
+
+"I don't know anything of Kettie"--in an injured tone; "I don't want to.
+It's rather hard to have her vagaries put upon my back."
+
+"Well, you have only to tell them you don't in an honest manner; I dare
+say they'll believe you. Abel Carew is one of the most reasonable men I
+ever knew; sensible, too. Try and find the child yourself; help them to
+do it, if you can see a clue; make common cause with them."
+
+"You would not like to be told that you had 'spirited' somebody away,
+more than I like it," grumbled Hyde; who, thoroughly put out, was hard
+to bring round. "I'm sure you are as likely to turn kidnapper as I am.
+It must be a good two weeks since anybody saw me speak to the girl."
+
+"I shall have my patients thinking I am kidnapped if I don't get off to
+them," cried Duffham. "Mrs. Godfrey's ill, and she is the very essence
+of impatience. Good-day."
+
+Thoroughly at home in the house, Duffham made no ceremony of departing
+by the back-door, it being more convenient for the road he was going.
+Deborah Preen was washing endive at the pump in the yard. She turned
+round to address Duffham as he was passing.
+
+"Has the master spoke to you about his throat, sir?"
+
+"No," said Duffham, halting. "What is amiss with his throat?"
+
+"He has been given to sore throats all his life, Dr. Duffham. Many's the
+time I have had him laid up with them when he was a child. Yesterday he
+was quite bad with one, sir; and so he is this morning."
+
+"Perhaps that's why he's cross," remarked Duffham.
+
+"Cross! and enough to make him cross!" returned she, taking up the
+implication warmly. "I ask your pard'n, sir, for speaking so to you; but
+I'd like to know what gentleman could help being cross when that yellow
+gipsy comes to attack him with her slanderous tongue, and say to him,
+Have you come across to my hut in the night and stole my daughter out of
+it?"
+
+"You think your master did not go across and commit the theft?"
+
+"I know he did not," was Preen's indignant answer. "He never stirred out
+of his own home, sir, all last night; he was nursing his throat indoors.
+At ten o'clock he went to bed, and I took him up a posset after he was
+in it. Well, sir, I was uneasy, for I don't like these sore throats,
+and between two and three o'clock I crept into his room and found him
+sleeping quietly; and I was in again this morning and woke him up with
+a cup o' tea."
+
+"A pretty good proof that he did not go out," said Duffham.
+
+"He never was as much as out of his bed, sir. The man that sleeps
+indoors locked up the house last night, and opened it again this
+morning. Ketira the gipsy would be in gaol if she got her deservings!"
+
+"I wonder where the rest of us would be if we got ours!" quoth Duffham.
+"I suppose I had better go back and take a look at this throat!"
+
+To see the miserable distress of Ketira that day, and the despair
+upon her face as she dodged about between Virginia Cottage and the
+brickfields, was like a gloomy picture.
+
+"Do you remember telling me once that you feared Kettie might run away
+to the tribe?" I asked, meeting her on one of these wanderings in the
+afternoon. "Perhaps that is where she is gone?"
+
+The suggestion seemed to offend her mortally. "Boy, I know better," she
+said, facing round upon me fiercely. "With the tribe she would be safe,
+and I at rest. The stars never deceive me."
+
+And, when the sun went down that night and the stars came out, the
+environs of Virginia Cottage were still haunted by Ketira the gipsy.
+
+
+II.
+
+You would not have known the place again. Virginia Cottage, the
+unpretending little homestead, had been converted into a mansion. Hyde
+Stockhausen had built a new wing at one end, and a conservatory at the
+other; and had put pillars before the rustic porch, over which the
+Virginia creeper climbed.
+
+We heard last month about Ketira the gipsy: and of the unaccountable
+disappearance of her daughter, Kettie; and of the indignant anger
+displayed by Hyde Stockhausen when it was suggested that he might have
+kidnapped her. Curiously enough, within a few days of that time, Hyde
+himself disappeared from Church Dykely: not in the mysterious manner
+that Kettie had, but openly and with intention.
+
+The inducing cause of Hyde's leaving, as was stated and believed, was
+a quarrel with his step-father, Massock. It chanced that the monthly
+settling-day, connected with the brickfields, fell just after Kettie
+vanished. Massock came over for it as usual, and was overbearing as
+usual; and perhaps Hyde, already in a state of inward irritation, was
+less forbearing than usual. Any way, ill-words arose between them.
+Massock accused Hyde of neglecting his interests, and of being too much
+of a gentleman to look after the work and the men. Hyde retorted: one
+word led to another, and there ensued a serious quarrel. The upshot was,
+that Hyde threw up his post. Vowing he would never again have anything
+to do with old Massock or his precious bricks as long as he lived, he
+packed up a small portmanteau and quitted Church Dykely there and then,
+to the intense tribulation of his ancient nurse and servant, Deborah
+Preen.
+
+"Leave him alone," said Massock roughly. "He'll be back safe enough in
+a day or two."
+
+"Where is he gone?" asked Ketira the gipsy: who, hovering still around
+Virginia Cottage, had seen Hyde's exit with his portmanteau.
+
+Massock stared at her, and at her red cloak: she had penetrated to his
+presence to ask the question. He had never before seen Ketira; never
+heard of her.
+
+"What is it to you?" he demanded, in his coarse manner. "Who are _you_?
+Do you come here to tell his fortune? Be off, old witch!"
+
+"His fortune may be told sooner than you care to hear it--if you are
+anything to him," was the gipsy's answer. And that same night she
+quitted Church Dykely herself, wandering away to be lost in the "wide
+wide world."
+
+Massock's opinion, that Hyde would return in a day or two, proved to be
+a mistaken one. Rimmer, at the Silver Bear, got a letter from a lawyer
+in Worcester, asking him to release Mr. Stockhausen from Virginia
+Cottage--which Hyde had taken for three years. But, this, Rimmer refused
+to do. So Hyde had to make the best of his bargain: and every quarter,
+as the quarters went on, the rent was punctually remitted to Henry
+Rimmer by the lawyer: who gave, however, no clue to his client's place
+of abode. It was said that Hyde had been reconciled to his uncle, Parson
+Hyde (now getting into his dotage), and was by him supplied with funds.
+
+One fine evening, however, in the late spring, when not very far short
+of a twelvemonth had elapsed, Hyde astonished Deborah Preen by his
+return. After a fit of crying, to show her joy, Deborah brought him in
+some supper and stood by while he ate it, telling him the news of what
+had transpired in the village since he left.
+
+"Are those beautiful brickfields being worked still?" he asked.
+
+"'Deed but they are then, Master Hyde. A sight o' bricks seems to be
+made at 'em. Pitt the foreman, he have took your place as manager, sir,
+and keeps the accounts."
+
+"Good luck to him!" said Hyde, drinking a glass of ale. "That queer old
+lady in the red cloak: what has become of her?"
+
+"What, that gipsy hag?" cried Preen. "She's dead, sir."
+
+"Dead!"
+
+"Yes, sir, dead: and a good riddance, too. She went away the very night
+you went, Mr. Hyde, and never came back again. A week or two ago Abel
+Carew got news that she was dead."
+
+(Shortly before this, some wandering gipsies had set up their camp
+within a mile or two of Church Dykely. Abel Carew, never having had news
+of Ketira since her departure, went to them to make inquiries. At first
+the gipsies seemed not to understand of whom he was speaking; but upon
+his making Ketira clear to them, they told him she had been dead about a
+month; of her daughter, Kettie, they knew nothing.)
+
+"She's not much loss," observed Hyde in answer to Deborah: and his face
+took a brighter look, as though the news were a relief--Preen noticed
+it. "The old gipsy was as mad as a March hare."
+
+"And ten times more troublesome than one," put in Preen. "Be you come
+home to stay, master?"
+
+"I dare say I shall," replied Hyde. "As good settle down here as
+elsewhere: and there'd be no fun in paying two rents."
+
+So we had Hyde Stockhausen amidst us once more. He did not intend to
+take up with brickmaking again, but to live as a gentleman. His uncle
+made him an allowance, and he was going to be married. Abel Carew
+questioned him about Kettie one day when they met on the common, asking
+whether he had seen her. Never, was the reply of Hyde. So that what
+with the girl's prolonged disappearance and her mother's death, it was
+assumed that we had done with the two gipsies for ever.
+
+Hyde was engaged to a Miss Peyton. A young lady just left an orphan,
+whom he had met only six weeks ago at some seaside place. He had fallen
+in love with her at first sight, and she with him. She had two or three
+hundred a-year: and Hyde, there was little doubt, would come into all
+his uncle's money; so he saw no reason why he should not make Virginia
+Cottage comfortable for her, and went off to the Silver Bear, to talk to
+Henry Rimmer about it.
+
+The result was, that improvements were put in hand without delay. A
+wing (consisting of a handsome drawing-room downstairs, and a bed and
+dressing-room above) was added to the cottage on one side; on the
+other side, Hyde built a conservatory. The house was also generally
+embellished and set in order, and some new furniture brought in. And I
+think if ever workmen worked quickly, these did; for the alterations
+seemed no sooner to be begun than they were done.
+
+"So you have sown your wild oats, Master Hyde," remarked the Squire one
+day in passing, as he stood to watch the finishing touches, then being
+put to the outside of the house.
+
+"Don't know that I ever had many to sow, sir," said Hyde, nodding to me.
+
+"And what sort of a young lady is this wife that you are about to bring
+home?" went on the pater.
+
+Hyde's face took a warm flush and his lips parted with a half-smile;
+which proved what she was to him. "You will see, sir," he said in
+answer.
+
+"When is the wedding to be?"
+
+"This day week."
+
+"This day week!" echoed the Squire, surprised: and Hyde, who seemed to
+have spoken incautiously, looked vexed.
+
+"I did not intend to say as much; my thoughts were elsewhere," he
+observed. "Don't mention it again, Mr. Todhetley. Even old Deborah has
+not been told."
+
+"I'll take care, lad. But it is known all over the place that the
+wedding is close at hand."
+
+"Yes: but not the day."
+
+"When do you go away for it?"
+
+"On Saturday."
+
+"Well, good luck to you, lad! By the way, Hyde," continued the Squire,
+"what did they do about that drain in the yard? Put a new pipe?"
+
+"Yes," said Hyde, "and they have made a very good job of it. Will you
+come and see it?"
+
+Pipes and drains held no attraction for me. While the pater went through
+the house to the yard, I strolled outside the front-gate and across
+to the little coppice to wait for him. It was shady there: the hot
+midsummer sun was ablaze to-day.
+
+And I declare that a feather might almost have knocked me down. There,
+amidst the trees of the coppice, like a picture framed round by green
+leaves, stood Ketira the gipsy. Or Ketira's ghost.
+
+Believing that she was dead and buried, I might have believed it to
+be the latter, but for the red cloth cloak: _that_ was real. She was
+staring at Hyde's house with all the fire of her glittering eyes,
+looking as though she were consumed by some inward fever.
+
+"Who lives there now?" she abruptly asked me without any other greeting,
+pointing her yellow forefinger at the house.
+
+"The cottage was empty ever so long," I carelessly said, some instinct
+prompting me not to tell too much. "Lately the workmen have been making
+alterations in it. How is Kettie? Have you found her?"
+
+She lifted her two hands aloft with a gesture of despair: but left me
+unanswered. "These alterations: by whom are they made?"
+
+But the sight of the Squire, coming forth alone, served as an excuse for
+my making off. I gave her a parting nod, saying I was glad to see her
+again in the land of the living.
+
+"Ketira the gipsy is here, sir."
+
+"No!" cried the pater in amazement. "Why do you say that, Johnny?"
+
+"She is here in the coppice."
+
+"Nonsense, lad! Ketira's dead, you know."
+
+"But I have just seen her, and spoken to her."
+
+"Then what did those gipsy-tramps mean by telling Abel Carew that she
+had died?" cried the Squire explosively, as he marched across the few
+yards of greensward towards the coppice.
+
+"Abel did not feel quite sure at the time that he and they were not
+talking of two persons. That must have been the case, sir."
+
+We were too late. Ketira was already half-way along the path that led to
+the common: no doubt on her road to pay a visit to Abel Carew. And I can
+only relate what passed there at second hand. Between ourselves, Ketira
+was no favourite of his.
+
+He was at his early dinner of bread-and-butter and salad when she walked
+in and astonished him. Abel, getting over his surprise, invited her to
+partake of the meal; but she just waved her hand in refusal, as much as
+to say that she was superior to dinner and dinner-eating.
+
+"Have you found Kettie?" was his next question.
+
+"It is the first time a search of mine ever failed," she replied,
+beginning to pace the little room in agitation, just as a tiger paces
+its confined cage. "I have given myself neither rest nor peace since I
+set out upon it; but it has not brought me tidings of my child."
+
+"It must have been a weary task for you, Ketira. I wish you would break
+bread with me."
+
+"I was helped."
+
+"Helped!" repeated Abel. "Helped by what?"
+
+"I know not yet, whether angel or devil. It has been one or the
+other:--according as he has, or has not, played me false."
+
+"As who has played you false?"
+
+"Of whom do you suppose I speak but _him_?" she retorted, standing to
+confront Abel with her deep eyes. "Hyde Stockhausen has in some subtle
+manner evaded me: but I shall find him yet."
+
+"Hyde Stockhausen is back here," quietly observed Abel.
+
+"Back here! Then it is no false instinct that has led _me_ here," she
+added in a low tone, apparently communing with herself. "Is Ketira with
+him?"
+
+"No, no," said Abel, vexed at the question. "Kettie has never come back
+to the place since she left it."
+
+"When did _he_ come?"
+
+"It must be about two months ago."
+
+"He is in the same dwelling-house as before! For what is he making it so
+grand?"
+
+"It is said to be against his marriage."
+
+"His marriage with Ketira?"
+
+"With a Miss Peyton; some young lady he has met. Why do you bring up
+Ketira's name in conjunction with this matter--or with him?"
+
+She turned to the open casement, and stood there, as if to inhale the
+sweet scent of Abel's flowers, and listen to the hum of his bees. Her
+face was working, her strange eyes were gleaming, her hands were clasped
+to pain.
+
+"I know what I know, Abel Carew. Let him look to it if he brings home
+any other wife than my Ketira."
+
+"Nay," remonstrated peaceful old Abel. "Because a young man has
+whispered pretty words in a maiden's ear, and given her, it may be, a
+moonlight kiss, that does not bind him to marry her."
+
+"And would I have wished to bind him had it ended there?" flashed the
+gipsy. "No; I should have been thankful that it _had_ so ended. I hated
+him from the first."
+
+"You have no proof that it did not so end, Ketira."
+
+"No proof; none," she assented. "No tangible proof that I could give
+to you, her father's brother, or to others. But the proof lies in the
+fatal signs that show themselves to me continually, and in the unerring
+instinct of my own heart. If the man puts another into the place that
+ought to be hers, let him look to it."
+
+"You may be mistaken, Ketira. I know not what the signs you speak of
+can be: they may show themselves to you but to mislead; and nothing is
+more deceptive than the fancies of one's imagination. Be it as it may,
+vengeance does not belong to us. Do not _you_ put yourself forward to
+work young Stockhausen ill."
+
+"I work him ill!" retorted the gipsy. "You are mistaking me altogether.
+It is not I who shall work it. I only see it--and foretell it."
+
+"Nay, why speak so strangely, Ketira? It cannot be that you----"
+
+"Abel Carew, talk not to me of matters that you do not understand,"
+she interrupted. "I know what I know. Things that I am able to see are
+hidden from you."
+
+He shook his head. "It is wrong to speak so of Hyde Stockhausen--or of
+any one. He may be as innocent in the matter as you or I."
+
+"But I tell you that he is not. And the conviction of it lies
+here"--striking herself fiercely on the breast.
+
+Abel sighed, and began to put his dinner-plates together. He could not
+make any impression upon her, or on the notion she had taken up.
+
+"Do you know what it is to have a breaking heart, Abel Carew?" she
+asked, her voice taking a softer tone that seemed to change it into a
+piteous wailing. "A broken heart one can bear; for all struggle is over,
+and one has but to put one's head down on the green earth and die. But
+a breaking heart means continuous suffering; a perpetual torture that
+slowly saps away the life; a never-ending ache of soul and of spirit,
+than which nothing in this world can be so hard to battle with. And for
+twelve months now this anguish has been mine!"
+
+Poor Ketira! Mistaken or not mistaken, there could be no question that
+her trouble was grievous to bear; the suspense, in which her days were
+passed, well-nigh unendurable.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+This, that I have told, occurred on Thursday morning. Ketira quitted
+Abel Carew only to bend her steps back towards Virginia Cottage, and
+stayed hovering around the house that day and the next. One or another,
+passing, saw her watching it perpetually, herself partly hidden. Now
+peeping out from the little coppice; now tramping quickly past the gate,
+as though she were starting off on a three-mile walk; now stealing to
+the back of the house, to gaze at the windows. There she might be seen,
+in one place or another, like a haunting red dragon: her object, as was
+supposed, being to get speech of Hyde Stockhausen. She did not succeed.
+Twice she went boldly to the door, knocked, and asked for him. Deborah
+Preen slammed it in her face. It was thought that Hyde, who then knew of
+her return and that the report of her death was false, must be on the
+watch also, to avoid her. If he wanted to go abroad and she was posted
+at the back, he slipped out in front: when he wished to get in again
+and caught sight of her red cloak illumining the coppice, he made a dash
+in at the back-gate, and was lost amid the kidney beans.
+
+By this time the state of affairs was known to Church Dykely: a rare
+dish of nuts for the quiet place to crack. Those of us who possessed
+liberty made pleas for passing by Virginia Cottage to see the fun. Not
+that there was much to see, except a glimpse of the red cloak in this
+odd spot or in that.
+
+"Stockhausen must be silly!" cried the Squire. "Why does he not openly
+see the poor woman and inquire what it is she wants with him? The idea
+of his shunning her in this absurd way! What does he mean by it, I
+wonder?"
+
+Now, before telling more, I wish to halt and say a word. That much
+ridicule will be cast on this story by the intelligent reader, is as
+sure as that apples grow in summer. Nevertheless, I am but relating what
+took place. Certain things in it were curiously strange; not at all
+explainable hitherto: possibly never to be explained. I chanced to be
+personally mixed up with it, so to say, in a degree; from its beginning,
+when Ketira and her daughter first appeared at Abel Carew's, to its
+ending, which has yet to be told. For that much I can vouch--I mean what
+I was present at. But you need not accord belief to the whole, unless
+you like.
+
+Chance, and nothing else, caused me to be sent over this same evening to
+Mr. Duffham's. It was Friday, you understand; and the eve of the day
+Hyde Stockhausen would depart preparatory to his marriage. One of our
+maids had been ailing for some days with what was thought to be a bad
+cold: as she did not get better, but grew more feverish, Mrs. Todhetley
+decided to send for the doctor, if only as a measure of precaution.
+
+"You can go over to Mr. Duffham's for me, Johnny," she said, as we got
+up from tea--which meal was generally taken at the manor close upon
+dinner, somewhat after the fashion that the French take their tasse de
+café. "Ask him if he will be so kind as to call in to see Ann when he is
+out to-morrow morning."
+
+Nothing loth was I. The evening was glorious, tempting the world
+out-of-doors, calm and beautiful, but very hot yet. The direct way to
+Duffham's from our house was not by Virginia Cottage: but, as a matter
+of course, I took it. Going along at tip-top speed until I came within
+sight of it, I then slackened to a snail's pace, the better to take
+observations.
+
+There's an old saying, that virtue is its own reward. If any virtue
+existed in my choosing this circuitous and agreeable route, I can only
+say that for once the promise was at fault, for I was _not_ rewarded.
+Were Hyde Stockhausen's house a prison, it could not have been much more
+closely shut up. The windows were closed on that lovely midsummer night;
+the doors looked tight as wax. Not a glimpse could I catch of as much as
+the bow of Deborah Preen's mob-cap atop of the short bedroom blinds; and
+Hyde might have been over in Africa for all that could be seen of him.
+
+Neither (for a wonder) was there any trace of Ketira the gipsy. Her red
+cloak was nowhere. Had she obtained speech of Hyde, and so terminated
+her watch, or had she given it up in despair? Any way, there was nothing
+to reward me for having come that much out of my road, and I went on,
+whistling dolorously.
+
+But, hardly had I got past the premises and was well on the field-path
+beyond, when I met Duffham. Giving him the message from home, which
+he said he would attend to, I enlarged on the disappointment just
+experienced in seeing nothing of anybody.
+
+"Shut up like a jail, is it?" quoth Duffham. "I have just had a note
+from Stockhausen, asking me to call there. His throat's troubling him
+again, he says: wants me to give him something that will cure him by
+to-morrow."
+
+I had turned with the doctor, and went walking with him up the garden,
+listening to what he said. But I meant to leave him when we reached the
+door. He began trying it. It was fastened inside.
+
+"I dare say you can come in and see Hyde, Johnny. What do you want with
+him?"
+
+"Not much; only to wish him good luck."
+
+"Is your master afraid of thieves that he bolts his doors?" cried
+Duffham to old Preen when she let us in.
+
+"'Twas me fastened it, sir; not master," was her reply. "That gipsy
+wretch have been about yesterday and to-day, wanting to get in. I've got
+my silver about, and don't want it stolen. Mr. Hyde's mother and Massock
+have been here to dinner; they've not long gone."
+
+Decanters and fruit stood on the table before Hyde. He started up to
+shake hands, appearing very much elated. Duffham, more experienced than
+I, saw that he had been taking quite enough wine.
+
+"So you have had your stepfather here!" was one of the doctor's first
+remarks. "Been making up the quarrel, I suppose."
+
+"He came of his own accord; I didn't invite him," said Hyde, laughing.
+"My mother wrote me word that they were coming--to give me their good
+wishes for the future."
+
+"Just what Johnny Ludlow here says he wants to give," said Duffham:
+though I didn't see that he need have brought my words up, and made a
+fellow feel shy.
+
+"Then, by Jove, you shall drink them in champagne!" exclaimed Hyde. He
+caught up a bottle of champagne that stood under the sideboard, from
+which the wire had been removed, and would have cut the string but for
+the restraining hand of Duffham.
