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diff --git a/40951.txt b/40951.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 55ae1b9..0000000 --- a/40951.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13658 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Johnny Ludlow, Fifth Series, by Mrs. Henry Wood - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Johnny Ludlow, Fifth Series - -Author: Mrs. Henry Wood - -Release Date: October 6, 2012 [EBook #40951] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHNNY LUDLOW, FIFTH SERIES *** - - - - -Produced by David Edwards, eagkw and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - JOHNNY LUDLOW - - - - - [Illustration] - - - - - JOHNNY LUDLOW - - BY - MRS. HENRY WOOD - AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC. - - _FIFTH SERIES_ - - +London+ - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1899 - - - - - LONDON: - PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, - STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - FEATHERSTON'S STORY 1 - WATCHING ON ST. MARK'S EVE 205 - SANKER'S VISIT 224 - ROGER MONK 245 - THE EBONY BOX 271 - OUR FIRST TERM AT OXFORD 349 - - - - - "God sent his Singers upon earth - With songs of sadness and of mirth, - That they might touch the hearts of men, - And bring them back to heaven again." - LONGFELLOW. - - - - -JOHNNY LUDLOW. - - - - -FEATHERSTON'S STORY. - - -I. - -I have called this Featherston's story, because it was through him that -I heard about it--and, indeed, saw a little of it towards the end. - - * * * * * - -Buttermead, the wide straggling district to which Featherston enjoyed -the honour of being doctor-in-ordinary, was as rural as any that can be -found in Worcestershire. Featherston's house stood at the end of the -village. Whitney Hall lay close by; as did our school, Dr. Frost's. In -the neighbourhood were scattered a few other substantial residences, -some farmers' homesteads and labourers' cottages. Featherston was a slim -man, with long thin legs and a face grey and careworn. His patients -(like the soldier's steam arm) gave him no rest day or night. - -There is no need to go into details here about Featherston's people. -His sister, Mary Ann, lived in his house at one time, and for everyday -ailments was almost as good a doctor as he. She was not at all like -him: a merry, talkative, sociable little woman, with black hair and -quick, kindly dark eyes. - -Our resident French master in those days at Dr. Frost's was one Monsieur -Jules Carimon: a small man with honest blue eyes in his clean-shaven -face, and light brown hair cropped close to his head. He was an awful -martinet at study, but a genial little gentleman out of it. To the -surprise of Buttermead, he and Mary Featherston set up a courtship. It -was carried on in sober fashion, as befitted a sober couple who had both -left thirty years, and the rest, behind them; and after a summer or two -of it they laid plans for their marriage and for living in France. - -"I'm sure I don't know what on earth I shall do amongst the French, -Johnny Ludlow," Mary said to me in her laughing way, when I and Bill -Whitney were having tea at Featherston's one half-holiday, the week -before the wedding. "Jules protests they are easier to get on with than -the English; not so stiff and formal; but I don't pay attention to all -he says, you know." - -Monsieur Jules Carimon was going to settle down at his native place, -Sainteville--a town on the opposite coast, which had a service of -English steamers running to it two or three times a-week. He had -obtained the post of first classical master at the college there, and -meant to eke out his salary (never large in French colleges) by teaching -French and mathematics to as many English pupils as he could obtain out -of hours. Like other northern French seaport towns, Sainteville had its -small colony of British residents. - -"We shall get on; I am not afraid," answered Mary Featherston to a -doubting remark made to her by old Mrs. Selby of the Court. "Neither I -nor Jules have been accustomed to luxury, and we don't care for it. We -would as soon make our dinner of bread-and-butter and radishes, as of -chicken and apple-tart." - -So the wedding took place, and they departed the same day for -Sainteville. And of the first two or three years after that there's -nothing good or bad to record. - -Selby Court lay just outside Buttermead. Its mistress, an ancient lady -now, was related to the Preen family, of whom I spoke in that story -which told of the tragical death of Oliver. Lavinia Preen, sister to -Oliver's father, Gervase Preen, but younger, lived with Mrs. Selby as -a sort of adopted daughter; and when the death of the father, old Mr. -Preen, left nearly all his large family with scarcely any cheese to -their bread, Mrs. Selby told Ann Preen, the youngest of them all, that -she might come to her also. So Lavinia and Ann Preen lived at the Court, -and had no other home. - -These two ladies were intimate with Mary Featherston, all three being -much attached to one another. When Mary married and left her country -for France, the Miss Preens openly resented it, saying she ought to -have had more consideration. Did some premonitory instinct prompt that -unreasonable resentment? I cannot say. No one can say. But it is certain -that had Mary Featherston not gone to live abroad, the ominous chain of -events fated to engulf the sisters could not have touched them, and this -account, which is a perfectly true one, would never have been written. - -For a short time after the marriage they and Mary Carimon exchanged a -letter now and then; not often, for foreign postage was expensive; and -then it dropped altogether. - -Mrs. Selby became an invalid, and died. She left each of the two sisters -seventy pounds a-year for life; if the one died, the other was to enjoy -the whole; when both were dead, it would lapse back to the Selby estate. - -"Seventy pounds a-year!" remarked Ann Preen to her sister. "It does not -seem very much, does it, Lavinia? Shall we be able to live upon it?" - -They were seated in the wainscoted parlour at Selby Court, talking of -the future. The funeral was over, and they must soon leave; for the -house was waiting to be done up for the reception of its new master, Mr. -Paul Selby, an old bachelor full of nervous fancies. - -"We must live upon it, Nancy," said Lavinia in answer to her. - -She was the stronger-minded of the two, and she looked it. A keen, -practical woman, of rather more than middle height, with smooth brown -hair, pleasant, dark hazel eyes, and a bright glow in her cheeks. Ann -(or Nancy, as she was more often called) was smaller and lighter, with -a pretty face, a shower of fair ringlets, and mild, light-blue eyes; -altogether not unlike a pink-and-white wax doll. - -"We should have been worse off, Nancy, had she not left us anything; and -sometimes I have feared she might not," remarked Lavinia cheerfully. "It -will be a hundred and forty pounds between us, dear; we can live upon -that." - -"Of course we can, if you think so, Lavinia," said the other, who deemed -her elder sister wiser than any one in the world, and revered her -accordingly. - -"But we should live cheaper abroad than here, I expect," continued -Lavinia. "It's said money goes twice as far in France as in England. -Suppose we were to go over, Nancy, and try? We could come back if we did -not like it." - -Nancy's eyes sparkled. "I think it would be delightful," she said. -"Money go further in France--why, to be sure it does! Aunt Emily is able -to live like a princess at Tours, by all accounts. Yes, yes, Lavinia, -let us try France!" - - * * * * * - -One fine spring morning the Miss Preens packed up their bag and baggage -and started for the Continent. They went direct to Tours, intending to -make that place their pied-a-terre, as the French phrase it; at any -rate, for a time. It was not, perhaps, the wisest thing they could have -done. - -For Mrs. Magnus, formerly Emily Preen, and