+
+"No, Hyde; you have had rather too much as it is."
+
+"I swear to you that I have not had a spoonful. It has not been opened,
+you see. My mother refused it, and Massock does not care for champagne:
+he likes something heavier."
+
+"If you have not taken champagne, you have taken other wine."
+
+"Sherry at dinner, and port since," laughed Hyde.
+
+"And more of it than is good for you."
+
+"When Massock sits down to port wine he drinks like a fish," returned
+Hyde, still laughing. "Of course I had to make a show of drinking with
+him. I wished the port at Hanover."
+
+By a dexterous movement, he caught up a knife and cut the string. Out
+shot the cork with a bang, and he filled three of the tumblers that
+stood on the sideboard with wine and froth--one for each of us. "Your
+health, doctor," nodded he, and tossed off his own.
+
+"It will not do your throat good," said Duffham, angrily. "Let me look
+at the throat."
+
+"Not until you and Johnny have wished me luck."
+
+We did it, and drank the wine. Duffham examined the throat; and told
+Hyde, for his consolation, that it was not in a state to be trifled
+with.
+
+"Oh, it's nothing," said Hyde carelessly. "But I don't want it to be
+bad to-morrow when I travel, and I thought perhaps you might be able to
+give me something or other to set it to rights to-night. I start at ten
+to-morrow morning."
+
+"Sore throats are not cured so easily," retorted Duffham. "You must have
+taken cold."
+
+Telling him he would send in a gargle and a cooling draught, and that
+he was to go to bed soon, Duffham rose to leave. Hyde opened the
+glass-doors of the room that we might pass out that way, and stepped
+over the threshold with us. Talking with Duffham, he strolled onwards
+towards the gate.
+
+"About three weeks, I suppose," he said, in answer to the query of how
+long he meant to be away. "If Mabel----"
+
+Gliding out of the bushy laurels on one side the path, and planting
+herself right in front of us, came Ketira the gipsy. Her face looked
+yellower than ever in the twilight of the summer's evening; her piercing
+black eyes fiercer. Hyde was taken aback by the unexpected encounter. He
+started a step back.
+
+"Where's my daughter, Hyde Stockhausen?"
+
+"Go away," he said, in the contemptuous tone one might use to a dog. "I
+don't know anything of your daughter."
+
+"Only tell me where she is, that I may find her. I ask no more."
+
+"I tell you that I do not know anything of her. You must be mad to think
+it. Get along with you!"
+
+"Hyde Stockhausen, you lie. _You do know where she is; you know that it
+is with you she has been._ Heaven hears me say it: deny it if you dare."
+
+His face looked whiter than death. Just for an instant he seemed unable
+to speak. Ketira changed her tone to one of plaintive wailing.
+
+"She was my one little ewe lamb. What had she or I done to you that you
+should come as a spoiler to the fold? I _prayed_ you not. Make her your
+wife, and I will yet bless you. It is not too late. Do not break her
+heart and mine."
+
+Hyde had had time to rally his courage. A man full of wine can generally
+call some up, even in the most embarrassing of situations. He scornfully
+asked the gipsy whether she had come out of Bedlam. Ketira saw how hard
+he was--that there was no hope.
+
+"It is said that you depart to-morrow to bring home a bride, Hyde
+Stockhausen. _I counsel you not to do it._ For your own sake, and for
+the young woman's sake, I bid you beware. The marriage will not bring
+good to you or to her."
+
+That put Hyde in a towering passion. His words came out with a splutter
+as he spurned her from him.
+
+"Cease your folly, you senseless old beldame! Do you dare to threaten
+me? Take yourself out of my sight instantly, before I fetch my
+horsewhip. And, if ever you attempt to molest me again, I will have you
+sent to the treadmill."
+
+Ketira stood looking at him while he spoke, never moving an inch. As
+his voice died away she lifted her forefinger in warning. And anything
+more impressive than her voice, than her whole manner--anything more
+startlingly defiant than her countenance, I never wish to see.
+
+"It is well; I go. But listen to me, Hyde Stockhausen; mark what I say.
+Only three times shall you see me again in life. But each one of those
+times you shall have cause to remember; and after the last of them you
+will not need to see me more."
+
+It was a strange threat. That she made it, Duffham could, to this day,
+corroborate. Pulling her red cloak about her shoulders, she went swiftly
+through the gate, and disappeared within the opposite coppice.
+
+Hyde smiled; his good humour was returning to him. One can be brave
+enough when an enemy turns tail.
+
+"Idiotic old Egyptian!" he exclaimed lightly. "What on earth ever made
+her take the fancy into her head, that I knew what became of Kettie, I
+can't imagine. I wonder, Duffham, some of you people in authority here
+don't get her confined as a lunatic!"
+
+"We must first of all find that she is a lunatic," was Duffham's dry
+rejoinder.
+
+"Why, what else is she?"
+
+"Not that."
+
+"She is; and a dangerous one," retorted Hyde.
+
+"Nonsense, man! Gipsies have queer ways and notions; and--and--are not
+to be judged altogether as other people," added the doctor, finishing
+off (as it struck me) with different words from those he had been about
+to say. "Good-night; and don't take any more of that champagne."
+
+Hyde returned indoors, and we walked away, not seeing a sign of the red
+cloak anywhere.
+
+"I must say I should not like to be attacked in this manner, were I
+Hyde," I remarked to Duffham. "How obstinate the old gipsy is!"
+
+"Ah," replied Duffham. "I'd sooner believe her than him."
+
+The words surprised me, and I turned to him quickly. "Why do you say
+that, sir?"
+
+"Because I do say it, Johnny," was the unsatisfactory answer. "And now
+good-evening to you, lad, for I must send the physic in."
+
+"Just a word, please, Mr. Duffham. Do you know where that poor Kettie
+is?--and did you know that Hyde Stockhausen stole her?"
+
+"No, to both your questions, Johnny Ludlow."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Everybody liked Hyde's wife. A fragile girl with a weak voice, who
+looked as if a strong wind would blow her away. Duffham feared she was
+not strong enough to make old days.
+
+Virginia Cottage flourished. Parson Hyde had died and left all his
+fortune to Hyde: who had now nothing to do but take care of his wife and
+his money, and enjoy life. Before the next summer came round, Hyde had a
+son and heir. A fine little shaver, with blue eyes like Hyde's, and good
+lungs. His mother was a long while getting about again: and then she
+looked like a shadow, and had a short, hacking kind of cough. Hyde wore
+a grave face at times, and would say he wished Mabel could get strong.
+
+But Hyde was regarded with less favour than formerly. People did not
+scruple to call him "villain." And one Sunday, when Mr. Holland told
+us in his sermon that man's heart was deceitful above all things and
+desperately wicked, the congregation wondered whether he meant it
+especially for Stockhausen. For the truth had come out.
+
+When Hyde departed to keep his marriage engagement, Ketira the gipsy had
+again disappeared from Church Dykely. In less than a month afterwards,
+Abel Carew received a letter from her. She had found Kettie: and she had
+found that her own instincts against Hyde Stockhausen were not mistaken
+ones. For all his seeming fair face and his indignant denials, it was he
+who had been the thief.
+
+"Of all brazen-faced knaves, that Stockhausen must be the worst!--an
+adept in cunning, a lying hypocrite!" exploded the Squire.
+
+"I suspected him at the time," said Duffham.
+
+"You did! What were your grounds for it?"
+
+"I had no particular grounds. His manner did not appear to me to be
+satisfactory; that was all. Of course I was not sure."
+
+"He is a base man," concluded the Squire. And from that time he turned
+the cold shoulder on Hyde.
+
+But time is a sure healer of wounds; a softener of resentment. As it
+passed on, we began to forget Hyde's dark points, and to remember his
+good qualities. Any way, Ketira the gipsy and Ketira's daughter passed
+out of memory, just as they had passed out of sight.
+
+Suddenly we heard that Abel Carew was preparing to go on a journey. I
+went off to ask him where he was bound for.
+
+"I am going to see _them_, Master Johnny," he replied. "I don't know how
+they are off, sir, and it is my duty to see. The child is ill: and I
+fear they may be wanting assistance, which Ketira is too proud to write
+and ask for."
+
+"Kettie ill! What is the matter with her?"
+
+Abel shook his head. "I shall know more when I get there, sir."
+
+Abel Carew locked up his cottage and began his pilgrimage into
+Hertfordshire with a staff and a wallet, intending to walk all the way.
+In a fortnight he was back again, bringing with him a long face.
+
+"It is sad to see the child," he said to me, as I sat in his room
+listening to the news. "She is no more like the bonnie Kettie that we
+knew here, than a dead girl's like a living one. Worn out, bent and
+silent, she sits, day after day and week after week, and her mother
+cannot rouse her. She has sat so all along."
+
+"But what is the matter with her?"
+
+"She is slowly dying, sir."
+
+"What of?"
+
+"A broken heart."
+
+"Oh dear!" said I; believing I knew who had broken it.
+
+"Yes," said Abel, "_he_. He won her heart's best love, Master Johnny,
+and she pines for him yet. Ketira says it was his marriage that struck
+her the death-blow. A few weeks she may still linger, but they won't be
+many."
+
+Very sorry did I feel to hear it: for Ketira's sake as well as Kettie's.
+The remembrance of the day I had gilded the oak-ball, and her wonderful
+gratitude for it, came flashing back to me.
+
+And there's nothing more to add to this digression. Except that Kettie
+died.
+
+The tidings did not appear to affect Hyde Stockhausen. All his thoughts
+were given to his wife and child. Old Abel had never reproached him by
+as much as a word: if by chance they met, Abel avoided looking at him,
+or turned off another way.
+
+When the baby was six months old and began to cut his teeth, he did
+not appear inclined to do it kindly. He grew thin and cross; and the
+parents, who seemed to think no baby ever born could come up to this
+one, began to be anxious. Hyde worshipped the child ridiculously.
+
+"The boy will do well enough if he does not get convulsions," Duffham
+said in semi-confidence to some people over his surgery counter. "If
+_they_ come on--why, I can't answer for what the result might be. Fat?
+Yes, he is a great deal too fat: they feed him up so."
+
+The surgeon was sitting by his parlour-fire one snowy evening shortly
+after this, when Stockhausen burst upon him in a fine state of
+agitation; arms working, breath gone. The baby was in a fit.
+
+"Come, come; don't you give way," cried the doctor, believing Hyde was
+going into a fit on his own account. "We'll see."
+
+Out of one convulsion into another went the child that night: but in a
+few days it was better; thought to be getting well. Mr. and Mrs.
+Stockhausen in consequence felt themselves in the seventh heaven.
+
+"The danger is quite past," observed Hyde, walking down the snowy path
+with Duffham, one morning when the doctor had been paying a visit; and
+Hyde rubbed his hands in gleeful relief, for he had been like a crazed
+lunatic while the child lay ill. "Duffham, if that child had died, I
+think _I_ should have died."
+
+"Not a bit of it," said Duffham. "You are made of tougher stuff."
+
+He was about to open the garden-gate as he spoke. But, suddenly
+appearing there to confront them stood Ketira the gipsy. A moment's
+startled pause ensued. Duffham spoke kindly to her. Hyde recoiled a step
+or two; as if the sight had frightened him.
+
+"You may well start back," she said to the latter, taking no notice of
+Duffham's civility. "I told you, you should not see me many times in
+life, Hyde Stockhausen, but that when you did, I should be the harbinger
+of evil. Go home, and meet it."
+
+Turning off under the garden-hedge, without another word, she
+disappeared from their view as suddenly as she had come into it. Hyde
+Stockhausen made a feint of laughing.
+
+"The woman is more mad than ever," he said. "Decidedly, Duffham, she
+ought to be in confinement."
+
+Never an assenting syllable gave Duffham. He was looking as stern as
+a judge. "What's that?" he suddenly exclaimed, turning sharply to the
+house.
+
+A maid-servant was flying down the path. Deborah Preen stood at the
+door, crying and calling as if in some dire calamity. Hyde rushed
+towards her, asking what was amiss. Duffham followed more slowly. The
+baby had got another attack of convulsions.
+
+And this time it was for death.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+When these events were happening, Great Malvern was not the overgrown,
+fashionable place it is now; but a quiet little spot with only a few
+houses in it, chiefly clustering under the highest of the hills. Amid
+these houses, one bright May day, Hyde Stockhausen went, seeking
+lodgings.
+
+Hyde had not died of the loss of the baby. For here he was, alive and
+well, nearly eighteen months afterwards. That it had been a sharp trial
+for him nobody doubted; and for his wife also. And when a second baby
+came to replace the first, it brought them no good, for it did not live
+a week.
+
+That was in March: two months ago: and ever since Mrs. Stockhausen
+had been hovering between this world and the next. A fever and other
+ailments had taken what little strength she had out of her. _This_,
+to Hyde Stockhausen, was a worse affliction than even the loss of the
+children, for she was to him as the very apple of his eye. When somewhat
+improving, the doctors recommended Malvern. So Hyde had brought her to
+it with a nurse and old Deborah; and had left them at the Crown Hotel
+while he looked for lodgings.
+
+He found them in one of the houses down by the abbey. Some nice rooms,
+quite suitable. And to them his wife was taken. For a very few days
+afterwards she seemed to be getting better: and then all the bad
+symptoms returned. A doctor was called in. He feared she might not
+rally again; that the extreme debility might prevent it: and he said
+as much to Hyde in private.
+
+Anything more unreasonable than the spirit in which Hyde met this, the
+Malvern doctor had never seen.
+
+"You are a fool," said Hyde. "Begging your pardon, sir, I should think
+you don't know your profession. My wife is fifty pounds better than she
+was at Church Dykely. How can you take upon yourself to say she will not
+rally?"
+
+"I said she might not," replied the surgeon, who happened to possess a
+temper mild as milk. "I hope she will with all my heart. I shall do my
+best to bring it about."
+
+It was an anxious time. Mrs. Stockhausen fluctuated greatly: to-day able
+to sit up in an easy-chair; to-morrow too exhausted to be lifted out of
+bed. But, one morning she did seem to be ever so much better. Her cheeks
+were pink, her lips had a smile.
+
+"Ah," said the doctor cheerfully when he went in, "we shall do now, I
+hope. You are up early to-day."
+
+"I felt so much better that I wanted to get up and surprise you," she
+answered in quite a strong voice--for her. "And it was so warm, and the
+world looked so beautiful. I should like to be able to mount one of
+those donkeys and go up the hill. Hyde says that the view, even from St.
+Ann's well, is charming."
+
+"So it is," assented the surgeon. "Have you never seen it?"
+
+"No, I have not been to Malvern before."
+
+This was the first day of June. Hyde would not forget the date to the
+last hour of his life. It was hot summer weather: the sun came in at the
+open window, touching her hair and her pale forehead as she lay back in
+the easy-chair after the doctor left; a canary at a neighbouring house
+was singing sweetly; the majestic hills, with their light and shade,
+looked closer even than they were in reality. Hyde began to lower the
+blind.
+
+"Don't, please, Hyde."
+
+"But, my darling, the sun will soon be in your eyes."
+
+"I shall like it. Is it not a lovely day! I think it is that which has
+put new life into me."
+
+"And we shall soon have you up the hill, where we can sit and look
+all over everywhere. On one or two occasions, when the atmosphere was
+rarefied to an unusual degree, I have caught the silver line of the
+Bristol Channel."
+
+"How pleasant it will be, Hyde! To sit there with you, and to know that
+I am getting well!"
+
+Early in the afternoon, when Mabel lay down to rest, Hyde went strolling
+up the hill, for the first time since his present stay at Malvern. He
+got as far as St. Ann's; drank a tumbler of the water, and then paced
+about, hither and thither, to the right and left, not intending to
+ascend higher that day. If he went to the summit, Mabel might be awake
+before he got home again; and he would not have lost five minutes of her
+waking moments for a mine of gold. Looking at his watch, he sat down on
+a bench that was backed by some dark trees.
+
+"Yes," he mused, "it will be delightful to sit about here with Mabel,
+and show her the different points of interest in the landscape.
+Worcester Cathedral, and St. Andrew's Spire; and the Bristol----"
+
+Some stir behind caused him to turn his head. The words froze on his
+tongue. There stood Ketira the gipsy. She had been sitting or lying
+amidst the trees, wrapped in her red cloak. Hyde's look of startled
+dread was manifest. She saw it; and accosted him.
+
+"We meet again, Hyde Stockhausen. Ah, you have cause to fear!--your face
+may well whiten to the shivering hue of snow at sight of me! You are
+alone in the world now--as you left my daughter to be. Once more we
+shall see one another. Till then farewell."
+
+Recovering his equanimity when left alone, Hyde betook himself down the
+zig-zag path towards the village, calling the gipsy all the wicked names
+in the dictionary, and feeling tempted to give her into custody.
+
+At his home, he was met by a commotion. The nurse wore a scared face;
+Deborah Preen, wringing her hands, burst out sobbing.
+
+Mabel was dead. Had died in a fainting-fit.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Leaving his wife in her grave at Malvern, Hyde Stockhausen returned to
+Church Dykely. We hardly knew him.
+
+A more changed man than Hyde was from that time the world has
+never seen. He walked about like a melancholy maniac, hands in his
+coat-pockets, eyes on the ground, steps dragging; looking just like
+one who has some great remorse lying upon his conscience and is being
+consumed by the past. The most wonderful thing in the eyes of Church
+Dykely was, that he grew religious: came to church twice on Sunday,
+stayed for the Sacrament, was good to the poor, gentle and kindly to
+all. Mr. Holland observed to the Squire that Stockhausen had become a
+true Christian. He made his will, and altogether seemed to be tired of
+life.
+
+"Go you, Johnny, and ask him to come over to us sometimes in an evening;
+tell him it will be a break to his loneliness," said the Squire to me
+one day. "Now that the poor fellow is ill and repentant, we must let
+bygones be bygones. I hear that Abel Carew spent half-an-hour sociably
+with him yesterday."
+
+I went off as directed. Summer had come round again, for more than a
+year had now passed since Mabel's death, and the Virginia creeper on
+the cottage walls was all alight with red flowers. Hyde was pacing his
+garden in front of it, his head bent.
+
+"Is it you, Johnny?" he said, in the patient, gentle tone he now always
+used, as he held his hand out. He was more like a shadow than a man; his
+face drawn and long, his blue eyes large and dark and sad.
+
+"We should be so glad if you would come," I added, after giving the
+message. "Mrs. Todhetley says you make yourself too much of a stranger.
+Will you come this evening?"
+
+He shook his head slightly, clasping my hand the while, his own feeling
+like a burning coal, and smiling the sweetest and saddest smile.
+
+"You are all too good for me; too considerate; better far than I
+deserve. No, I cannot come to you this evening, Johnny: I have not the
+spirits for it; hardly the strength. But I will come one evening if I
+can. Thank them all, Johnny, for me."
+
+And he did come. But he could not speak much above a whisper, so
+weak and hollow had his voice grown. And of all the humble-minded,
+kindly-spirited individuals that ever sat at our tea-table, the chiefest
+was Hyde Stockhausen.
+
+"I fear he is going the way of all the Stockhausens," said Mrs.
+Todhetley afterwards. "But what a beautiful frame of mind he is in!"
+
+"Beautiful, you call it!" cried the pater. "The man seems to me to be
+eating his heart out in some impossible atonement. Had I set fire to the
+church and burnt up all the congregation, I don't think it could have
+subdued me to that extent."
+
+Of all places, where should I next meet Hyde but at Worcester races! We
+knew that he had been worse lately, that his mother had come to Virginia
+Cottage to be with him at the last, and that there was no further hope.
+Therefore, to see Hyde this afternoon, perched on a tall horse on
+Pitchcroft, looked more like magic than reality.
+
+"_You_ at the races, Hyde!"
+
+"Yes; but not for pleasure," he answered, smiling faintly; and looking
+so shadowy and weak that it was a marvel how he could stick on the
+horse. "I am in search of one who is growing too fond of these scenes.
+I want to find him--and to say a few last words to him."
+
+"If you mean Jim Massock"--for I thought it could be nobody but young
+Jim--"I saw him yonder, down by the shows. He was drinking porter
+outside a booth. How are you, Hyde?"
+
+"Oh, getting on slowly," he said, with a peculiar smile.
+
+"Getting on! It looks to me to be the other way."
+
+Turning his horse quickly round, after nodding to me, in the direction
+of the shows and drinking booths, he nearly turned it upon a tall, gaunt
+skeleton in a red cloak--Ketira the gipsy. She must have sprung out of
+the crowd.
+
+But oh, how ill she looked! Hyde was strangely altered; but not as she
+was. The yellow face was shrivelled and shrunken, the fire had left
+her eyes. Hyde checked his horse; but the animal turned restive. He
+controlled it with his hand, and sat still before Ketira.
+
+"Yes, look at me," she burst forth. "_For the last time._ The end is
+close at hand both for you and for me. We shall meet Kettie where we are
+going."
+
+He leaned from his horse to speak to her: his voice a low sad wail, his
+words apparently those of deprecating prayer. Ketira heard him quietly
+to the end, gazing into his face, and then slowly turned away.
+
+"Fare you well, Hyde Stockhausen. Farewell for ever."
+
+Before leaving the course Hyde had an accident. While talking to Jim
+Massock, some drums and trumpets struck up their noise at a neighbouring
+show; the horse started violently, and Hyde was thrown. He thought he
+was not much hurt and mounted again.
+
+"What else could you expect?" demanded Duffham, when Hyde got back to
+Virginia Cottage. "You have not strength to sit a donkey, and you must
+go careering off to Worcester races on a fiery horse!"
+
+But the fall had done Hyde some inward damage, and it hastened the end.
+He died that day week.
+
+"Some men's sins go before them to Judgment, and some follow after,"
+solemnly said Mr. Holland the next Sunday from the pulpit. "He who is
+gone from among us had taken his to his Saviour--and he is now at rest."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+"All chance and coincidence," pronounced Duffham, talking over the
+strange threat of Ketira the gipsy and its stranger working out. "Yes;
+chance, I say, each of the three times. The woman, happening to be at
+hand, must have known by common report that the child was in peril;
+she may have learnt at Malvern that the wife was dying; and any goose
+with eyes in its head might have read coming death on _his_ face that
+afternoon on Pitchcroft. That's all about it, Johnny."
+
+Very probably. The reader can exercise his own judgment. I only know it
+all happened.
+
+
+
+
+THE CURATE OF ST. MATTHEW'S.
+
+
+I.
+
+"No, Johnny Ludlow, I shall not stay at home, and have the deeds sent up
+and down by post. I know what lawyers are; so will you, some time: this
+letter to be read and answered to-day; that paper to be digested and
+despatched back to-morrow--anything to enchance their bill of costs. I
+intend to be in London, on the spot; and so will you be, Mr. Johnny."
+
+So said Mr. Brandon to me, as we sat in the bay-window at Crabb Cot, at
+which place we were staying. _I_ was willing enough to go to London;
+liked the prospect beyond everything; but he was not well, and I thought
+of the trouble to him.
+
+"Of course, sir, if you consider it necessary we should be there.
+But----"
+
+"Now, Johnny Ludlow, I have told you my decision," he interrupted,
+cutting me short in all the determination of his squeaky little voice.
+"You go with me to London, sir, and we start on Monday morning next; and
+I dare say we shall be kept there a week. I know what lawyers are."
+
+This happened when I came of age, twenty-one; but I should not be of age
+as to my property for four more years: until then, Mr. Brandon remained
+my arbitrary guardian and trustee, just as strictly as he had been.
+Arbitrary so far as doing the right thing as trustee went, not suffering
+me, or any one else, to squander a shilling. One small bit of property
+fell to me now; a farm; and old Brandon was making as much legal
+commotion over the transfer of it from his custody to mine, as though it
+had been veined with gold. For this purpose, to execute the deeds of
+transfer, he meant to take up his quarters in London, to be on the spot
+with the lawyers who had it in hand, and to carry me up with him.
+
+And what great events trivial chances bring about! Chances, as they are
+called. These "chances" are all in the hands of one Divine Ruler, who
+is ever shaping them to further His own wise ends. But for my going to
+London that time and staying there--however, I'll not let the cat out of
+the bag.
+
+He stayed with us at Crabb Cot until the Monday, when we started for
+London; the Squire and Tod coming to the station to see us off. Mr.
+Brandon wore a nankeen suit, and had a green veil in readiness. A green
+veil, if you'll believe me! The sun was under a cloud just then; had
+been for the best part of the morning; but if it came out fiercely--Tod
+threw up his arms behind old Brandon's back, and gave me a grin and a
+whisper.
+
+"I wouldn't be you for something, Johnny; he'll be taken for a lunatic."
+
+"And mind you take care of yourself, sir," put in the Squire, to me.
+"London is a dreadful place; full of temptations; and you are but an
+inexperienced boy, Johnny. Be cautious and watchful, lad; don't pick up
+any strange acquaintances in the streets; sharpers are on the watch to
+get you into conversation, and then swindle you out of all the money in
+your pockets. Be sure don't forget the little hamper for Miss Deveen;
+and----"
+
+The puffing of the engine, as we started, drowned the rest. We reached
+Paddington, smoothly and safely--and old Brandon did not once put on the
+veil. He took a cab to the Tavistock Hotel, and I another cab to Miss
+Deveen's.
+
+For she had asked me to stay with her. Hearing of my probable visit to
+town through a letter of Helen Whitney's, she, ever kind, wrote at once,
+saying, if I did go, I must make her house my home for the time, and
+that it would be a most delightful relief to the stagnation she and Miss
+Cattledon had been lately enjoying. Of course that was just her pleasant
+way of putting it.
+
+The house looked just as it used to look; the clustering trees of the
+north-western suburb were as green and grateful to the tired eye as of
+yore; and Miss Deveen, in grey satin, received me with the same glad
+smile. I knew I was a favourite of hers; she once said there were few
+people in the world she liked as well as she liked me--which made me
+feel proud and grateful. "I should leave you a fortune, Johnny," she
+said to me that same day, "but that I know you have plenty of your own."
+And I begged her not to do anything of the kind; not to think of it:
+she must know a great many people to whom her money would be a Godsend.
+She laughed at my earnestness, and told me I should be unselfish to the
+end.
+
+We spent a quiet evening. The grey-haired curate, Mr. Lake, who had come
+in the first evening I ever spent at Miss Deveen's, years ago, came in
+again by invitation. "He is so modest," she had said to me, in those
+long-past years, "he never comes without being invited:" and he was
+modest still. His hair had been chestnut-coloured once; it was half
+grey and half chestnut now; and his face and voice were gentle, and his
+manners kindly. Cattledon was displaying her most gracious behaviour,
+and thinnest waist; one of the roses I had brought up with the
+strawberries was sticking out of the body of her green silk gown.
+For at least half-a-dozen years she had been setting her cap at the
+curate--and I think she must have been endowed with supreme patience.
+
+"If you do not particularly want me this morning, Miss Deveen, I think
+I will go over to service."
+
+It was the next morning, and after breakfast. Cattledon had been
+downstairs, giving the orders for dinner--and said this on her return.
+Every morning she went through the ceremony of asking whether she was
+wanted, before attiring herself for church.
+
+"Not I," cried Miss Deveen, with a half-smile. "Go, and welcome,
+Jemima!"
+
+I stood at the window listening to the ting-tang: the bell of St.
+Matthew's Church could be called nothing else: and watched her pick her
+way across the road, just deluged by the water-cart. She wore a striped
+fawn-coloured gown, cut straight up and down, which made her look all
+the thinner, and a straw bonnet and white veil. The church was on
+the other side of the wide road, lower down, but within view. Some
+stragglers went into it with Cattledon; not many.
+
+"Does it pay to hold the daily morning service?"
+
+"Pay?" repeated Miss Deveen, looking at me with an arch smile. And I
+felt ashamed of my inadvertent, hasty word.
+
+"I mean, is the congregation sufficient to repay the trouble?"
+
+"The congregation, Johnny, usually consists of some twenty people, a few
+more, or a few less, as may chance; and they are all young ladies," she
+added, the smile deepening to a laugh. "At least, unmarried ones; some
+are as old as Miss Cattledon. Two of them are widows of thirty-five:
+they are especially constant in attendance."
+
+"They go after the curate," I said, laughing with Miss Deveen. "One year
+when Mr. Holland was ill, down with us, he had to take on a curate, and
+the young ladies ran after him."
+
+"Yes, Johnny, the young ladies go after the curates; we have two of
+them. Mr. Lake is the permanent curate; he has been here, oh, twelve or
+thirteen years. He does the chief work, in the church and out of it; we
+have a great many poor, as I think you know. The other curate is changed
+at least every year, and is generally a young deacon, fresh from
+college. Our Rector is fond of giving young men their title to orders.
+The young fellow we have now is a nobleman's grandson, with more money
+in his pocket to waste on light gloves and hair-wash than poor Mr. Lake
+dare spend on all his living."
+
+"Mr. Lake seems to be a very good man."
+
+"A better man never lived," returned Miss Deveen warmly, as she got
+up from the note she was writing, and came to my side. "Self-denying,
+anxious, painstaking; a true follower of his Master, a Christian to
+the very depths of his heart. He is one of those unobtrusive men whose
+merits are kept hidden from the world in general, who are content to
+work on patiently and silently in their path of duty, looking for no
+promotion, no reward here, because it seems to lie so very far away
+from their track."
+
+"Is Mr. Lake poor?"
+
+"Mr. Lake has just one hundred pounds a-year, Johnny. It was what Mr.
+Selwyn offered him when he first came, and it has never been increased.
+William Lake told me one day," added Miss Deveen, "that he thought the
+hundred a-year riches then. He was not a very young man; turned thirty;
+but his stipend in the country had been only fifty pounds a-year. To
+have it doubled all at once, no doubt did seem like riches."
+
+"Why does not the Rector raise it?"
+
+"The Rector says he can't afford to do it. I believe Mr. Lake once
+plucked up courage to ask him for a small increase: but it was of no
+use. The living is worth six hundred a-year, out of which the senior
+curate's stipend has to be paid; and Mr. Selwyn's family is expensive.
+His two sons are just leaving college. So, poor Mr. Lake has just
+plodded on with his hundred a-year, and made it do. The Rector wishes
+he could raise it; he knows his worth. During this prolonged illness
+of Mr. Selwyn's he has been most indefatigable."
+
+"Is Mr. Selwyn ill?"
+
+"Not very ill, but ailing. He has been so for two years. He generally
+preaches on a Sunday morning, but that is about all the duty he has been
+able to take. Mr. Lake is virtually the incumbent; he does everything,
+in the church and out of it."
+
+"Without the pay," I remarked.
+
+"Without the pay, Johnny. His hundred a-year, however, seems to suffice
+him. He never grumbles at it, never complains, is always contented and
+cheerful: and no doubt will be contented with it to the end."
+
+"But--if he has no more than that, and no expectation of more, how is
+it that the ladies run after him? They can't expect him to marry upon
+a hundred a-year."
+
+"My dear Johnny, let a clergyman possess nothing but the white surplice
+on his back, the ladies would trot at his heels all the same. It comes
+naturally to them. They trust to future luck, you see; promotion is
+always possible, and they reckon upon it. I'm sure the way Mr. Lake gets
+run after is as good as a play. This young lady sends him a pair of
+slippers, her own work; that one embroiders a cushion for him: Cattledon
+painted a velvet fire-screen for him last year--'Oriental tinting.' You
+never saw a screen so gorgeous."
+
+"Do you think he has--has--any idea of Miss Cattledon?"
+
+"Just as much as he has of me," cried Miss Deveen. "He is kind and
+polite to her; as he is, naturally, to every one; but you may rely upon
+it he never gave her a word or a look that would be construed into
+anything warmer."
+
+"How silly she must be!"
+
+"Not more silly than the rest are. It is a mania, Johnny, and they
+all go in for it. Jemima Cattledon--stupid old thing!--cherishes hopes
+of Mr. Lake: a dozen others cherish the same. Most of them are worse
+than she is, for they course about the parish after him all day long.
+Cattledon never does that: with all her zeal, she does not forget that
+she is a gentlewoman; she meets him here, at my house, and she goes to
+church to see and hear him, but she does not race after him."
+
+"Do you think he is aware of all this pursuit?"
+
+"Well, he must be, in a degree; William Lake is not a simpleton. But the
+very hopelessness of his being able to marry must in his mind act as a
+counterbalance, and cause him to look upon it as a harmless pastime. How
+could he think any one of them in earnest, remembering his poor hundred
+pounds a-year?"
+
+Thus talking, the time slipped on, until we saw the congregation coming
+out of church. The service had taken just three-quarters-of-an-hour.
+
+"Young Chisholm has been reading the prayers to-day; I am sure of that,"
+remarked Miss Deveen. "He gabbles them over as fast as a parrot."
+
+The ladies congregated within the porch, and without: ostensibly to
+exchange compliments with one another; in reality to wait for the
+curates. The two appeared together: Mr. Lake quiet and thoughtful; Mr.
+Chisholm, a very tall, slim, empty-headed young fellow, smiling here,
+and shaking hands there, and ready to chatter with the lot.
+
+For full five minutes they remained stationary. Some important subject
+of conversation had evidently been started, for they stood around Mr.
+Lake, listening to something he was saying. The pew-opener, a woman in
+a muslin cap, and the bell-ringer, an old man in a battered hat, halted
+on the outskirts of the throng.
+
+"One or other of those damsels is sure to invent some grave question
+to discuss with him," laughed Miss Deveen. "Perhaps Betty Smith has
+been breaking out again. She gives more trouble, with her alternate
+repentings and her lapsings to the tap-room, than all the rest of the
+old women put together."
+
+Presently the group dispersed; some going one way, some another. Young
+Chisholm walked off at a smart pace, as if he meant to make a round of
+morning calls; the elder curate and Miss Cattledon crossed the road
+together.
+
+"His way home lies past our house," remarked Miss Deveen, "so that he
+often does cross the road with her. He lives at Mrs. Topcroft's."
+
+"Mrs. Topcroft's! What a curious name."
+
+"So it is, Johnny. But she is a curiously good woman--in my opinion;
+worth her weight in gold. Those young ladies yonder turn up their noses
+at her, calling her a 'lodging-letter.' They are jealous; that's the
+truth; jealous of her daughter, Emma Topcroft. Cattledon, I know, thinks
+the young girl the one chief rival to be feared."
+
+Mr. Lake passed the garden with a bow, raising his hat to Miss Deveen;
+and Cattledon came in.
+
+I went off, as quick as an omnibus could take me, to the Tavistock,
+being rather behind time, and preparing for a blowing-up from Mr.
+Brandon in consequence.
+
+"Are you Mr. Ludlow, sir?" asked the waiter.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then Mr. Brandon left word that he was going down to Lincoln's Inn,
+sir; and if he is not back here at one o'clock precisely, I was to say
+that you needn't come down again till to-morrow morning at ten."
+
+I went into the Strand, and amused myself with looking at the shops,
+getting back to the hotel a few minutes after one. No; Mr. Brandon
+had not come in. All I could do was to leave Miss Deveen's note of
+invitation to dine with her--that day, or any other day that might be
+more convenient, or every day--and tell the man to be sure to give it
+him.
+
+Then I went into the National Gallery, after getting some Bath buns at
+a pastrycook's. It was between five and six when I returned to Miss
+Deveen's. Her carriage had just driven up; she and Cattledon were
+alighting from it.
+
+"I have a little commission to do yet at one of the shops in the
+neighbourhood, and I may as well go about it now," remarked Miss Deveen.
+"Will you go with me, Johnny?"
+
+Of course I said I would go; and Miss Cattledon was sent indoors to
+fetch a small paper parcel that lay on the table in the blue room.
+
+"It contains the patterns of some sewing silks that I want to get," she
+added to me, as we stood waiting on the door-steps. "If----"
+
+At that moment, out burst the ting-tang. Miss Deveen suddenly broke off
+what she was saying, and turned to look at the church.
+
+"Do they have service at this hour?" I asked.
+
+"Hush, Johnny! That bell is not going for service. Some one must be
+dead."
+
+In truth, I heard that, even as she spoke. Three times three it struck
+out, followed by the sharp, quick strokes.
+
+"That's the passing-bell!" exclaimed Cattledon, coming quickly from the
+hall with the little packet in her hand. "Who _can_ be dead? It hardly
+rings out once in a year."
+
+For, it appeared, the bell at St. Matthew's did not in general toll for
+the dead: was not expected to do so. Our bell at Church Dykely rang for
+any one who could pay for it.
+
+Waiting there on the steps, we saw Mr. Lake coming from the direction
+of the church. Miss Deveen walked down the broad path of her small
+front-garden, and stood at the gate to wait for him.
+
+"Who is it?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, it is a grievous thing!" he cried, in answer, his gentle face pale,
+his blue eyes suppressing their tears. "It is no other than my dear
+Rector; my many years' friend!"
+
+"The Rector!" gasped Miss Deveen.
+
+"Indeed it is. The complaint he suffered from has increased its symptoms
+lately, but no one thought of attaching to them the slightest danger. At
+two o'clock to-day he sent for me, saying he felt very ill. I found him
+so when I got there; ill, and troubled. He had taken a turn for the
+worse; and death--death," added Mr. Lake, pausing to command his voice,
+"was coming on rapidly."
+
+Miss Deveen had turned as white as her point-lace collar.
+
+"He was troubled, you say?" she asked.
+
+"In such a case as this--meeting death face to face unexpectedly--it is
+hardly possible not to be troubled, however truly we may have lived in
+preparation for it," answered the sad, soft voice of the curate. "Mr.
+Selwyn's chief perplexity lay in the fact that he had not settled his
+worldly affairs."
+
+"Do you mean, not made his will?"
+
+"Just so," nodded Mr. Lake; "he had meant to do so, he said to me, but
+had put it off from time to time. We got a lawyer in, and it was soon
+done; and--and--I stayed on with him afterwards to the end."
+
+"Oh dear, it is a piteous tale," sighed Miss Deveen. "And his wife and
+daughters are away!"
+
+"They went to Oxford last Saturday for a week; and the two sons are
+there, as you know. No one thought seriously of his illness. Even this
+morning, when I called upon him after breakfast, though he said he was
+not feeling well, and did not look well, such a thing as danger never
+occurred to me. And now he is dead!"
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Never did a parson's death cause such a stir in a parish as poor Mr.
+Selwyn's did in this. A lively commotion set in. People flew about to
+one another's houses like chips in a gale of wind. Not only was the
+sorrow to himself to be discussed, but the uncertainty as to what would
+happen now. Some six months previously a church not far off, St.
+Peter's, which had rejoiced in three energetic curates, and as many
+daily services, suddenly changed its incumbent; the new one proved to be
+an elderly man with wife and children, who did all the duty himself, and
+cut off the curates and the week-day prayers. What if the like calamity
+should happen to St. Matthew's!
+
+I was away most of the following day with Mr. Brandon, so was not in the
+thick of it, but the loss was made up for in the evening.
+
+"Of course it is impossible to say who will get the living," cried Mrs.
+Jonas, one of the two widows already mentioned, who had been dining with
+Miss Deveen. "I know who ought to--and that is our dear Mr. Lake."
+
+"'Oughts' don't go for much in this world," growled Dr. Galliard, a
+sterling man, in spite of his gruffness. He had recently brought
+Cattledon out of a bilious attack, and ran in this evening to see
+whether the cure lasted. "They go for nothing in the matter of Church
+patronage," continued he. "If Lake had his deserts, he'd be made
+incumbent of this living to-morrow: but he is as likely to get it as I
+am to get the Lord Chancellor's seals."
+
+"Who would have done as Mr. Lake has done--given himself up solely and
+wholly to the duties of the church and the poor, for more years than I
+can count?" contended Mrs. Jonas, who was rich and positive, and wore
+this evening a black gauze dress, set off with purple grapes, and a
+spray of purple grapes in her black hair. "I say the living is due to
+him, and the Lord Chancellor ought to present him with it."
+
+Dr. Galliard gave a short laugh. He was a widower, and immensely
+popular, nearly as much so as Mr. Lake. "Did you ever know a curate
+succeed to a living under the circumstances?" he demanded. "The Lord
+Chancellor has enough friends of his own, waiting to snap up anything
+that falls; be sure of that, Mrs. Jonas."
+
+"Some dean will get it, I shouldn't wonder," cried Cattledon. For at
+this time we were in the prime old days when a Church dignitary might
+hold half-a-dozen snug things, if he could drop into them.
+
+"Just so; a dean or some other luminary," nodded the doctor. "It is the
+province of great divines to shine like lights in the world, and of
+curates to toil on in obscurity. Well--God sees all things: and what is
+wrong in this world may be set right in the next."
+
+"You speak of the Lord Chancellor," quietly put in Miss Deveen: "the
+living is not in his gift."
+
+"Never said it was--was speaking generally," returned the doctor. "The
+patron of the living is some other great man, nobleman, or what not,
+living down in the country."
+
+"In Staffordshire, I think," said Miss Deveen, with hesitation, not
+being sure of her memory. "He is a baronet, I believe; but I forget his
+name."
+
+"All the same, ma'am: there's no more chance for poor Lake with him than
+with the Lord Chancellor," returned Dr. Galliard. "Private patrons are
+worse beset, when a piece of preferment falls in, than even public
+ones."
+
+"Suppose the parish were to get up a petition, setting forth Mr. Lake's
+merits and claims, and present it to the patron?" suggested Mrs. Jonas.
+"Not, I dare say, that it would be of much use."
+
+"Not the slightest use; you may rely upon that," spoke the doctor, in
+his decisive way. "Lake's best chance is to get taken on by the new man,
+and stand out for a higher salary."
+
+Certainly it seemed to be his best and only chance of getting any good
+out of the matter. But it was just as likely he would be turned adrift.
+
+The next day we met Mrs. Jonas in the King's Road. She had rather a down
+look as she accosted Miss Deveen.
+
+"No one seems willing to bestir themselves about a petition; they say
+it is so very hopeless. And there's a rumour abroad that the living is
+already given away."
+
+"To whom is it given?" asked Miss Deveen.
+
+"Well, not to a Very Reverend Dean, as Miss Cattledon suggested last
+night, but to some one as bad--or good: one of the Canons of St. Paul's.
+I dare say it's true. How hard it is on Mr. Lake! How hard it must seem
+to him!"
+
+"He may stay here as curate, then."
+
+"Never you expect that," contended Mrs. Jonas, her face reddening with
+her zeal. "These cathedral luminaries have invariably lots of their own
+circle to provide for."
+
+"Do you not think it will seem hard on Mr. Lake?" I said to Miss Deveen,
+as we left the little widow, and walked on.
+
+"I do, Johnny Ludlow. I do think he ought to have it; that in right
+and justice no one has so great a claim to it as he," she impressively
+answered. "But, as Dr. Galliard says, 'oughts' go for nothing in Church
+patronage. William Lake is a good, earnest, intellectual man; he has
+grown grey in the service of the parish, and yet, now that the living
+is vacant, he has no more chance of it than that silly young Chisholm
+has--not half as much, I dare say, if the young fellow were only in
+priest's orders. It is but a common case: scores of curates who have to
+work on, neglected, to their lives' end could testify to it. Here we
+are, Johnny. This is Mrs. Topcroft's."
+
+Knocking at the house-door--a small house standing ever so far back from
+the road--we were shown by a young servant into a pleasant parlour. Emma
+Topcroft, a merry, bright, laughing girl, of eighteen or nineteen, sat
+there at work with silks and black velvet. If I had the choice given me
+between her and Miss Cattledon, thought I, as Mr. Lake seems to have, I
+know which of the two I should choose.
+
+"Mamma is making a rice-pudding in the kitchen," she said, spreading her
+work out on the table for Miss Deveen to see.
+
+"You are doing it very nicely, Emma. And I have brought you the fresh
+silks. I could not get them before: they had to send the patterns into
+town. Is the other screen begun?"
+
+"Oh yes; and half done," answered Emma, briskly, as she opened the
+drawer of a-work-table, and began unfolding another square of velvet
+from its tissue paper. "I do the sober colours in both screens first,
+and leave the bright ones till last. Here's the mother."
+
+Mrs. Topcroft came in, turning down her sleeves at the wrist; a little
+woman, quite elderly. I liked her the moment I saw her. She was homely
+and motherly, with the voice and manners of a lady.
+
+"I came to bring Emma the silks, and to see how the work was getting
+on," said Miss Deveen as she shook hands. "And what a grievous thing
+this is about Mr. Selwyn!"
+
+Mrs. Topcroft lifted her hands pityingly. "It has made Mr. Lake quite
+ill," she answered; "I can see it. And"--dropping her voice--"they say
+there will be little, or nothing, for Mrs. Selwyn and the children."
+
+"Yes, there will; though perhaps not much," corrected Miss Deveen. "Mrs.
+Selwyn has two hundred a-year of her own. I happen to know it."
+
+"I am very thankful to hear that: we were fearing the worst. I wonder,"
+added Mrs. Topcroft, "if this will take Mr. Lake from us?"
+
+"Probably. We cannot tell yet. People are saying he ought to have the
+living if it went by merit: but there's not any hope of that."
+
+"Not any," acquiesced Mrs. Topcroft, shaking her head. "It does seem
+unjust: that a clergyman should wear out all his best days toiling for
+a church, and be passed over at last as not worth a consideration."
+
+"It is the way of the world."
+
+"No one knows his worth," went on Mrs. Topcroft, "So patient, so good,
+so self-denying; and so anxious for the poor and sick, and for all the
+ill-doers who seem to be going wrong. I don't believe there are many
+men in this world so good as he. All he can scrape and save out of his
+narrow income he gives away, denying himself necessaries to be able to
+do it: Mr. Selwyn, you know, has given nothing. It has been said he
+grudged even the communion money."
+
+That was Mrs. Topcroft's report of Mr. Lake; and she ought to know.
+He had boarded with her long enough. He had the bedroom over the best
+parlour; and the little den of a back-parlour was given over to his own
+use, in which he saw his parishioners and wrote his sermons.
+
+"They come from the same village in the West of England," said Miss
+Deveen to me as we walked homewards. "Mr. Lake's father was curate of
+the place, and Mrs. Topcroft's people are the doctors: her brothers are
+in practice there now. When she was left a widow upon a very slender
+income, and settled down in this little house, Mr. Lake came to board
+with her. He pays a guinea a-week only; but Mrs. Topcroft has told me
+that it pays her amply, and she could not have got along without it.
+The housekeeping is, of necessity, economical: and that suits the
+pocket on both sides."
+
+"I like Mrs. Topcroft. And she seems quite a lady, though she is poor."
+
+"She is quite a lady, Johnny. Her husband was a civil engineer, very
+clever: but for his early death he might have become as renowned as his
+master, Sir John Rennie. The son; he is several years older than Emma;
+is in the same profession, steady and diligent, and he gains a fair
+salary now, which of course helps his mother. He is at home night and
+morning."
+
+"Do you suppose that Mr. Lake thinks of Emma?"
+
+Miss Deveen laughed--as if the matter were a standing joke in her mind.
+"I do not suppose it, Johnny. I never saw the smallest cause to lead me
+to suppose it: she is too much of a child. Such a thing never would have
+been thought of but for the jealous suspicions of the parish--I mean of
+course our young ladies in it. Because Emma Topcroft is a nice-looking
+and attractive girl, and because Mr. Lake lives in her companionship,
+these young women must needs get up the notion. And they despise the
+Topcrofts accordingly, and turn the cold shoulder on them."
+
+It had struck me that Emma Topcroft must be doing those screens for Miss
+Deveen. I asked her.
+
+"She is doing them for me in one sense, Johnny," was the answer. "Being
+an individual of note, you see"--and Miss Deveen laughed again--"that
+is, my income being known to be a good one, and being magnified by the
+public into something fabulous, I have to pay the penalty of greatness.
+Hardly a week passes but I am solicited to become the patroness of some
+bazaar, not to speak of other charities, or at least to contribute
+articles for sale. So I buy materials and get Emma Topcroft to convert
+them into nicknacks. Working flowers upon velvet for banner-screens,
+as she is doing now; or painting flowers upon cardboard for baskets or
+boxes, which she does nicely, and various other things. Two ends are
+thus served: Emma makes a pretty little income, nearly enough for her
+clothes, and the bazaars get the work when it is finished, and sell it
+for their own benefit."
+
+"It is very good of you, Miss Deveen."
+
+"_Good!_ Nay, don't say that, Johnny," she continued, in a reproving
+tone. "Those whom Heaven has blessed with ample means must remember that
+they will have to render an account of their stewardship. Trifles, such
+as these, are but odds and ends, not to be thought of, beside what I
+ought to do--and try to do."
+
+That same evening Mr. Lake came in, unexpectedly. He called to say
+that the funeral was fixed for Saturday, and that a portion of the
+burial-service would be read in the church here, before starting for
+the cemetery: Mrs. Selwyn wished it so.
+
+"I hear that the parish began to indulge a hope that you would be
+allowed to succeed Mr. Selwyn," Miss Deveen observed to him as he was
+leaving; "but----"
+
+"I!" he exclaimed, interrupting her in genuine surprise, a transient
+flush rising to his face. "What, succeed to the living! How could any
+one think of such a thing for a moment? Why, Miss Deveen, I do not
+possess any interest: not the slightest in the world. I do not even know
+Sir Robert Tenby. It is not likely that he has ever heard my name."
+
+"Sir Robert Tenby!" I cried, pricking up my ears. "Is Sir Robert Tenby
+the patron?"
+
+"Yes. His seat is in Worcestershire?"
+
+"Do you know him, Johnny?" asked Miss Deveen.
+
+"A little; not much. Bellwood is near Crabb Cot. I used often to see his
+wife when she was Anne Lewis: we were great friends. She was a very nice
+girl."
+
+"A _girl_, Johnny! Is she younger than he is?"
+
+"Young enough to be his daughter."
+
+"But I was about to say," added Miss Deveen to the curate, "that I fear
+there can be no chance for you, if this report, that the living is
+already given away, be correct. I wish it had been otherwise."
+
+"There could be no chance for me in any case, dear Miss Deveen; there's
+no chance for any one so unknown and obscure as I am," he returned,
+suppressing a sigh as he shook her hand. "Thank you all the same for
+your kind wishes."
+
+How long I lay awake that night I don't care to recall. An extraordinary
+idea had taken possession of me. If some one would only tell Sir Robert
+Tenby of the merits of this good man, he might be so impressed as to
+give him the living. We were not sure about the Canon of St. Paul's: he
+might be a myth, as far as our church went.
+
+Yes, these ideas were all very well; but who would presume to do it? The
+mice, you know, wanted to bell the cat, but none of them could be got to
+undertake the task.
+
+Down I went in the morning to Mr. Brandon as soon as breakfast was over.
+I found him in his sitting-room at _his_ breakfast: dry toast, and tea
+without milk; a yellow silk handkerchief thrown cornerwise over his
+head, and his face looking green. He had a bilious attack coming on, he
+said, and thought he had taken a slight cold.
+
+Now I don't want to disparage Mr. Brandon's merits. In some things he
+was as good as gold. But when he fell into these fanciful attacks he was
+not practically worth a rush. It was hardly a propitious moment for the
+scheme I had in my head; but, unfortunately, there was no time to lose:
+I must speak then, or not at all. Down I sat, and told my tale. Old
+Brandon, sipping his tea by spoonfuls, listened, and stared at me with
+his little eyes.
+
+"And you have been getting up in your brain the Utopian scheme that
+Sir Robert Tenby would put this curate into the living! and want me to
+propose it to him! Is _that_ what you mean, young man?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Sir Robert would listen to you. You are friendly with him,
+and he is in town. Won't you, please, do it?"
+
+"Not if I know it, Johnny Ludlow. Solicit Robert Tenby to give the
+living to a man I never heard of: a man I know nothing about! What
+notions you pick up!"
+
+"Mr. Lake is so good and so painstaking," I urged. "He has been working
+all these years----"
+
+"You have said all that before," interrupted old Brandon, shifting the
+silk handkerchief on his head more to one side. "_I_ can't answer for
+it, you know. And, if I could, I should not consider myself justified
+in troubling Sir Robert."
+
+"What I thought was this, sir: that, if he got to know all Mr. Lake is,
+he might be _glad_ to give him the living: glad of an opportunity to
+do a good and kind act. I did not think of your asking him to give the
+living; only to tell him of Mr. Lake, and what he has done, and been. He
+lives only in Upper Brook Street. It would not be far for you to go,
+sir."
+
+"I should not go if he lived here at the next door, Johnny Ludlow:
+should not be justified in going on such an errand. Go yourself."
+
+"I don't like to, sir."
+
+"He wouldn't eat you; he'd only laugh at you. Robert Tenby would excuse
+in a silly lad what he might deem impertinence from me. There, Johnny;
+let it end."
+
+And there it had to end. When old Brandon took up an idea he was hard as
+adamant.
+
+I stood at the hotel door, wishing I could screw up courage to call at
+Sir Robert's, but shrinking from it terribly. Then I thought of poor Mr.
+Lake, and that there was no one else to tell about him; and at last I
+started, for Upper Brook Street.
+
+"Is Lady Tenby at home?" I asked, when I got to the door.
+
+"Yes, sir." And the man showed me into a room where Lady Tenby sat,
+teaching her little boy to walk.
+
+She was just the same kind and simple-mannered woman that she had been
+as Anne Lewis. Putting both her hands into mine, she said how glad
+she was to see me in London, and held out the child to be kissed. I
+explained my errand, and my unwillingness to come; saying I could
+venture to tell her all about it better than I could tell Sir Robert.
+
+She laughed merrily. "He is not any more formidable than I am, Johnny;
+he is not the least bit so in the world. You shall see whether he
+is"--opening the door of the next room. "Robert," she called out in
+glee, "Johnny Ludlow is here, and is saying you are an ogre. He wants
+to tell you something, and can't pluck up courage to do it."
+
+Sir Robert Tenby came in, the _Times_ in his hand, and a smile on
+his face: the same kind, rugged, homely face that I knew well. He
+shook hands with me, asking if I wanted his interest to be made
+prime-minister.
+
+And somehow, what with their kindness and their thorough, cordial
+homeliness, I lost my fears. In two minutes I had plunged into the tale,
+Sir Robert sitting near me with his elbow on the table, and Anne beside
+him, her quiet baby on her knee.
+
+"I thought it so great a pity, sir, that you should not hear about Mr.
+Lake: how hard he has worked for years, and what a good and self-denying
+man he is," I concluded at last, after telling what Miss Deveen thought
+of him, and what Mrs. Topcroft said. "Not, of course, that I could
+presume to suggest such a thing, sir, as that you should bestow upon him
+the living--only to let you know there was a man so deserving, if--if
+it was not given already. It is said in the parish that the living is
+given."
+
+"Is this Mr. Lake a good preacher?" asked Sir Robert, when I paused.
+
+"They say he is one of the best and most earnest of preachers, sir. I
+have not heard him; Mr. Selwyn generally preached."
+
+"Does he know of your application to me?"
+
+"Why, no, Sir Robert, of course not! I could not have had the face to
+tell any one I as much as wished to make it. Except Mr. Brandon. I spoke
+to him because I wanted him to come instead of me."
+
+Sir Robert smiled. "And he would not come, I suppose?"
+
+"Oh dear, no: he asked me whether I thought we lived in Utopia. He said
+I might come if I chose--that what would be only laughed at in a silly
+boy like me, might be deemed impertinence in him."
+
+The interview came to an end. Anne said she hoped I should dine with
+them while I was in town--and Mr. Brandon also, Sir Robert added; and
+with that I came out. Came out just as wise as I had gone in; for
+never a word of hope did Sir Robert give. For all he intimated to the
+contrary, the living might be already in the hands of the Canon of St.
+Paul's.
+
+Two events happened the next day, Saturday. The funeral of the Rector,
+and the departure of Miss Cattledon for Chelmsford, in Essex. An aunt
+of hers who lived there was taken dangerously ill, and sent for her by
+telegram. Mr. Brandon came up to dine with us in the evening---- But
+that's neither here nor there.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+I sat in Miss Deveen's pew at church with herself on the Sunday morning;
+she wore black silk out of respect to the late Rector. Mr. Lake and the
+young deacon, who had a luxuriant crop of yellow hair, had put on black
+gloves. The church was full; all the world and his wife seemed to have
+come to it; and the parsons' surplices stood on end with starch.
+
+Mr. Lake was in the reading-desk; it caused, I think, some
+surprise--could that yellow-haired nonentity of a young dandy be going
+to preach? He stood at the communion-table, looking interesting, and
+evidently suffering from a frightful cold: which cold, as we found
+later, was the reason that Mr. Lake took nearly all the service himself.
+
+What a contrast they were! The simpering, empty-faced young deacon, who
+was tall and slender as a lamp-post, and had really not much more brains
+than one; and the thoughtful, earnest, middle-aged priest, with the
+sad look on his gentle face. Nothing could be more impressive than his
+reading of the prayers; they were prayed, not read: and his voice was
+one of those persuasive, musical voices you don't often hear. If Sir
+Robert Tenby could but hear this reading! I sighed, as Mr. Lake went
+through the Litany.
+
+Hardly had the thought crossed my mind, when some commotion in the
+church caused most of us to turn round: a lady was fainting. But for
+that, I might never have seen what I did see. In the next pew, right
+behind ours, sat Sir Robert and Lady Tenby. So surprised was I that I
+could not for the moment believe my eyes, and simply stared at them.
+Anne caught the look, and smiled at me.
+
+Was it a good omen? I took it to be one. If Sir Robert had no thought of
+Mr. Lake, or if the living was already given to that canon, why should
+he have come all this way to hear him? I recalled the Sunday, years ago
+now, when Sir Robert had sat in his own pew at Timberdale, listening
+attentively to Herbert Tanerton's reading and preaching, deliberating
+within his mind--I know I thought so then--whether he should bestow upon
+him the living of Timberdale, or not; whether Herbert was worthy of it.
+Sir Robert did give it to him: and I somehow took it for an earnest that
+he might give this one to Mr. Lake.
+
+Meanwhile Mr. Lake ascended the pulpit-stairs in his black gown, and
+began his sermon: supremely unconscious that the patron of the church
+was just in front of him, looking and listening. No one present knew Sir
+Robert and Lady Tenby.
+
+You should have heard that sermon: all its earnest eloquence, its sound
+piety, its practical application, and its quiet, impressive delivery. It
+was not exactly a funeral sermon; but when he spoke of the late Rector,
+who had been so unexpectedly taken away, and whose place in this world
+could know him no more, hardly a dry eye was in the church: and if he
+himself had not once or twice paused to call up his equanimity, his own
+eyes would not have been dry, either. I was glad Sir Robert heard it. It
+was a sermon to be remembered for all time.
+
+Miss Deveen waited in her pew until the people had mostly gone; she did
+not like being in a crowd. The Tenbys waited also. In the porch Anne put
+her hand upon my arm, speaking in a whisper.
+
+"That is Miss Deveen, I suppose, Johnny? What a nice face she has! What
+a fine, handsome woman she is! How good she looks!"
+
+"She is good; very. I wish I might introduce her to you."
+
+"That's just what I was going to ask you to do, Johnny. My husband would
+like to speak with her."
+
+I did it outside in the churchyard. After speaking together for a minute
+or two, Miss Deveen invited them to step into her house, pointing to it
+that they might see it was close by. Sir Robert walked on by her side, I
+behind with Anne. An open carriage was pacing in the road, the servants
+wearing the Tenby livery: people turned to look at it, wondering whose
+grand carriage it was. As we went slowly onwards Mr. Lake overtook us.
+He did not stop, only lifted his hat to Miss Deveen in passing: but she
+arrested him to ask after Mrs. Selwyn.
+
+"Oh, she is very ill, very sad," he answered, in a tone as if the sorrow
+were his own. "And at present I fear there's nothing for her but to
+bear; to bear as she best may: not yet can she open her heart to
+consolation."
+
+Miss Deveen said no more, and he walked on. It struck me she had only
+stopped him that Sir Robert might see him face to face. Being a shrewd
+woman, it could not be but that she argued good from this unexpected
+visit. And she knew I had been to them.
+
+They would not stay to take lunch; which was on the table when we went
+in. Anne said she must get home to her baby: not the young shaver I saw;
+a little girl a month or two old. Sir Robert spared a few minutes to
+shut himself up in the drawing-room with Miss Deveen; and then the
+carriage whirled them off.
+
+"I hope he was asking you about Mr. Lake?" I said impulsively.
+
+"That is just what he was asking, Johnny," replied Miss Deveen. "He
+came here this morning, intending to question me. He is very favourably
+impressed with William Lake; I can see that: and he said he had never
+heard a better sermon, rarely one as good."
+
+"I dare say that canon of St. Paul's is all an invention! Perhaps Mrs.
+Jonas went to sleep and dreamt it."
+
+"It is certainly not fact," laughed Miss Deveen. "Sir Robert tells me he
+does not as much as know any one of the canons by sight."
+
+"He did not tell you he should give it to Mr. Lake?"
+
+"No, Johnny: neither did he give me any grounds for supposing that
+he would. He is a very cautious man; I can see that; conscientiously
+wishing to do right, and act for the best. We must say nothing of this
+abroad, remember."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Reverend William Lake sat down to his breakfast on Monday morning,
+as the clock was striking half-past nine. He had been called out to
+baptize a sick baby and pray by its dying mother. Pouring himself out a
+cup of tea, buttering his first slice of dry toast, and cracking his
+egg, for that's what his breakfast consisted of, he took up a letter
+lying on the table, which had come by the morning post. Opening it
+presently, he found it to contain a request from Sir Robert Tenby that
+he would call upon him that morning at eleven o'clock, in Upper Brook
+Street.
+
+"Sir Robert Tenby cannot know of our daily service," thought the
+clergyman, after reading the note twice over, and wondering what he
+was wanted for; he having no knowledge of the tide of affairs: no more
+notion that Sir Robert had been at the church the previous day than that
+the man in the moon was there. "I must ask Chisholm to take the service
+this morning."
+
+Accordingly, his breakfast over, and a sprucer coat put on, he went to
+the deacon's lodgings--handsome rooms in a good house. That young divine
+was just beginning breakfast, the table being laid with toasted ham and
+poached eggs, and potted meats, and hot, buttered muffins, and all kinds
+of nice things, presenting a contrast to the frugal one Mr. Lake had
+just got up from.
+
+"Took an extra snooze in bed to nurse myself," cried the young man, in
+half-apology for the lateness of the meal, as he poured out a frothing
+cup of chocolate. "My cold?--oh, it's better."
+
+"I am glad of that," said Sir. Lake. "I want you to take the service
+this morning."
+
+"What, do it all!"
+
+"If you will be so good. I have a note here from Sir Robert Tenby,
+asking me to call upon him at eleven o'clock. I can't think what he
+wants."
+
+"Sir Robert Tenby? That's the patron! Oh, I dare say it's only to talk
+about the Selwyns; or to tell you to take the duty until some one's
+appointed to the living."
+
+"Ay," replied Mr. Lake. And he had no other thought, no idea of
+self-benefit, when he started off to walk to Upper Brook Street.
+
+An hour later, seated in Sir Robert's library, enlightenment came to
+him. After talking with him for some time, questioning him of his
+Church views and principles, hearing somewhat of his past career and of
+what he had formerly done at Cambridge, to all of which he gave answers
+that were especially pleasing to the patron's ear, Sir Robert imparted
+to him the astounding fact that he--_he!_--was to be the new Rector.
+
+William Lake sat, the picture of astonishment, wondering whether his
+ears were playing him false.
+
+"_I!_" he exclaimed, scarcely above his breath. "I never thought of
+myself. I can hardly believe--believe--pardon me, Sir Robert--is there
+no mistake?"
+
+"No mistake so far as I am concerned," replied Sir Robert, suppressing a
+smile. "I have heard of your many years' services at St. Matthew's, and
+of your worth. I do not think I could bestow it upon one who deserves it
+better than you--if as well. The living is yours, if you will accept
+it."
+
+"You are very kind, sir," gasped the curate, not in the least recovering
+his senses. "May I presume to ask who it is that has been so kind as to
+speak of me?"
+
+"The person from whom I first heard of you was young Johnny Ludlow,"
+smiled Sir Robert. "Mr. Johnny presented himself to me here last Friday,
+in a state of mental commotion, not having been able to get any one else
+to come, evidently thinking, though not saying, that I should commit an
+act of singular injustice if the living did not find its way to one who,
+by dint of his hard and earnest work, so richly deserved it."
+
+The tears stood in William Lake's eyes. "I can only thank you,
+sir, truly and fervently. I have no other means of testifying my
+gratitude--save by striving ever to do my duty untiringly, under my
+Lord and Master."
+
+"I am sure you will do it," spoke Sir Robert, impulsively--and he was
+not a man of impulse in general. "You are not a married man, I believe?"
+
+A faint red light came into the curate's cheeks. "I have not had the
+means to marry, Sir Robert. It has seemed to me, until this morning,
+that I never should have them."
+
+"Well, you can marry now," was the laughing rejoinder; "I dare say you
+will." And the faint light deepened to scarlet, as the curate heard it.
+
+"Shall you give him the living, Robert?" asked Anne, when Mr. Lake had
+departed.
+
+"Yes, love."
+
+
+II.
+
+When lawyers get a case into their hands, no living conjurer can divine
+when their clients will get it out again. The hardest problem in Euclid
+was never more difficult to solve than that. Mr. Brandon came up to
+town on the Monday morning, bringing me with him; he thought we might
+be detained a few days, a week at the utmost; yet the second week was
+now passing, and nothing had been done; our business seemed to be no
+forwarder than it was at the beginning. The men of law in Lincoln's Inn
+laid the blame on the conveyancers; the conveyancers laid it on the
+lawyers. Any way, the upshot was the same--we were kept in London. The
+fact to myself was uncommonly pleasant, though it might be less so to
+Mr. Brandon.
+
+The astounding news--that the Reverend William Lake was to have St.
+Matthew's--and the return of Miss Cattledon from her visit to the sick
+lady at Chelmsford, rejoiced the ears and eyes of the parish on one and
+the same day. It was a Wednesday. Miss Cattledon got home in time for
+dinner, bringing word that her relative was better.
+
+"Has anything been heard about the living?" she inquired, sitting,
+bonnet in hand, before going up to dress.
+
+Miss Deveen shook her head. In point of fact, we had heard nothing at
+all of Sir Robert Tenby or his intentions since Mr. Lake's interview
+with him, and she was not going to tell Cattledon of that, or of Sir
+Robert's visit on the Sunday.
+
+But, as it appeared, the decision had been made public that afternoon,
+putting the whole parish into a ferment. Dinner was barely over when Dr.
+Galliard rushed in with the news.
+
+"Only think of it!" he cried. "Such a piece of justice was never heard
+of before. Poor Lake has not the smallest interest in the world; and how
+Sir Robert Tenby came to pick him out is just a marvel. Such a stir it
+is causing! It's said--I don't know with what truth--that he came up
+here on Sunday morning to hear Lake preach. Mrs. Herriker saw a fine
+barouche draw up, high-stepping horses and powdered servants; a lady and
+gentleman got out of it and entered the church. It is thought now they
+might have been Sir Robert and Lady Tenby."
+
+"I shouldn't wonder but they were," remarked Miss Deveen.
+
+"Has Mr. Lake _really_ had the living given to him?" questioned
+Cattledon, her eyes open with surprise, her thin throat and waist all
+in a tremor, and unable to touch another strawberry.
+
+"Really and truly," replied the doctor. "Chisholm tells me he has just
+seen the letter appointing him to it."
+
+"Dear me!" cried Cattledon, quite faintly. "_Dear_ me! How very thankful
+we all ought to be--for Mr. Lake's sake."
+
+"I dare say _he_ is thankful," returned the doctor, swallowing down the
+rest of his glass of wine, and preparing to leave. "Thank you, no, Miss
+Deveen; I can't stay longer: I have one or two sick patients on my hands
+to-night, and must go to them--and I promised Mrs. Selwyn to look in
+upon her. Poor thing! this terrible loss has made her really ill.
+By-the-by," he added, turning round on his way from the room, "have
+you heard that she has decided upon her plans, and thinks of leaving
+shortly?"
+
+"No--has she?" returned Miss Deveen.
+
+"Best thing for her, too--to be up and doing. She has the chance of
+taking to a little boys' preparatory school at Brighton; small and
+select, as the advertisements have it. Some relative of hers has kept it
+hitherto, has made money by it, and is retiring----"
+
+"Will Mrs. Selwyn like _that_--to be a schoolmistress?" interrupted
+Cattledon, craning her neck.
+
+"Rather than vegetate upon her small pittance," returned the doctor
+briskly. "She is an active, capable woman; has all her senses about her.
+Better teach little boys, and live and dress well, than enjoy a solitary
+joint of meat once a-week and a turned gown once a-year--eh, Johnny
+Ludlow?"
+
+He caught up his hat, and went out in a bustle. I laughed. Miss Deveen
+nodded approvingly; not at my laugh, but at Mrs. Selwyn's resolution.
+
+The stir abroad might have been pretty brisk that evening; we had Dr.
+Galliard's word for it: it could have been nothing to what set in the
+next day. The poor, meek curate--who, however good he might have been to
+run after, could hardly have been looked upon as an eligible, bonâ-fide
+prospect--suddenly converted into a rich Rector: six hundred a-year and
+a parsonage to flourish in! All the ladies, elder and younger, went into
+a delightful waking-sleep and dreamed dreams.
+
+"Such a mercy!" was the cry; "_such_ a mercy! We might have had some
+dreadful old drony man here, who does not believe in daily services,
+and wears a wig on his bald head. Now Mr. Lake, though his hair is
+getting a little grey, has a most luxuriant and curly crop of it.
+Beautiful whiskers too."
+
+It was little Daisy Dutton said that, meeting us in the Park road; she
+was too young and frivolous to know better. Miss Deveen shook her head
+at her, and Daisy ran on with a laugh. We were on our way to Mrs.
+Topcroft's, some hitch having arisen about the frames for Emma's
+screens.
+
+Emma was out, however; and Mrs. Topcroft came forward with tears in her
+eyes.
+
+"I can hardly help crying since I heard it," she said, taking her
+handkerchief out of the pocket of her black silk apron. "It must be
+such a reward to him after his years of work--and to have come so
+unsought--so unexpectedly! I am sure Sir Robert Tenby must be a good
+man."
+
+"I think he is one," said Miss Deveen.
+
+"Mr. Lake deserves his recompense," went on Mrs. Topcroft. "No one can
+know it as I do. Poor Mr. Selwyn knew--but he is gone. I think God's
+hand must have been in this," she reverently added. "These good and
+earnest ministers deserve to be placed in power for the sake of those
+over whom they have charge. I have nothing to say against Mr. Selwyn,
+but I am sure the parish will find a blessing in Mr. Lake."
+
+"You will lose him," remarked Miss Deveen.
+
+"Yes, and I am sorry for it; but I should be selfish indeed to think of
+that. About the screens," continued Mrs. Topcroft; "perhaps you would
+like to see them--I am sorry Emma is out. One, I know, is finished."
+
+Not being especially interested in the screens, I stepped into the
+garden, and so strolled round to the back of the house. In the little
+den of a room, close to the open window, sat Mr. Lake writing. He stood
+up when he saw me and held out his hand.
+
+"It is, I believe, to you that I am indebted for the gift bestowed upon
+me," he said in a low tone of emotion, as he clasped my hand, and a wave
+of feeling swept over his face. "How came you to think of me--to be so
+kind? I cannot thank you as I ought."
+
+"Oh, it's nothing; indeed, I did nothing--so to say," I stammered, quite
+taken aback. "I heard people say what a pity it was you stood no chance
+of the living, after working so hard in it all these years; so, as I
+knew Sir Robert, and knew very well Lady Tenby, I thought it would do
+no harm if I just told them of it."
+
+"And it has borne fruit. And very grateful I am: to you, and to Sir
+Robert--and to One who holds all things, great and small, in His hands.
+Do you know," he added, smiling at me and changing his tone to a lighter
+one, "it seems to me nothing less than a romance."
+
+This was Thursday. The next day Mr. Lake paid a visit to the
+bishop--perhaps to go through some formality connected with his
+appointment, but I don't know--and on the following Sunday morning he
+"read himself in." No mistake about his being the Rector, after that. It
+was a lovely day, and Mr. Brandon came up in time for service. After he
+knew all about it--that I had actually gone to Sir Robert, and that Mr.
+Lake had the living--he asked me five or six hundred questions, as
+though he were interested, and now he had come up to hear him preach.
+
+You should have seen how crowded the church was. The ladies were in full
+force and flutter. Cattledon got herself up in a new bonnet; some of
+them had new rigging altogether. Each individual damsel looked upon the
+Rector as her especial prize, sure to be her own. Mr. Lake did every
+scrap of the duty himself, including the reading of the articles; that
+delightful young deacon's cold had taken a turn for the worse, through
+going to a water-party, and he simply couldn't hear himself speak. Poor
+Mrs. Selwyn and her daughter sat in their pew to-day, sad as the crape
+robes they wore.
+
+Did you ever feel nervous when some one belonging to you is going to
+preach--lest he should not come up to expectation, or break down, or
+anything of that sort? Mr. Lake did not belong to me, but a nervous
+feeling came over me as he went into the pulpit. For Mr. Brandon was
+there with his critical ears. I had boasted to him of Mr. Lake's
+preaching; and felt sensitively anxious that it should not fall short.
+
+I need not have feared. It was a very short sermon, the services had
+been so long, but wonderfully beautiful. You might have heard a pin drop
+in the church, and old Brandon himself never stirred hand or foot.
+At the end of the pew sat he, I next to him; his eyes fixed on the
+preacher, his attitude that of one who is absorbed in what he hears.
+Just a few words Mr. Lake spoke of himself, of the new relation between
+himself and his hearers; very quiet, modest words hearing the ring of
+truth and good-fellowship.
+
+"That man would do his duty in whatever position of life he might be
+placed," pronounced old Brandon, as we got out. "Robert Tenby's choice
+has been a good and wise one."
+
+"Thanks to Johnny Ludlow, here," said Miss Deveen, laughing.
+
+"I don't say but what Johnny Ludlow has his head on his shoulders
+the right way. He means to do well always, I believe; and does do it
+sometimes."
+
+Which I am sure was wonderful praise, conceded by old Brandon, calling
+to my face no end of a colour. And, if you'll believe me, he put his arm
+within mine; a thing he had never done before; and walked so across the
+churchyard.
+
+The next week was a busy one. What with Mrs. Selwyn's preparations for
+going away, and what with the commotion caused by the new state of
+things, the parish had plenty on its hands. Mr. Lake had begged Mrs.
+Selwyn not to quit the Rectory until it should be quite and entirely
+convenient to her; if he got into it six or twelve months hence, he
+kindly urged, it would be time enough for him. But Mrs. Selwyn, while
+thanking him for his consideration, knowing how earnestly he meant it,
+showed him that she was obliged to go. She had taken to the school at
+Brighton, and had to enter upon it as speedily as might be. A few days
+afterwards she had vacated the Rectory, and her furniture was packed
+into vans to be carried away. Some women went into the empty house to
+clean it down; that it might be made ready for its new tenant. Poor Mr.
+Selwyn had repaired and decorated the house only the previous year,
+little thinking his tenure of it would be so short.
+
+Then began the fun. The polite attentions to Mr. Lake, as curate, had
+been remarkable; to Mr. Lake, as Rector, they were unique. Mrs.
+Topcroft's door was besieged with notes and parcels. The notes contained
+invitations to teas and dinners, the parcels small offerings to himself.
+A person about to set up housekeeping naturally wants all kinds of
+articles; and the ladies of St. Matthew's were eager to supply
+contributions. Slippers fell to a discount, purses and silk watch-guards
+ditto. More useful things replaced them. Ornamental baskets for the
+mantelpiece, little match-boxes done in various devices, card-racks
+hastily painted, serviette rings composed of coloured beads, pincushions
+and scent-mats for the dressing-table, with lots more things that I
+can't remember. These were all got up on the spur of the moment; more
+elaborate presents, that might take weeks to complete, were put in hand.
+In vain Mr. Lake entreated them not to do these things; not to send
+_anything_; not to trouble themselves about him, assuring them it made
+him most uncomfortable; that he preferred not to receive presents of any
+kind: and he said it so emphatically, they might see he was in earnest.
+All the same. He might as well have talked to the moon. The ladies
+laughed, and worked on.
+
+"Mrs. Topcroft, I think you had better refuse to take the parcels in,"
+he said to her one day, when a huge packet had arrived, which proved
+to be a market-basket, sent conjointly by three old maiden sisters. "I
+don't wish to be rude, or do anything that would hurt kind people's
+feelings: but, upon my word, I should like to send all the things back
+again with thanks."
+
+"They would put them into the empty Rectory if I did not take them in,"
+returned Mrs. Topcroft. "The only way to stop it is to talk to the
+ladies yourself. Senseless girls!"
+
+Mr. Lake did talk--as well, and as impressively as he knew how. It made
+not the slightest impression; and the small presents flocked in as
+before. Mrs. Jonas did not brew a "blessed great jug of camomile-tea,"
+as did one of the admirers of Mr. Weller, the elder; but she did brew
+some "ginger-cordial," from a valued receipt of her late husband, the
+colonel, and sent it, corked up in two ornamental bottles, with her best
+regards. The other widow, Mrs. Herriker, was embroidering a magnificent
+table-cover, working against time.
+
+We had the felicity of tasting the ginger-cordial. Mrs. Jonas gave a
+small "at home," and brought out a bottle of it as we were leaving.
+Cattledon sniffed at her liqueur-glass surreptitiously before drinking
+it.
+
+"The chief ingredient in that stuff is rum," she avowed to me as we
+walked home, stretching up her neck in displeasure. "_Pine-apple rum!_
+My nose could not be mistaken."
+
+"The cordial was very good," I answered. "Rum's not a bad thing, Miss
+Cattledon."
+
+"Not at all bad, Johnny," laughed Miss Deveen. "An old sailor-uncle of
+mine, who had been round the world and back again more times than he
+could count, looked upon it as the panacea for all earthly ills."
+
+"Any way, before I would lay myself out to catch Mr. Lake, as that widow
+woman does, and as some others are doing, I would hide my head for
+ever," retorted Cattledon. And, to give her her due, though she did look
+upon the parson as safe to fall to her own lot, she did not fish for
+him. No presents, large or small, went out from her hands.
+
+That week we dined in Upper Brook Street. Miss Deveen, Mr. Brandon, the
+new Rector, and I; and two strange ladies whom we did not previously
+know. Mr. Brandon took Anne in to dinner; she put me on her left hand at
+table, and told me she and Sir Robert hoped I should often go to see
+them at Bellwood.
+
+"My husband has taken such a fancy to you, Johnny," she whispered. "He
+does rather take likes and dislikes to people--just as I know you do. He
+says he took a great liking to me the first time he ever spoke to me.
+Do you remember it, Johnny?--you were present. We were kneeling in the
+parlour at Maythorn Bank. You were deep in that child's book of mine,
+'Les contes de ma bonne,' and I had those cuttings of plants, which I
+had brought from France, spread out on newspapers on the carpet, when
+Sir Robert came in at the glass-doors. That was the first time he spoke
+to me; but he had seen me at Timberdale Church the previous day. Papa
+and I and you walked over there: and a very hot day it was, I remember."
+
+"That Sir Robert should take a liking to you, Anne, was only a matter of
+course; other people have done the same," I said, calling her "Anne"
+unconsciously, my thoughts back in the past. "But I don't understand why
+he should take a liking to me."
+
+"Don't you?" she returned. "I can tell you that he has taken it--a
+wonderful liking. Why, Johnny, if my little baby-girl were twenty years
+older, you would only need to ask and have her. I'm not sure but he'd
+offer her to you without asking."
+
+We both laughed so, she and I, that Sir Robert looked down the table,
+inquiring what our mirth was. Anne answered that she would not forget to
+tell him later.
+
+"So mind, Johnny, that you come to Bellwood as often as you please
+whenever you are staying at Crabb Cot. Robert and I would both like it."
+
+And perhaps I may as well mention here that, although the business
+which had brought Mr. Brandon to London was concluded, he did not
+go home. When that event would take place, or how long it would be,
+appeared to be hidden in the archives of the future. For a certain
+matter had arisen to detain him.
+
+Mr. Brandon had a nephew in town, a young medical student, of whom you
+once heard him say that he was "going to the bad." By what we learnt
+now, the young fellow appeared to have gone to it; and Mr. Brandon's
+prolonged stay was connected with this.
+
+"I shall see you into a train at Paddington, Johnny," he said to me,
+"and you must make your way home alone. For all I know, I may be kept
+here for weeks."
+
+But Miss Deveen would not hear of this. "Mr. Brandon remains on for his
+own business, Johnny, and you shall remain for my pleasure," she said
+to me in her warm manner. "I had meant to ask Mr. Brandon to leave you
+behind him."
+
+And that is how I was enabled to see the play played out between the
+ladies and the new Rector. I did wonder which of them would win the
+prize; I would not have betted upon Cattledon. It also caused me to see
+something of another play that was being played in London just then; not
+a comedy but a tragedy. A fatal tragedy, which I may tell of sometime.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+All unexpectedly a most distressing rumour set in; and though none knew
+whence it arose, a conviction of its truth took the parish by storm. Mr.
+Lake was about to be married! Distressing it was, and no mistake: for
+each individual lady had good cause to know that _she_ was not the
+chosen bride, being unpleasantly conscious that Mr. Lake had not asked
+her to be.
+
+Green-eyed jealousy seized upon the community. They were ready to rend
+one another's veils. The young ladies vowed it must be one or other
+of those two designing widows; Mrs. Jonas and Mrs. Herriker, on their
+parts, decided it was one of those minxes of girls. What with lady-like
+innuendos pitched at each other personally, and sharp hints levelled
+apparently at the air, all of which provoked retort, the true state of
+the case disclosed itself pretty clearly to the public--that neither
+widows nor maidens were being thought of by Mr. Lake.
+
+And yet--that the parson had marriage in view seemed to be certain; the
+way in which he was furnishing his house proved it. No end of things
+were going into it--at least, if vigilant eyes might be believed--that
+could be of no use to a bachelor-parson. There must be a lady in the
+case--and Mr. Lake had not a sister.
+
+With this apparent proof of what was in the wind, and with the
+conviction that not one of themselves had been solicited to share his
+hearth and home--as the widow Herriker poetically put it--the world
+was at a nonplus; though polite hostilities were not much less freely
+exchanged. Suddenly the general ill-feeling ceased. One and all
+metaphorically shook hands and made common cause together. A frightful
+conviction had set in--it must be Emma Topcroft.
+
+Miss Cattledon was the first to scent the fox. Cattledon herself.
+She--but I had better tell it in order.
+
+It was Monday morning, and we were at breakfast: Cattledon pouring out
+the coffee, and taking anxious glances upwards through the open window
+between whiles. What could be seen of the sky was blue enough, but
+clouds, some dark, some light, were passing rapidly over it.
+
+"Are you fearing it will rain, Miss Cattledon?"
+
+"I am, Johnny Ludlow. I thought," she added, turning to Miss Deveen, "of
+going after that chair this morning, if you have no objection, and do
+not want me."
+
+"Go by all means," returned Miss Deveen. "It is time the chair went,
+Jemima, if it is to go at all. Take Johnny with you: he would like the
+expedition. As for myself, I have letters to write that will occupy me
+the whole morning."
+
+Miss Cattledon wished to buy an easy-chair that would be comfortable for
+an aged invalid: her sick aunt at Chelmsford. But, as Miss Cattledon's
+purse was not as large as her merits, she meant to get a second-hand
+chair: which are often just as good as new. Dr. Galliard, who knew all
+about invalid-chairs and everything else, advised her to go to a certain
+shop in Oxford Street, where they sold most kinds of furniture, old and
+new. So we agreed to go this same morning. Cattledon, however, would not
+miss the morning service; trust her for that.
+
+"It might do _you_ no harm to attend for once, Johnny Ludlow."
+
+Thus admonished, I went over with her, and reaped the benefit of the
+young deacon's ministry. Mr. Lake did not make his appearance at all:
+quite an unusual omission. I don't think it pleased Cattledon.
+
+"We had better start at once, Johnny Ludlow," she said to me as we came
+out; and her tone might have turned the very sweetest of cream to curds
+and whey. "Look at those clouds! I believe it _is_ going to rain."
+
+So we made our way to an omnibus, then on the point of starting, got in,
+and were set down at the shop in Oxford Street. Cattledon described what
+she wanted; and the young man invited us to walk upstairs.
+
+Dodging our way dexterously through the things that crowded the shop,
+and up the narrow staircase, we reached a room that seemed, at first
+sight, big enough to hold half the furniture in London.
+
+"This way, ma'am," said the young man who had marshalled us up.
+"Invalid-chairs," he called out, turning us over to another young man,
+who came forward--and shot downstairs again himself.
+
+Cattledon picked her way in and out amidst the things, I following.
+Half-way down the room she stopped to admire a tall, inlaid cabinet,
+that looked very beautiful.
+
+"I never come to these places without longing to be rich," she whispered
+to me with a sigh, as she walked on. "One of the pleasantest interludes
+in life, Johnny Ludlow, must be to have a good house to furnish and
+plenty of money to---- Dear me!"
+
+The extreme surprise of the exclamation following the break off, caused
+me to look round. We were passing a side opening, or wing of the room; a
+wing that seemed to be filled with bedsteads and bedding. Critically
+examining one of the largest of these identical bedsteads stood the
+Reverend William Lake and Emma Topcroft.
+
+So entranced was Cattledon that she never moved hand or foot, simply
+stood still and gazed. They, absorbed in their business, did not see us.
+The parson seemed to be trying the strength of the iron, shaking it with
+his hand; Emma was poking and patting at the mattress.
+
+"Good Heavens!" faintly ejaculated Cattledon; and she looked as if about
+to faint.
+
+"The washhand-stands are round this way, and the chests of drawers
+also," was called out at this juncture from some unknown region, and I
+knew the voice to be Mrs. Topcroft's. "You had better come if you have
+fixed upon the beds. The double stands look extremely convenient."
+
+Cattledon turned back the way she had come, and stalked along, her head
+in the air. Straight down the stairs went she, without vouchsafing a
+word to the wondering attendant.
+
+"But, madam, is there not anything I can show you?" he inquired,
+arresting her.
+
+"No, young man, not anything. I made a mistake in coming here."
+
+The young man looked at the other young man down in the shop, and tapped
+his finger on his forehead suggestively. They thought her crazy.
+
+"Barefaced effrontery!" I heard her ejaculate to herself: and I knew she
+did not allude to the young men. But never a word to me spoke she.
+
+Peering about, on this side the street and on that, she espied another
+furniture shop, and went into it. Here she found the chair she wanted;
+paid for it, and gave directions for it to be sent to Chelmsford.
+
+That what we had witnessed could have but one meaning--the speedy
+marriage of Mr. Lake with Emma Topcroft--Cattledon looked upon as a dead
+certainty. Had an astrologer who foretells the future come forth to read
+the story differently, Cattledon would have turned a deaf ear. Mrs.
+Jonas happened to be sitting with Miss Deveen when we arrived home; and
+Cattledon, in the fulness of her outraged heart, let out what she had
+seen. She had felt so sure of Mr. Lake!
+
+Naturally, as Mrs. Jonas agreed, it could have but one meaning. She took
+it up accordingly, and hastened forth to tell it. Ere the sun went down,
+it was known from one end of the parish to the other that Emma Topcroft
+was to be Mrs. Lake.
+
+"A crafty, wicked hussy!" cried a chorus of tongues. "She, with that
+other woman, her mother, to teach her, has cast her spells over the poor
+weak man, and he has been unable to escape!"
+
+Of course it did seem like it. It continued to seem like it as the week
+went on. Never a day dawned but the parson and Emma went to town by an
+omnibus, looking at things in this mart, buying in that. It became known
+that they had chosen the carpets: Brussels for the sitting-rooms, colour
+green; drugget for the bed-chambers, Turkey pattern: Mrs. Jonas fished
+it out. How that impudent girl could have the face to go with him upon
+such errands, the parish could not understand. It's true Mrs. Topcroft
+always made one of the party, but what of that?
+
+Could anything be done? Any means devised to arrest the heresy and save
+him from his dreadful fate? Sitting nose and knees together at one
+another's houses, their cherished work all thrown aside, the ladies
+congregated daily to debate the question. They did not quite see their
+way clear to warning the parson that Emma was neither more nor less than
+a Mephistopheles in petticoats. They would have assured herself of the
+fact with the greatest pleasure had that been of any use. How sly he
+was, too--quite unworthy of his cloth! While making believe to be a poor
+man, he must have been putting by a nice nest-egg; else how could he buy
+all that furniture?
+
+Soon another phase of the affair set in: one that puzzled them
+exceedingly. It came about through an ebullition of temper.
+
+Mrs. Jonas had occasion to call upon the Rector one afternoon,
+concerning some trouble that turned up in the parish: she being a
+district visitor and presiding at the mothers' meetings. Mr. Lake was
+not at home. Emma sat in the parlour alone stitching away at new
+table-cloths and sheets.
+
+"He and mamma went out together after dinner," said Emma, leaving her
+work to hand a chair to Mrs. Jonas. "I should not wonder if they are
+gone to the house. The carpets were to be laid down to-day."
+
+She looked full at Mrs. Jonas as she said it, never blushing, never
+faltering. What with the bold avowal, what with the sight of the sheets
+and the table-linen, and what with the wretched condition of affairs,
+the disappointment at heart, the discomfort altogether, Mrs. Jonas lost
+her temper.
+
+"How dare you stand there with a bold face and acknowledge such a thing
+to me, you unmaidenly girl?" cried the widow, her anger bubbling over as
+she dashed away the offered chair. "The mischief you are doing poor Mr.
+Lake is enough, without boasting of it."
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed Emma, opening her eyes wide, and feeling more
+inclined to laugh than to cry, for her mood was ever sunny, "what _am_ I
+doing to him?"
+
+How Mrs. Jonas spoke out all that was in her mind, she could never
+afterwards recall. Emma Topcroft, gazing and listening, could not
+remain ignorant of her supposed fault now; and she burst into a fit of
+laughter. Mrs. Jonas longed to box her ears. She regarded it as the very
+incarnation of impudence.
+
+"Marry me! _Me!_ Mr. Lake! My goodness!--what _can_ have put such a
+thing into all your heads?" cried Emma, in a rapture of mirth. "Why, he
+is forty-five if he's a day! He wouldn't think of me: he couldn't. He
+came here when I was a little child: he does not look upon me as much
+else yet. Well, I never!"
+
+And the words came out in so impromptu a fashion, the surprise was so
+honestly genuine, that Mrs. Jonas saw there must be a mistake somewhere.
+She took the rejected chair then, her fears relieved, her tones
+softened, and began casting matters about in her mind; still not seeing
+any way out of them.
+
+"Is it your mother he is going to marry?" cried she, the lame solution
+presenting itself to her thoughts, and speaking it out on the spur of
+the moment. It was Emma's turn to be vexed now.
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Jonas, how can you!" she cried with spirit. "My poor old
+mother!" And somehow Mrs. Jonas felt humiliated, and bit her lips in
+vexation at having spoken at all.
+
+"He evidently _is_ going to be married," she urged presently, returning
+to the charge.
+
+"He is not going to marry me," said Emma, threading her needle. "Or to
+marry my mother either. I can say no more than that."
+
+"You have been going to London with him to choose some furniture:
+bedsteads, and carpets and things," contended Mrs. Jonas.
+
+"Mamma has gone with him to choose it all: Mr. Lake would have been
+finely taken in, with his inexperience. As to me, I wanted to go too,
+and they let me. They said it would be as well that young eyes should
+see as well as theirs, especially the colours of the carpets and the
+patterns of the crockery-ware."
+
+"What a misapprehension it has been!" gasped Mrs. Jonas.
+
+"Quite so--if you mean about me," agreed Emma. "I like Mr. Lake very
+much; I respect him above every one in the world; but for anything
+else--such a notion never entered my head: and I am sure it would not
+enter his."
+
+Mrs. Jonas, bewildered, but intensely relieved, wished Emma
+good-afternoon civilly, and went away to enlighten the world. A reaction
+set in: hopes rose again to fever heat. If it was neither Emma Topcroft
+nor her mother, why, it must be somebody else, argued the ladies, old
+and young, and perhaps she was not chosen yet: and the next day they
+were running about the parish more than ever.
+
+Seated in her drawing-room, in her own particular elbow-chair, in the
+twilight of the summer's evening, was Miss Deveen. Near to her, telling
+a history, his voice low, his conscious face slightly flushed, sat
+the Rector of St. Matthew's. The scent from the garden flowers came
+pleasantly in at the open window; the moon, high in the heavens, was
+tinting the trees with her silvery light. One might have taken them for
+two lovers, sitting there to exchange vows, and going in for romance.
+
+Miss Deveen was at home alone. I was escorting that other estimable
+lady to a "penny-reading" in the adjoining district, St. Jude's, at
+which the clergy of the neighbourhood were expected to gather in
+full force, including the Rector of St. Matthew's. It was a special
+reading, sixpence admission, got up for the benefit of St. Jude's
+vestry fire-stove, which wanted replacing with a new one. Our parish,
+including Cattledon, took up the cause with zeal, and would not have
+missed the reading for the world. We flocked to it in numbers.
+
+Disappointment was in store for some of us, however, for the
+Rector of St. Matthew's did not appear. He called, instead, on Miss
+Deveen, confessing that he had hoped to find her alone, and to get
+half-an-hour's conversation with her: he had been wishing for it for
+some time, as he had a tale to tell.
+
+It was a tale of love. Miss Deveen, listening to it in the soft
+twilight, could but admire the man's constancy of heart and his
+marvellous patience.
+
+In the West of England, where he had been curate before coming to
+London, he had been very intimate with the Gibson family--the medical
+people of the place. The two brothers were in partnership, James and
+Edward Gibson. Their father had retired upon a bare competence, for
+village doctors don't often make fortunes, leaving the practice to these
+two sons. The rest of his sons and daughters were out in the world--Mrs.
+Topcroft was one of them. William Lake's father had been the incumbent
+of this parish, and the Lakes and the Gibsons were ever close friends.
+The incumbent died; another parson was appointed to the living; and
+subsequently William Lake became the new parson's curate, upon the
+enjoyable stipend of fifty pounds a-year. How ridiculously improvident
+it was of the curate and Emily Gibson to fall in love with one another,
+wisdom could testify. They did; and there was an end of it, and went in
+for all kinds of rose-coloured visions after the fashion of such-like
+poor mortals in this lower world. And when he was appointed to the
+curacy of St. Matthew's in London, upon a whole one hundred pounds
+a-year, these two people thought Dame Fortune was opening her favours
+upon them. They plighted their troth solemnly, and exchanged broken
+sixpences.
+
+Mr. Lake was thirty-one years of age then, and Emily was nineteen. He
+counted forty-five now, and she thirty-three. Thirty-three! Daisy Dutton
+would have tossed her little impertinent head, and classed Miss Gibson
+with the old ladies at the Alms Houses, who were verging on ninety.
+
+Fourteen summers had drifted by since that troth-plighting; and the
+lovers had been living--well, not exactly upon hope, for hope seemed to
+have died out completely; and certainly not upon love, for they did not
+meet: better say, upon disappointment. Emily, the eldest daughter of the
+younger of the two brothers, was but one of several children, and her
+father had no fortune to give her. She kept the house, her mother being
+dead, and saw to the younger children, patiently training and teaching
+them. And any chance of brighter prospects appeared to be so very
+hopeless, that she had long ago ceased to look for it.
+
+As to William Lake, coming up to London full of hope with his rise in
+life, he soon found realization not answer to expectation. He found that
+a hundred a-year in the metropolis, did not go so very much further than
+his fifty pounds went in the cheap and remote village. Whether he and
+Emily had indulged a hope of setting up housekeeping on the hundred
+a-year, they best knew; it might be good in theory, it was not to be
+accomplished in practice. It's true that money went further in those
+days than it goes in these; still, without taking into calculation
+future incidental expenses that marriage might bring in its train, they
+were not silly enough to risk it.
+
+When William Lake had been five years at St. Matthew's, and found he
+remained just as he was, making both ends meet upon the pay, and saw no
+prospect of being anywhere else to the end, or of gaining more, he wrote
+to release Emily from her engagement. The heartache at this was great on
+both sides, not to be got over lightly. Emily did not rebel; did not
+remonstrate. A sensible, good, self-enduring girl, she would not for the
+world have crossed him, or added to his care; if he thought it right
+that they should no longer be bound to one another, it was not for her
+to think differently. So the plighted troth was recalled and the broken
+sixpences were despatched back again. Speaking in theory, that is, you
+understand: practically, I don't in the least know whether the sixpences
+were returned or kept. It must have been a farce altogether, taken at
+the best: for they had just gone on silently caring for each other;
+patiently bearing--perhaps in a corner of their hearts even slightly
+hoping--all through these later years.
+
+Miss Deveen drew a deep breath as the Rector's voice died away in
+the stillness of the room. What a number of these long-enduring,
+silently-borne cases the world could tell of, and how deeply she pitied
+them, was very present to her then.
+
+"You are not affronted at my disclosing all this so fully, Miss Deveen?"
+he asked, misled by her silence. "I wished to----"
+
+"Affronted!" she interposed. "Nay, how could I be? I am lost in the deep
+sympathy I feel--with you and with Emily Gibson. What a trial it has
+been!--how hopeless it must have appeared. You will marry now."
+
+"Yes. I could not bring myself to disclose this abroad prematurely,"
+he added; "though perhaps I ought to have done it before beginning to
+furnish the house. I find that some of my friends, suspecting something
+from that fact, have been wondering whether I was thinking of Emma
+Topcroft. Though indeed I feel quite ashamed to repeat to you any idea
+that is so obviously absurd, poor child!"
+
+Miss Deveen laughed. "How did you hear that?" she asked.
+
+"From Emma herself. She heard of it from--from--Mrs. Jonas, I think--and
+repeated it to me, and to her mother, in the highest state of glee. To
+Emma, it seemed only fun: she is young and thoughtless."
+
+"I conclude Emma has known of your engagement?"
+
+"Only lately. Mrs. Topcroft knew of it from the beginning: Emily is her
+niece. She knew also that I released Emily from the engagement years
+ago, and she thought I did rightly, my future being so hopeless. But how
+very silly people must be to suppose I could think of that child Emma! I
+must set them right."
+
+"Never mind the people," cried Miss Deveen. "Don't set them right until
+you feel quite inclined to do so. As to that, I believe Emma has done
+it already. How long is it that you and Emily have waited for one
+another?"
+
+"Fourteen years."
+
+"Fourteen years! It seems half a lifetime. Do not let another day go on,
+Mr. Lake; marry at once."
+
+"That was one of the points on which I wished to ask your opinion," he
+rejoined, his tones hesitating, his face shrinking from the moonlight.
+"Do you think it would be wrong of me to marry--almost directly? Would
+it be at all unseemly?"
+
+"Wrong? Unseemly?" cried Miss Deveen. "In what way?"
+
+"I hardly know. It may appear to the parish so very hurried. And it is
+so short a time since my kind Rector died."
+
+"Never mind the parish," reiterated Miss Deveen. "The parish would fight
+at your marriage, though it were put off for a twelvemonth; be sure of
+that. As to Mr. Selwyn, he was no relative of yours. Surely you have
+waited long enough! Were I your promised wife, sir, I wouldn't have you
+at all unless you married me to-morrow morning."
+
+They both laughed a little. "Why should the parish fight at my marriage,
+Miss Deveen?" he suddenly asked.
+
+"Why?" she repeated; thinking how utterly void of conceit he was, how
+unconscious he had been all along in his modesty. "Oh, people always
+grumble at everything, you know. If you were to remain single, they
+would say you ought to marry; and if you marry, they will think you
+might as well have remained single. _Don't_ trouble your head about the
+parish, and don't tell any one a syllable beforehand if you'd rather
+not. _I_ shouldn't."
+
+"You have been so very kind to me always, Miss Deveen, and I have felt
+more grateful than I can say. I hope--I hope you will like my wife. I
+hope you will allow me to bring her here, and introduce her to you."
+
+"I like her already," said Miss Deveen. "As to your bringing her
+here, if she lived near enough you should both come here to your
+wedding-breakfast. What a probation it has been!"
+
+The tears stood in his grey eyes. "Yes, it has been that; a trial hardly
+to be imagined. I don't think we quite lost heart, either she or I. Not
+that we have ever looked to so bright an ending as this; but we knew
+that God saw all things, and we were content to leave ourselves in His
+hands."
+
+"I am sure that she is good and estimable! One to be loved."
+
+"Indeed she is. Few are like her."
+
+"Have you never met--all these fourteen years?"
+
+"Yes; three or four times. When I have been able to take a holiday I
+have gone down there to my old Rector; he was always glad to see me. It
+has not been often, as you know," he added. "Mr. Selwyn could not spare
+me."
+
+"I know," said Miss Deveen. "He took all the holidays, and you all the
+work."
+
+"He and his family seemed to need them," spoke the clergyman from his
+unselfish heart. "Latterly, when Emily and I have met, we have only
+allowed it to be as strangers."
+
+"Not quite as strangers, surely!"
+
+"No, no; I used the word thoughtlessly. I ought to have said as
+friends."
+
+"Will you pardon me for the question I am about to ask you, and not
+attribute it to impertinent curiosity?" resumed Miss Deveen. "How have
+you found the money to furnish your house? Or are you doing it on
+credit?"
+
+His whole face lighted up with smiles. "The money is Emily's, dear Miss
+Deveen. Her father, Edward Gibson, sent me his cheque for three hundred
+pounds, saying it was all he should be able to do for her, but he hoped
+it might be enough for the furniture."
+
+Miss Deveen took his hands in hers as he rose to leave. "I wish you both
+all the happiness that the world can give," she said, in her earnest
+tones. "And I think--I feel sure--Heaven's blessing will rest upon you."
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+We turned out from the penny-reading like bees from a hive, openly
+wondering what could have become of Mr. Lake. Mrs. Jonas hoped his head
+was not splitting--she had seen him talking to Miss Cattledon long
+enough in the afternoon in that hot King's Road to bring on a sunstroke.
+Upon which Cattledon retorted that the ginger-cordial might have
+disagreed with him. With the clearing up as to Emma Topcroft, these
+slight amenities had recommenced.
+
+Miss Deveen sat reading by lamp-light when we arrived home. Taking off
+her spectacles, she began asking us about the penny-reading; but never
+a hint gave she that she had had a visitor.
+
+Close upon this Mr. Lake took a week's holiday, leaving that interesting
+young deacon as his substitute, and a brother Rector to preach on the
+Sunday morning. No one could divine what on earth he had gone out for,
+as Mrs. Herriker put it, or what part of the world he had betaken
+himself to. Miss Deveen kept counsel; Mrs. Topcroft and Emma never
+opened their lips.
+
+The frightful truth came out one morning, striking the parish all of a
+heap. They read it in the _Times_, amongst the marriages. "The Reverend
+William Lake, Rector of St. Matthew's, to Emily Mary, eldest daughter of
+Edward Gibson, Member of the Royal College of Surgeons." Indignation set
+in.
+
+"I have heard of gay deceivers," gasped Miss Barlow, who was at the
+least as old as Cattledon, and sat in the churchwarden's pew at church,
+"but I never did hear of deceit such as this. And for a clergyman to be
+guilty of it!"
+
+"I'm glad I sent him a doll," giggled Daisy Dutton. "I dare say it is a
+doll he has gone and married."
+
+This was said in the porch, after morning prayers. Whilst they were all
+at it, talking as fast as they could talk, Emma Topcroft chanced to
+pass. They pounced upon her forthwith.
+
+"Married! Oh yes, of course he is married; and they are coming home on
+Saturday," said Emma, in response.
+
+"Is she a doll?" cried Daisy.
+
+"She is the nicest girl you ever saw," returned Emma; "though of course
+not much of a girl now; and they have waited for one another fourteen
+years."
+
+Fourteen years! Thoughts went back, in mortification, to slippers and
+cushions. Mrs. Jonas cast regrets to her ginger-cordial.
+
+"Of course he has a right to be engaged--and to have slyly kept it to
+himself, making believe he was a free man: but to go off surreptitiously
+to his wedding without a word to any one!--I don't know what _he_ may
+call it," panted Mrs. Herriker, in virtuous indignation, "_I_ call it
+conduct unbefitting a gentleman. He could have done no less had he been
+going to his hanging."
+
+"He would have liked to speak, I think, but could not get up courage
+for it; he is the shyest man possible," cried Emma. "But he did not go
+off surreptitiously: some people knew of it. Miss Deveen knew--and Dr.
+Galliard knew--and we knew--and I feel nearly sure Mr. Chisholm knew, he
+simpered so the other day when he called for the books. I dare say
+Johnny Ludlow knew."
+
+All which was so much martyrdom to Jemima Cattledon, listening
+with a face of vinegar. Miss Deveen!--and Johnny Ludlow!--and those
+Topcrofts!--while _she_ had been kept in the dark! She jerked up her
+skirts to cross the wet road, inwardly vowing never to put faith in
+surpliced man again.
+
+We went to church on Sunday morning to the sound of the ting-tang.
+Mr. Lake, looking calm and cool as usual, was stepping into the
+reading-desk: in the Rector's pew sat a quiet-looking and quietly
+dressed young lady with what Miss Deveen called, then and afterwards,
+a sweet face. Daisy Dutton took a violent fancy to her at first-sight:
+truth to say, so did I.
+
+Our parish--the small knot of week-day church-goers in it--could not
+get over it at all. Moreover, just at this time they lost Mr. Chisholm,
+whose year was up. Some of them "went over" to St. Jude's in a body;
+that church having recently set up daily services, and a most desirable
+new curate who could "intone." "As if we would attend that slow old St.
+Matthew's now, to hear that slow old parson Lake!" cried Mrs. Herriker,
+craning her neck disparagingly.
+
+The disparagement did not affect William Lake. He proved as
+indefatigable as Rector as he had been as curate, earning the golden
+opinions he deserved. And he and his wife were happy.
+
+But he would persist in declaring that all the good which had come to
+him was owing to me; that but for my visit to London at that critical
+time, Sir Robert Tenby would never have heard there was such a man as
+himself in the world.
+
+"It is true, Johnny," said Miss Deveen. "But you were only the humble
+instrument in the hand of God."
+
+
+
+
+MRS. CRAMP'S TENANT
+
+
+I.
+
+It was autumn weather, and we had just arrived at Crabb Cot. When you
+have been away from a familiar place, whether it may be only for days,
+or whether it may be for weeks or months or years, you are eager on
+returning to it to learn what has transpired during your absence,
+concerning friends or enemies, the parish or the public.
+
+Bob Letsom ran in that first evening, and we had him to ourselves; the
+Squire and Mrs. Todhetley were still in the dining-room. I asked after
+Coralie Fontaine.
+
+"Oh, Coralie's all right," said he.
+
+"Do the old ladies go on at her still?" cried Tod.
+
+Bob laughed. "I think they've stopped that, finding it hopeless."
+
+When Sir Dace Fontaine died, now eighteen months ago, the two girls,
+Coralie and Verena, were left alone. Verena shortly went back to the
+West Indies to marry George Bazalgette, Coralie remained at Oxlip
+Grange. Upon that, all the old ladies in the place, as Tod had
+ungallantly put it, beginning with Bob's mother, set on to lecture
+her: telling her she must not continue to live alone, she must take a
+companion of mature age. Why must she not live alone, Coralie returned:
+she had old Ozias to protect her from robbers, and her maid-servants
+to see to her clothes and her comforts. Because it was not proper,
+said the old ladies. Coralie laughed at that, and told them not to be
+afraid; she could take care of herself. And apparently she did. She
+had learnt to be independent in America; could not be brought to
+understand English stiffness and English pride: and she would go off
+to London and elsewhere for a week or two at a time, just as though
+she had been sixty years of age.
+
+"I have an idea she will not be Coralie Fontaine much longer," continued
+Letsom.
+
+"Who will she be, then?"
+
+"Coralie Rymer."
+
+"You can't mean that she is going to take up with Ben!"
+
+"Well, I fancy so. Some of us thought they were making up to one another
+before Sir Dace died--when Ben was attending him. Don't you recollect
+how much old Fontaine liked Ben?--he'd have had him by his side always.
+Ben's getting on like a house on fire; has unusual skill in surgery and
+is wonderful at operations: he performed a very critical one upon old
+Massock this summer, and the man is about again as sturdy and impudent
+as ever."
+
+"Does Ben live down here entirely?"
+
+"He goes up to London between whiles--in pursuit of his studies and the
+degrees he means to take. He is there now. Oh, he'll get on. You'll
+see."
+
+"Well, what else, Letsom?" cried Tod. "You have told us no news about
+anybody yet."
+
+"Because there's none to tell."
+
+"How do those two old dames get on--the Dennets?"
+
+"Oh, they are gone off to some baths in Germany for a twelvemonth, with
+suppressed gout, and their house is let to a mysterious tenant."
+
+"Mysterious in what way?"
+
+"Well, nobody sees her, and she keeps the doors bolted and barred. The
+Dennets left it all in Mrs. Cramp's hands, being intimate with her, for
+they started in a hurry, and she put it into a new agent's hands at
+Worcester, and he put an advertisement in the papers. Some lady answered
+it, a stranger; she agreed to all conditions by letter, took possession
+of the house, and has shut herself up as if something uncanny were
+inside it. Mrs. Cramp does not like it at all; and queer rumours are
+beginning to go about."
+
+"What's her name?"
+
+"Nobody knows."
+
+The house spoken of was North Villa, where Jacob Chandler used to live.
+When the Chandlers went down in the world it was taken on lease by the
+Miss Dennets, two steady middle-aged sisters.
+
+The first visit we paid the following morning was to Oxlip Grange, to
+see Coralie. Meeting the Squire on the way he said he would go with us.
+North Villa lies not far from us, soon after you turn into the Islip
+Road, and the Grange is about a quarter-of-a-mile farther on. I took a
+good stare at the villa in passing. Two of the upstairs windows were
+open, but the mysterious tenant was not to be seen.
+
+Old Ozias was in the Grange garden, helping the gardener; it was how he
+professed to fill up his time; and the door was opened by a tall, smart
+maid, with curled hair and pink bows in her cap. Where had I seen her?
+Why, at the lodgings in the Marylebone Road in London! She was Maria,
+who had been housemaid there during the enacting of that tragedy.
+
+Coralie Fontaine sat in her pretty parlour, one opening from the large
+drawing-room, flirting a paper hand-screen between her face and the
+fire, which she would have, as Sir Dace used to, whether it might be
+cold weather or hot. Small and pale, her black hair smooth and silky,
+her dark eyes meeting ours honestly, her chin pointed, her pretty teeth
+white, she was not a whit changed. Her morning dress was white, with
+scarlet ribbons, and she was downright glad to see us. The Squire
+inquired after Verena.
+
+"She is quite well," replied Coralie. "At least, she would be but for
+grumbling."
+
+"What has she to grumble about, my dear?"
+
+"Nothing," said Coralie.
+
+"Then why does she do it? Dear me! Is her husband not kind to her?"
+
+Coralie laughed at the notion. "He is too kind, Mr. Todhetley. Kindness
+to people is George Bazalgette's weakness, especially to Verena. Her
+grievance lies in George's sister, Magnolia Bazalgette."
+
+"What a splendacious name!" interrupted Tod. "Magnolia!"
+
+"She was named after the estate, Magnolia Range, a very beautiful place
+and one of the finest properties on the island," said Coralie. "Magnolia
+lives with George, it was always her home, you see; and Verena does
+not take kindly to her. She complains that Magnolia domineers over the
+household and over herself. It is just one of Verena's silly fancies;
+she always wants to be first and foremost; and I have written her one
+or two sharp letters."
+
+"Coralie," I said here, "is not the girl, who showed us in, Maria?--she
+who used to live in those lodgings in London?"
+
+Coralie nodded. "The last time I was staying in London, Maria came to
+me, saying she had left her place and was in want of one. I engaged her
+at once. I like the girl."
+
+"She is an uncommonly smart girl in the way of curls and caps," remarked
+Tod.
+
+"I like smart people about me," laughed Coralie.
+
+Who should come in then but Mrs. Cramp. _She_ was smart. A flounced gown
+of shiny material, green in one light, red in another, and a purple
+bonnet with white strings. She was Stephen Cramp's widow, formerly Mary
+Ann Chandler; her speech was honest and homely, and her comely face wore
+a look of perplexity.
+
+"I don't much like the look of things down yonder," she began, nodding
+her head in the direction of North Villa and as she sat down her
+flounces went up, displaying her white cotton stockings and low, tied
+shoes. "I have been calling there again, and I can't get in."
+
+"Nobody can get in," said Coralie.
+
+"They have put a chain on the door, and they answer people through it.
+No chain was ever there before, as long as I have known the house. I
+paid no attention to the things people were saying," continued Mrs.
+Cramp; "but I did not much like something I heard last night. I'll see
+the lady, I said to myself this morning, and down to the house I went,
+walked up the garden, and----"
+
+"But what is it that people have been saying, Mrs. Cramp?" struck in the
+Squire. "These boys have heard something or other."
+
+"What's said is, that there's something queer about the lady," replied
+Mrs. Cramp. "I can't make it out myself, Squire. Some people say she's
+pig-faced."
+
+"_Pig-faced!_"
+
+"Well, they do. Last night I heard she was black. And, putting two and
+two together, as one can't help doing in such a case, I don't like that
+report at all."
+
+The Squire stared--and began thinking. He believed he knew what Mrs.
+Cramp meant.
+
+"Well, I went there, and rang," she resumed. "And they opened the door
+a couple of inches and talked to me over the chain: some sour-faced
+woman-servant of middle age. I told her I had come to see my tenant--her
+mistress; she answered that her mistress could not be seen, and shut the
+door in my face."
+
+Mrs. Cramp untied her white satin bonnet-strings, tilted back her
+bonnet, caught up the painted fan, fellow to the one Coralie was
+handling, and fanned herself while she talked.
+
+"As long as it was said the lady was pig-faced and hid herself from
+people's eyes accordingly, I thought little of it, you understand,
+Squire; but if she is black, that's a different matter. It sets one
+fearing that some scandal may come of it. The Miss Dennets would drop
+down in a fit on the spot if they heard _that_ person had got into their
+house."
+
+Coralie laughed.
+
+"Ah, my dear, you careless young people make jokes of things that would
+fret us old ones to fiddle-strings," reproved Mrs. Cramp. "The four
+Indians may be with her, you know, and most likely are, concealed in
+cupboards. You don't know what such desperate characters might do--break
+into your house here some dark night and kill you in your bed. It is not
+a pleasant thing, is it, Squire?"
+
+"That it's not, if it be as you put it," assented he, growing hot.
+
+"Look here, Mrs. Cramp," interposed Tod. "If the lady has never been
+seen, how can it be known she is black, or pig-faced?"
+
+"I've never treated the pig-faced report as anything but rubbish,"
+answered Mrs. Cramp; "but I'll tell you, Mr. Joseph, how it has come out
+that she's black. I heard from Susan Dennet yesterday morning, and she
+asked whether any letters were lying at home for her or Mary. So I sent
+my servant Peggy last evening to inquire--a stupid thing of a girl she
+is, comes from over beyond Bromyard. Peggy went to the kitchen-door--and
+they have a chain there as well as to the other--and was told that no
+letters had come for the Miss Dennets. It was growing dark, and Peggy,
+who had never been on the premises before, mistook the path, and turned
+into one that took her to the latticed arbour. Many a time have I sat
+there in poor Jacob's days, with the Malvern Hills in the distance."
+
+"So have I, Mary Ann," added the Squire, calling her unconsciously by
+her Christian name, his thoughts back in the time when they were boy and
+girl together.
+
+"Peggy found her mistake then, and was turning back, when there stood in
+her path a black woman, who must have followed her down: black face,
+black hands, all black. What's more, she was wrapped round in yellow;
+a _shroud_, Peggy declares, but the girl was quite beyond herself with
+fright, and could not be expected to know shrouds from cloaks in the
+twilight. The woman stood stock still, never speaking, only staring;
+and Peggy tore back in her terror, and fell into the arms of a
+railway-porter, just then bringing a parcel from the station. 'Goodness
+help us!' she shrieked out, 'there's a blackamore in the path yonder:'
+and the girl came home more dead than alive. That is how I've learnt the
+mysterious lady is black," summed up Mrs. Cramp; "and knowing what we do
+know, I don't like it."
+
+Neither did the Squire. And Mrs. Cramp departed in a flutter. We all
+liked her, in spite of her white stockings and shoes.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Some few months before this, a party of strangers appeared one morning
+at Worcester, and took handsome lodgings there. Four fashionable-looking
+gentlemen, with dark skins and darker hair; natives, apparently, of some
+remote quarter of the globe, say Asia or Africa, whose inhabitants are
+of a fine copper colour; and one lady, understood to be their sister,
+who was darker than they were--almost quite black. Two rather elderly
+and very respectable English servants, man and wife, were in their
+train. They lived well, these people, regardless of cost: had sumptuous
+dishes on their table, choice fruits, hot-house flowers. They made no
+acquaintance whatever in the town, rarely went abroad on foot, but took
+an airing most days in a large old rumbling open barouche, supplied by
+the livery stables. Worcester, not less alive to curiosity than is any
+other city, grew to be all excitement over these people, watched their
+movements with admiration, and called them "The Indians." The lady was
+seen in the barouche but once, enveloped in a voluminous yellow mantle,
+the hood of which was drawn over her face. It transpired that she was
+not in good health, and one evening, when she had a fainting-fit, a
+doctor was called in to her. His report to the town the next day
+was that she was really a coloured woman, very much darker than her
+brothers, with the manners and culture of a lady, but strikingly
+reserved. After a sojourn of about two months, the party, servants and
+all, quitted their lodgings, giving the landlady only an hour's notice,
+to spend, as they gave out, a week at Malvern. They paid their bill in
+full, asked permission to leave two or three of their heaviest trunks
+with her, and departed.
+
+But they did not go to Malvern. It was not discovered where they did go.
+Nothing more was seen of them; nothing certain heard. The trunks they
+had left proved to be empty; some accounts owing in the town came in
+to be paid. All this looked curious. By-and-by a frightful rumour
+arose--that these people had been mixed up in some dreadful crime: one
+report said forgery, another murder. It was affirmed that Scotland
+Yard had been looking for them for months, and that they had disguised
+themselves as Indians (to quote the word Worcester used) to avert
+detection. But some observant individuals maintained that they were
+Indians (to use the word again), that no disguise or making-up could
+have converted their faces to what they were. Nothing more had as yet
+been heard of them, saving that a sum of money, enough to cover the
+small amount of debts left behind, was transmitted to the landlady
+anonymously. Excitement had not yet absolutely died away in the town.
+It was popularly supposed that the Indians were lying concealed in
+some safe hiding-place, perhaps not far distant.
+
+And now, having disclosed this strange episode, the fame of which had
+gone about the county, you will be able to understand Mrs. Cramp's
+consternation. It appeared to be only too probable that the hiding-place
+was North Villa: of the lady in the yellow mantle, at any rate, whether
+her four brothers were with her or not.
+
+
+II.
+
+I sat, perched on the fence of the opposite field, as though waiting
+for some one, whistling softly, and taking crafty looks at North Villa,
+for our curiosity as to its doings grew with the days, when a fine,
+broad-shouldered, well-dressed gentleman came striding along the road,
+flicking his cane.
+
+"Well, Johnny!"
+
+At the first moment I did not know him, I really did not; he looked too
+grand a gentleman for Benjamin Rymer, too handsome. It was Ben, however.
+The improvement in him had been going on gradually for some years now;
+and Ben, in looks, in manner, ay, and in conduct, could hold his own
+with the best in the land.
+
+"I did not know you were down here," I said, meeting his offered hand.
+Time was when he would not have presumed to hold out his hand to me
+unsolicited, boy though I was in those old days: he might have thought
+nothing of offering it to a nabob now.
+
+"I got down yesterday," said Ben. "Glad enough to have taken my M.D.,
+and to have done with London."
+
+"I thought you did not mean to take a physician's degree."
+
+"I did not, as I chiefly go in for surgery. But when I considered that
+my life will probably be spent in this country place, almost as a
+general practitioner, I thought it best to take it. It gives one a
+standing, you see, Ludlow. And so," he added laughing, "I am Dr. Rymer.
+What are you sitting here for, Johnny? Watching that house?"
+
+"Have you heard about it?" I asked.
+
+"Coralie--Miss Fontaine--told me of it when I was with her last evening.
+Is there anything to be seen?"
+
+"Nothing at all. I have been here for twenty minutes and have not caught
+a glimpse of any one, black or white. Yesterday, when Salmon's boy took
+some grocery there, he saw the black lady peeping at him behind the
+blind."
+
+"It seems a strange affair altogether," remarked Ben. "The sudden
+appearance of the people at Worcester, that was strange, as was their
+sudden disappearance. If it be in truth they who are hiding themselves
+here, I can't say much for their wisdom: they are too near to the old
+scene."
+
+"I wonder you don't set up in London," I said to Ben as we walked
+onwards.
+
+"It is what I should like to do of all things," he replied in a tone of
+eagerness, "and confine my practice wholly to surgery. But my home must
+be here. Circumstances are stronger than we are."
+
+"Will it be at Oxlip Grange?" I quietly asked.
+
+Ben turned his head to study my face, and what he read there told tales.
+"I see," he said, "you know. Yes, it will be at Oxlip Grange. That has
+been settled a long while past."
+
+"I wish you every happiness; all good luck."
+
+"Thank you, Johnny."
+
+We were nearing the place in question when Mrs. Cramp turned out of its
+small iron gate, that stood beside the ornamental large ones, in her
+bewitching costume of green and purple. "And how are you, Mr. Benjamin?"
+she asked. "Come down for good?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And he is Dr. Rymer now, Mrs. Cramp," I added.
+
+"I am glad to hear it," said she warmly, "and I'll shake your hand on
+the strength of it," and she gave his hand a hearty shake. "At one time
+you said you never would take a doctor's degree."
+
+"So I did," said Ben. "But somebody wished me to take it."
+
+"Your mother, I guess,"--though, for my part, I did not suppose it was
+his mother. "Any way, you'll do well now."
+
+"I hope so," answered Ben. "You look fluttered, Mrs. Cramp."
+
+"I'm more fluttered than I care to be; I am living in a chronic state of
+flutter," avowed Mrs. Cramp. "It's over that tenant of mine; that woman
+down yonder," pointing towards North Villa.
+
+"Why should you flutter yourself over her?" he remonstrated. "She is not
+your tenant."
+
+"Indeed but she is my tenant. To all intents and purposes she is my
+tenant. The Miss Dennets left the house in my hands."
+
+"How was it you did not have references with her, Mrs. Cramp?"
+
+"That donkey of an agent never asked for any," retorted she. "He was
+thrown off his guard, he says, by her sending him the first month's rent
+in advance, and telling him she had only one or two old servants, and no
+children, and the furniture would be as much cared for as if it were
+made of gold. Last night she sends to me the advance rent for next
+month, though it's not due for two days yet, and that has fluttered me,
+I can tell you, Mr. Benjamin, for I was hoping she wouldn't pay, and
+that I might be able to get her out. I am now going there with the
+receipt, and to try again to get to see her: the woman who left the
+money never waited for one. Afraid of being catechised, I take it."
+
+Picking up her green skirts she sailed down the road. Coralie Fontaine
+was leaning over the little gate, and opened it as we approached. A
+beautiful cashmere shawl, all scarlet and gold, contrasted with her
+white dress, and her drooping gold ear-drops glittered in the autumn
+sun. She made a dainty picture, and I saw Dr. Benjamin's enraptured
+eyes meet hers. If they were not over head and ears in love with one
+another, never you trust me again.
+
+"Mrs. Cramp is in a way," cried Coralie, as we strolled with her up the
+garden, amidst its old-fashioned flowers, all bloom and sweetness. "I'm
+sure that black lady is as good as a play to us."
+
+"News came to me this morning from my sister," said Benjamin. "She
+and the Archdeacon are coming home; he has not been well, and has six
+months' leave of absence."
+
+"Do they bring the children?" asked Coralie.
+
+"As if they'd leave _them_! Why, Coralie, those two small damsels are
+the very light of Margaret's eyes--to judge by her letters; and of
+Sale's too, I shouldn't wonder. Margaret asks me to take lodgings for
+them. I think Mrs. Boughton's might be large enough--where Sale lodged
+in the old days."
+
+"Lodgings!" indignantly exclaimed Coralie. "I do think you Europeans,
+you English, are the most inhospitable race on the face of the earth!
+Your only sister, whom you have not seen for years, of whom you are very
+fond, is coming back to her native place with her husband and children
+for a temporary stay, and you can talk of putting them into lodgings?
+For shame, Benjamin!"
+
+"But what else am I to do?" questioned he, good-humouredly laughing at
+her. "I have only one bedroom and one sitting-room of my own, the two
+about as large as a good-sized clothes-closet; I cannot invite a man and
+his wife and two children to share them, and he an archdeacon! There
+wouldn't be space to turn round in."
+
+"Let them come here," said Coralie.
+
+"Thank you," he said, after a few moments' hesitation: and it struck me
+he might be foreseeing difficulties. "But--they will not be here just
+yet."
+
+He had some patients at Islip, and went on there; I said adieu to
+Coralie and walked homewards, thinking of the ups and downs of life.
+Presently Mrs. Cramp's green gown loomed into view; her face red, her
+bonnet awry. I saw she had not met with any luck.
+
+"No, I have _not_," she said. "I walked up into their porch as bold as
+you please, Johnny Ludlow, and I knocked and I rang, letting 'em think
+it was the Queen come, if they would. And when the woman with the sour
+face opened the door an inch, she just took the receipt from me; but as
+to seeing her mistress, I might as well have asked to see the moon. And
+I heard a scuffle, as if people were listening. Oh, it's those Indians:
+trust me for that."
+
+Away she went, without further ceremony, and I went back to the ups and
+downs of earthly life.
+
+It was not so very long ago that Thomas Rymer had lain on his death-bed,
+brought to it by the troubles of the world, and by the anxiety for his
+children, for whom no career seemed to present itself, saving that of
+hard, mean, hopeless drudgery: if not something worse for Benjamin.
+But how things had changed! Benjamin, pulling himself up from his
+ill-doings, was--what he was. A man respected; clever, distinguished,
+with probably a great career of usefulness before him, and about to be
+married to a charming girl of large fortune. While Margaret, whom her
+father had so loved, so pitied, was the wife of a man high in the
+Church, and happy as a queen. For, as you have gathered, the Reverend
+Isaac Sale, who had given up Herbert Tanerton's humble curacy to go out
+as chaplain to the Bahama Islands, had been made an archdeacon. Ups and
+downs, ups and downs! they make the sum and substance of existence.
+Glancing at the blue sky, over which fleecy white clouds were softly
+drifting, I lost myself in wondering whether Thomas Rymer could look
+down and still see his children here.
+
+The chemist's shop at Timberdale had been sold by Benjamin Rymer to the
+smart young man who had carried it on during his absences, one James
+Boom, said to be Scotch. Benjamin had his rooms there at present;
+good-sized closets, he has just called them; and took his meals
+with Mr. Boom. Mrs. Rymer, the mother (having appropriated all the
+purchase-money), had set up her home in Birmingham amidst her old
+friends and relatives, and Benjamin had covenanted to allow her money
+yearly from his practice.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+Public commotion increased. It spread to Oxlip Grange. One night, Ozias
+was sitting back amidst the laurels at the side of the house to smoke
+his pipe, when Maria came out to ask him what he had done with the best
+tea-tray, which they couldn't find. As she stood a moment while he
+reflected, there came two figures softly creeping round from the
+front--women. One wore a close bonnet and full dark cloak, the other was
+altogether enveloped in some shapeless garment that might be yellow
+by daylight, out of which a jet-black face and jet-black hands shone
+conspicuously in the rays of the stars. Maria, very much frightened,
+grasped hold of the old man's shoulder.
+
+The pipe trembled in his hand: he had a mortal dread of assassins and
+housebreakers. "No speaky, no speaky," whispered he. "We watch, you and
+me. They come hurt Missee."
+
+The figures made for the lighted window of the large drawing-room, which
+was at the end of this side of the house. Coralie was sitting alone
+within it, expecting visitors to tea. The blind was not drawn quite
+down, and they stooped to peer in, and remained there as if glued to
+the window. Maria could stand it no longer, but in creeping away, she
+rustled the laurels frightfully: we are sure to make the most noise, you
+know, when we want to be silent. The women looked round, and there came
+from them a rattling hiss, like that of a snake. With a scream, Maria
+made for the refuge of the kitchen-door; Ozias flew after her, dropping
+his pipe.
+
+It must have disturbed the women. For just about then, when the Squire,
+holding my arm, arrived at Miss Fontaine's gate, they were coming out:
+two disguised figures, who went swiftly down the road.
+
+"Mercy be good to us!" cried the Squire, aghast. He had drawn back in
+politeness to let them pass through the gate, and had found the black
+face come nearly into contact with his own. "Johnny, lad, that must be
+Mrs. Cramp's tenant and her servant!"
+
+They brushed past Mrs. Todhetley coming along with Tod. Maria and Ozias
+were in the drawing-room when we got in, talking like wild things. The
+other guests soon arrived, Dr. Rymer, Mrs. Cramp, and Tom Chandler and
+his wife from Islip. Ozias gave an opinion that Missee (meaning Coralie)
+was about to be assassinated in her bed.
+
+At this Coralie laughed. She had no fear, but she did not like it. "I
+cannot see what they could possibly want, looking in at me!" she cried.
+"It was very rude."
+
+"They want Missee's diamonds," spoke Ozias. "Missee got great lot beauty
+diamonds, lot other beauty jewels; black woman come in this night--next
+night--after night--who know which--and smother Missee and take dem
+all."
+
+Poor Mrs. Cramp, sitting in the biggest arm-chair, her sandalled shoes
+stretched on a footstool, was quite taken out of herself with dismay.
+The Squire rubbed his face incessantly, asking what was to be done. Dr.
+Rymer said nothing in regard to what was to be done; but he gave his
+head an emphatic nod, as if he knew.
+
+The next morning he presented himself at North Villa, and asked to see
+its tenant. The woman-servant denied him--over the chain. Ben insisted
+upon his card and his request being taken in. After a battle of words,
+she took them in, shutting the door in his face the while; and the
+doctor cooled his heels in the porch for five minutes. As she drew the
+door open again, he caught sight of a black face twisted round the
+sitting-room door-post to peep at him, a black hand, with rings on it,
+grasping it. She saw him looking at her, and disappeared like a shot.
+The message brought out by the servant was that her mistress was an
+invalid, unable to see visitors: if Dr. Rymer had any business with her,
+he must be good enough to convey it by letter.
+
+"Very well," said the doctor, in his decisive way: "I warn you and your
+mistress not again to intrude on Miss Fontaine's premises, as you did
+last night. If you do, you must take the consequences."
+
+At this, the woman stared as if it were so much Greek to her. She
+answered that she had not been on Miss Fontaine's premises, then or
+ever; had not been out-of-doors at all the previous night. And Ben
+thought by her tone she was speaking truth.
+
+"It was one of those Indian brothers disguised in a cloak and bonnet,"
+said we all when we heard this. And Coralie's servants took to watching
+through the livelong night at the upper windows, turn and turn about,
+growing thin from dread of the assassins.
+
+Altogether, what with one small item and another, Mrs. Cramp's tenant
+kept us alive. A belief had prevailed that the woman-servant was the
+same who had attended the Indians; but this was dispelled. A housemaid
+of ours, Nancy, a flighty sort of girl, often in hot water with her
+elders thereby, whose last service had been with old Lawyer Cockermouth,
+at Worcester, was out on an errand when she met this woman and
+recognized her for an old acquaintance. During Nancy's service with
+the lawyer she had been there as the cook-housekeeper.
+
+"It is Sarah Stone, ma'am, and nobody else!" cried Nancy, running in to
+tell the news to Mrs. Todhetley. "She left for her temper, soon after I
+left; I heard say that old Miss Cockermouth wouldn't put up with it any
+longer."
+
+"Are you sure it is the same, Nancy?" asked Mrs Todhetley.
+
+"Why, ma'am, I know Sarah Stone as well as I know my own mother. 'What,
+is it _you_ that's living here with that there black lady?' I says to
+her. 'What is it to you whether I'm living with a black lady or a white
+'un,' she answers me, crustily: 'just mind your own affairs, Nancy
+Dell.' 'Well,' says I, 'there's a pretty talk about her; it's not me
+that would like to serve a wild Indian'--and that set Sarah Stone off at
+a strapping pace, ma'am."
+
+Thus things went on. North Villa seeming to grow more isolated day by
+day, and its inmates more mysterious. When the rent for the next month
+was nearly due, Mrs. Cramp found it left at her house as before: and
+poor Mrs. Cramp felt fit to have a fever.
+
+One evening, early in November, Mr. Cole, the surgeon of Crabb, was seen
+to go into North Villa. He was seen to go again the following morning,
+and again in the afternoon, and again in the evening. It transpired that
+the black lady was alarmingly ill.
+
+Naturally, it put the parish up in arms. We made a rush for Cole,
+wanting to ask him five hundred things. Cole, skimming along the ground
+like a lamplighter, avoided us all; and the first to succeed in pouncing
+upon him was Miss Timmens, the schoolmistress. Very downright and
+honest, she was in the habit of calling a spade a spade, and poured out
+her questions one upon another. They had met by the yellow barn.
+
+"Well, no," answers Cole, when he could get a word in, "I don't think
+that any murderer is at North Villa; do not see one about, but there's a
+baby." "A baby!" shrieks Miss Timmens, as she pushed back the bunches of
+black curls from her thin cheeks with their chronic redness, "a baby!"
+"Yes, a baby," says Cole, "a new baby." "Good mercy!" cries she, "a
+baby! a black baby! Is it a boy or a girl, Mr. Cole?" "It's a boy,"
+says Cole. "_Good_ mercy! a black boy!--what an extraordinary sight
+it must be!" Cole says nothing to this; only looks at her as meek as
+a lamb. "And now, between ourselves, doctor," goes on Miss Timmens,
+confidentially, "did you see the Indians there?--those men?" "Did not
+see any man at all," answers Cole, "saw no sign of a man being there."
+"Ah, of course they'd take their precautions to keep out of sight,"
+nodded Miss Timmens, thinking old Cole uncommonly stupid to-day. "And
+how do you relish attending on a black patient, doctor? And what's she
+like?" "Why," answers Cole, "black patients are much the same as white
+ones; have the same number of arms and legs and fingers." "Oh, indeed,"
+says Miss Timmens, quite sharply; and she wishes Cole good-day. And that
+was the best that could be got out of Cole.
+
+The doctor's visits were watched with the most intense interest; three
+times a-day at first, then twice a-day, then once; and then they ceased
+altogether.
+
+"Black lady on her legs again?" says Ben Rymer, meeting Cole about this
+time. "Quite so," answers Cole. "Mind that you get paid, sir," says Ben,
+with a laugh. "No need to mind that," returns Cole, "five sovereigns
+were put into my hand when the child was born." "By the black lady?"
+asks Ben, opening his eyes: for two guineas was the crack fee in our
+parts. "Yes, it _was_ the black lady who gave it me," says Cole with
+emphasis: "and that, she took care to say, was not to include subsequent
+attendance. Wish you the same luck in your next case, Rymer."
+
+Rymer thanked him and went off laughing. He was getting on in his
+practice like a house on fire, his fame rising daily.
+
+"How do you like it--his setting up here?" confidentially questioned the
+Squire of Darbyshire, the doctor at Timberdale.
+
+"Plenty of room for both of us," replied Darbyshire, "and I am not as
+young as I was. It rather strikes me, though, Squire, it is not exactly
+at Timberdale that Rymer will pitch his tent."
+
+The next exciting event had nothing to do with North Villa. It was the
+arrival of Archdeacon Sale with his wife and children. They did not go
+to Coralie's. Herbert Tanerton opened his heart, and carried them off to
+the Rectory from the railway-station. That was so like Herbert! Had Sale
+remained a poor curate he might have gone to the workhouse and taken
+Margaret with him; being an archdeacon Herbert chose to make much of
+him. Margaret was not altered, she was loving and gentle as ever; with
+the same nice face, and poor Thomas Rymer's sad, sweet eyes shining from
+it.
+
+Of course the first thing confided to the Bahama travellers was the
+mystery at North Villa. The Archdeacon took a sensible view of it. "As
+long as the black lady does not molest you," he said, "why trouble
+yourselves about her?"
+
+After that we had a bit of a lull. Nothing exciting occurred. Saving a
+report that two of the Indians were seen taking the air in the garden of
+North Villa, each with a formidable stick in his hand. But it turned out
+that they were two tramps who had gone in to beg.
+
+
+III.
+
+I thought it would have come to a quarrel. The Squire maintained his
+view and Coralie maintained hers. They talked at each other daily,
+neither giving way.
+
+Christmas-Day was approaching, and it had pleased Miss Fontaine to
+project a sumptuous dinner for it, to be given at Oxlip Grange to all
+her special friends. The Squire protested he never heard of anything so
+unreasonable. He did not dine out of his own house on Christmas-Day, and
+she must come to Crabb Cot.
+
+The third week in December had set in, when one evening, as we rose from
+table, the Squire impulsively declared he would go and finally have it
+out with her.
+
+Meaning Coralie. Settling himself into his great-coat, he called to me
+to go after him. In the Islip Road we overtook Cole, walking fast also.
+He had been sent for to the baby at North Villa, he said; and we left
+him at the gate.
+
+Coralie was in her favourite little parlour, reading by lamplight. The
+Squire sat down by the fire in a flutter, and began remonstrating about
+the Christmas dinner. Coralie only laughed.
+
+"It is unreasonable, dear Mr. Todhetley, even to propose our going to
+you. Think of the number! I wish to have everybody. The Archdeacon and
+his wife, and Dr. Rymer, and Mrs. Cramp, and the Letsoms, and Tom
+Chandler and Emma, and of course, her father, old Mr. Paul, as he is
+some relation of mine, and---- Why, that's a carriage driving up! I
+wonder who has come to-night?"
+
+Another minute, and old Ozias rushed in with a beaming face, hardly able
+to get his words out for excitement.
+
+"Oh, Missee, Missee, it Massa George; come all over wide seas from
+home,"--and there entered a fine man with a frank and handsome
+face--George Bazalgette.
+
+"Where's Verena?" he exclaimed, after kissing Coralie and shaking hands
+genially with the Squire, though they had never met before.
+
+Coralie looked surprised. "Verena?" she repeated. "Is she not with you?"
+
+"She is not with me; I wish she was. Where is she, Coralie?"
+
+"But how should I know where she is?" retorted Coralie, looking up at
+Mr. Bazalgette.
+
+"Is she not staying with you? Did she not come over to you?"
+
+"Certainly not," said Coralie. "I have not seen Verena since she went
+out, sixteen months ago. Neither have I heard from her lately. What is
+it that you mean, George?"
+
+George Bazalgette stood back against the book-case, and told us what he
+meant. Some weeks ago--nay, months--upon returning to Magnolia Range
+after a week's absence at his other estate across the country, he found
+Verena flown. She left a note for him, saying she did not get on well
+with Magnolia, and was going to stay a little while with Mrs. Dickson.
+He felt hurt that Verena had not spoken openly to him about Magnolia,
+but glad that she should have the change, as she had not been well of
+late. Mrs. Dickson was his aunt and lived in a particularly healthy part
+of one of the adjoining islands. Time passed on; he wrote to Verena, but
+received no answer to his letters, and he concluded she was so put out
+with Magnolia that she would not write. By-and-by he thought it was time
+to see after her, and journeyed to Mrs. Dickson's. Mrs. Dickson was
+absent, gone to stay with some friends at St. Thomas, and the servants
+did not know when she would return. He supposed, as a matter of course,
+that she had taken Verena with her, and went back home. Still the time
+passed; no news of Verena, no letters, and he proceeded again to Mrs.
+Dickson's. Then, to his unbounded astonishment, he found that Verena
+had only stayed with her one week, and had taken the mail-packet for
+Southampton on her way to stay with her sister at Oxlip Grange. Giving
+a blessing to Mrs. Dickson for not having written to inform him of all
+this, and for having kept his letters to Verena by that young lady's
+arbitrary command, he came off at once to England.
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed Coralie. "She did not come here."
+
+The fine colour on George Bazalgette's face, which retained its
+freshness though he did live in a hot climate, lost its brightness.
+
+"She would be the least likely to come here, of all places," pursued
+Coralie. "In the last answer I ever sent her, after a letter of
+complaints to me, hinting that she thought of coming here for a time,
+I scolded her sharply and assured her I should despatch her back to you
+the next day."
+
+"What am I to do?" he exclaimed. "Where look for her?"
+
+Not caring to intrude longer, we took our departure, the Squire shaking
+his head dubiously over Mrs. George Bazalgette's vagaries. "It was the
+same thing," he said, "when she was Verena Fontaine, as you remember,
+Johnny, and what a good fellow her husband seems to be.--Halloa! Why,
+that's Cole again!"
+
+He was coming out of North Villa. "You are back soon!" he cried. And we
+told him of the arrival of George Bazalgette.
+
+Cole seemed to stare with all his eyes as he listened. I could see them
+in the starlight. "What will he do if he can't find her here?" he asked
+of me. "Do you know, Johnny Ludlow?"
+
+"Go back by the first and fleetest ship to turn Mrs. Dickson inside-out.
+He thinks she and Verena have played him a trick in letting him come
+over. How did you find the black baby?"
+
+"Found nothing the matter with it," growled Cole. "These young mothers
+are so fanciful!"
+
+We left him standing against the gate, supposing that he had to go
+higher up. And what happened then, I can only tell you by hearsay.
+
+Cole, propping his back against the spikes, turned his face up to the
+stars, as if he were taking counsel of them. Counsel he needed from
+somebody or something, for he was in a dilemma.
+
+"Well, I'll chance it," he thought, when he had got pretty cold. "It
+seems the right thing to do."
+
+Walking briskly to Oxlip Grange, he asked to see Mr. Bazalgette; and
+after whispering a few words into that gentleman's ear, brought him
+out to North Villa. "You stand behind me, so as not to be seen," he
+directed, ringing the bell.
+
+"I'm coming in again," said he to Sarah Stone, when she pulled the door
+back about an inch. So she undid the chain; the doctor was privileged,
+and he slipped in, Mr. Bazalgette behind him. Sarah, the faithful, was
+for showing fight.
+
+"It is all right," said Cole. "Not yet, sir"--putting out his arm to
+bar Mr. Bazalgette's passage. "You go in first, to your mistress, Sarah,
+and say that a gentleman is waiting to see her: just landed from the
+West Indies."
+
+But the commotion had attracted attention, and a young lady, not black,
+but charmingly white, appeared at the parlour-door, a black head behind
+her.
+
+"George!" she shrieked. And the next moment flew into his arms, sobbing
+and crying, and kissing him. Cole decamped.
+
+That past evening in November, when Cole received a message that his
+services were needed at North Villa, he went expecting to be introduced
+to a black lady. A black lady in truth showed him in; or, to be correct,
+a lady's black attendant, and he saw--Verena Fontaine.
+
+That is, Verena Bazalgette. She put Cole upon his honour, not to
+disclose her secret, and told him a long string of her sister-in-law's
+iniquities, as touching lecturing and domineering, and that she had left
+home intending to come over for a time to Coralie. Whilst staying with
+Mrs. Dickson before sailing, a letter was forwarded to her from Magnolia
+Grange. It was from Coralie; and it convinced Verena that Coralie's
+would be no safe refuge, that she would be sent out of it at once back
+to her husband. She sailed, as projected, allowing Mrs. Dickson to think
+she was still coming to her sister. Upon landing at Southampton she went
+on to a small respectable inn at Worcester, avoiding the larger hotels
+lest she should meet people who knew her. Seeing the advertisement of
+North Villa to let, she wrote to the agent, and secured it. To be near
+Coralie seemed like a protection, though she might not go to her. Next
+she answered an advertisement from a cook (inserted by Sarah Stone),
+and engaged her, binding her to secrecy. The woman, though of crusty
+temper, was honest and trustworthy, and espoused the cause of her young
+mistress, and was zealously true to her. She carried in to her the
+various reports that were abroad, of the Indians and the black lady,
+and all the rest of it; causing Verena bursts of laughter, the only
+divertisement she had in her imprisoned life: she did not dare to go out
+lest she should be recognized and the news carried to Coralie. Dalla,
+a faithful native servant who had been left in the West Indies and
+returned to Verena when she married George Bazalgette, attended her on
+her solitary voyage. She it was who was black, not Verena. And the night
+they stole into the premises of Oxlip Grange it was done with the hope
+of getting a sly peep at Coralie's face; both of them were longing for
+it. Hearing the stir in the shrubs, Dalla had hissed; her thoughts were
+back in her own land, and it was her mode of startling away four-footed
+night animals there.
+
+George Bazalgette was very angry with his wife, more especially so at
+her having absented herself at that uncertain time, and he declared to
+her that he would put her away from him for good if ever she attempted
+such a thing again. With tears enough to float a ship, Verena gave him
+her solemn promise that she never would leave him again. Never again:
+she had been too miserable this time, and the baby had nearly frightened
+her to death, for she had not expected him so soon and had meant to go
+back for it.
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Squire could not hold out now, and the Christmas dinner was at
+Coralie's. We went over to Timberdale Church in the morning, a lot of
+us, to hear the Archdeacon preach. Herbert gave up the pulpit to him,
+taking the prayers himself. He was a plain little man, as you knew
+before, and he gave us a plain sermon, but it was one of those that are
+worth their weight in gold. Lady Tenby whispered that to me as we came
+out. "And oh, Johnny," she said, "we are so glad he has got on! We
+always liked Isaac Sale."
+
+It was a grand dinner-party, though not as many were present as Coralie
+wanted. The Letsoms did not care to leave their own fireside, or old
+Paul, or the Chandlers. Verena was the life of it, laughing and joking
+and parading about with her baby, who had been christened "George" the
+day before, Mrs. Cramp having been asked to be its godmother.
+
+"Which I think was very pretty of them, Mr. Johnny," she said to me
+after dinner; "and I'm proud of standing to it."
+
+"It was in recompense for the worry I've given you, you dear old thing!"
+whispered Verena, as she pulled Mrs. Cramp's chair backwards and kissed
+her motherly forehead. "You'll never have such a tenant again--for
+worry."
+
+"Never, I hope, please Heaven!" assented Mrs. Cramp. "And I'm sure I
+shall never see a black woman without shivering. Now, my dear, you just
+put my chair down; you'll have me backwards. Hold it, will you, Mr.
+Johnny!"
+
+"What dishes of talk you'll get up about me with Susan Dennet!" went on
+Verena, the chair still tilted. "We are going back home the beginning of
+the year, do you know. George got his letters to-day."
+
+"And what about that young lady over there--that Miss Magnolia?" asked
+Mrs. Cramp.
+
+Verena let the chair fall in ecstasy, and her tone was brimful of
+delight. "Oh, that's the best news of all! Magnolia is going to be
+married: she only waits for George to get back to give her away. I must
+say this is a delightful Christmas-Day!"
+
+On the thirty-first of December, the last day in the year, Coralie was
+married to Dr. Rymer. Archdeacon Sale, being Benjamin's brother-in-law,
+came over to Islip Church to tie the knot. _Her_ brother-in-law, George
+Bazalgette, gave her away. The breakfast was held at Coralie's, Verena
+presiding in sky-blue satin.
+
+And amidst the company was a lady some of us had not expected to
+see--Mrs. Rymer. She had scarlet ringlets (white feathers setting them
+off to-day) and might be vulgar to her fingers'-ends, but she was
+Benjamin's mother, and Coralie had privately sent for her.
+
+"You have my best wishes, Mr. Benjamin," said the Squire, drawing Ben
+aside while Coralie was putting on her travelling attire; "and I'd be
+glad with all my heart had your father lived to see it."
+
+"So should I be, Squire."
+
+"Look here," whispered the Squire, holding him by the button-hole, "did
+you ever tell her of that--that--you know--that past trouble?"
+
+"Of the bank-note, you mean," said Ben. "I told her of that long ago,
+and everything else that could tell against me. Believe me, Mr.
+Todhetley, though my faults were many in the days gone by, I could not
+act dishonourably by my dear wife; no, nor by any one else now."
+
+The Squire nodded with a beaming face, and pressed Ben's hand.
+
+"And let me thank you now, sir, for your long-continued kindness, your
+expressions of esteem for my poor father and of goodwill to me," said
+Ben, with emotion. "I have not talked of it, but I have felt it."
+
+They started away in their new close carriage, amidst a shower of rice
+and old shoes; and we finished up the revels in the evening with a
+dance and a fiddle, the Squire leading out Mrs. Cramp. Then came a cold
+supper.
+
+The noise had reached its height, and the champagne was going about,
+when the Squire interrupted with a "Hush, hush!" and the babel ceased.
+The clock on the mantelpiece was striking twelve. As the last stroke
+vibrated on the air, its echo alone breaking the silence, the Squire
+rose and lifted his hands--
+
+"A Happy New Year to us all, my friends! May God send His best blessings
+with it!"
+
+                 *       *       *       *       *
+
+It may as well be added, in the interests of peace and quietness, that
+those Indians had not committed any crime at all; it had been invented
+by rumour, as Worcester discovered later. They were only inoffensive
+strangers, travelling about to see the land.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
+
+
+
+
+"I care not how often murders and other mysteries form the foundation of
+plots, if they give us such novels as these."--HARRIET MARTINEAU.
+
+"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 Three Million Copies._
+
+  EAST LYNNE. _540th Thousand._
+  THE CHANNINGS. _200th Thousand._
+  MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. _160th Thousand._
+  THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. _110th Thousand._
+  LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. _125th Thousand._
+  VERNER'S PRIDE. _95th Thousand._
+  ROLAND YORKE. _150th Thousand._
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW. First Series. _55th Thousand._
+  MILDRED ARKELL. _85th Thousand._
+  ST. MARTIN'S EVE. _84th Thousand._
+  TREVLYN HOLD. _70th Thousand._
+  GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. _83rd Thousand._
+  THE RED COURT FARM. _85th Thousand._
+  WITHIN THE MAZE. _140th Thousand._
+  ELSTER'S FOLLY. _65th Thousand._
+  LADY ADELAIDE. _65th Thousand._
+  OSWALD CRAY. _60th Thousand._
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW. Second Series. _40th Thousand._
+  ANNE HEREFORD. _60th Thousand._
+  DENE HOLLOW. _65th Thousand._
+  EDINA. _50th Thousand._
+  A LIFE'S SECRET. _70th Thousand._
+  COURT NETHERLEIGH. _51st Thousand._
+  BESSY RANE. _50th Thousand._
+  THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. _57th Thousand._
+  ORVILLE COLLEGE. _44th Thousand._
+  POMEROY ABBEY. _53rd Thousand._
+  THE HOUSE OF HALLIWELL. _30th Thousand._
+  THE STORY OF CHARLES STRANGE. _27th Thousand._
+  ASHLEY. _20th Thousand._
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW. Third Series. _23rd Thousand._
+  LADY GRACE. _26th Thousand._
+  ADAM GRAINGER. _20th Thousand._
+  THE UNHOLY WISH. _20th Thousand._
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fourth Series. _20th Thousand._
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fifth Series. _15th Thousand._
+  JOHNNY LUDLOW. Sixth Series.
+
+
+  LONDON:
+  MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED.
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note
+
+
+For this txt-version italics were surrounded with _underscores_, words
+in Old English font with +signs+, and small capitals changed to all
+capitals.
+
+Errors in punctuation were corrected silently. Also the following
+corrections were made, on page
+
+   38 "Ellen" changed to "Ellin" (Ellin, unable to control)
+   58 "unreason ble" changed to "unreasonable" (One of your
+      unreasonable dislikes, Johnny?)
+   83 "waistcot" changed to "waistcoat" (took a card from his
+      waistcoat-pocket)
+   91 "thown" changed to "thrown" (and thrown his head back)
+  130 "ather" changed to "Father" (to the end of my days, Father.)
+  134 "succeeeded" changed to "succeeded" (had succeeded to his late
+      father's post)
+  161 "Mr." changed to "Mrs." (Mrs. Cramp found him in the latticed
+      arbour)
+  161 "imposssible" changed to "impossible" (would be impossible for
+      me to leave)
+  231 "Afred" changed to "Alfred" (one Alfred Saxby, who was)
+  290 "secresy" changed to "secrecy" (or with any idea of secrecy)
+  294 "to morrow" changed to "to-morrow" (to-morrow's the day)
+  296 "of" added (the houses on each side of it)
+  329 "Beverie" changed to "Bevere" (get my coat on," conceded Bevere.)
+  353 "where" changed to "were" (When you were last at home)
+  381 "obtinate" changed to "obstinate" (took so obstinate a turn
+      that)
+  447 "Mr." changed to "Mrs." (Mrs. Topcroft and Emma never).
+
+Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling
+and hyphenation.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Johnny Ludlow, Fourth Series, by Mrs. Henry Wood
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40940 ***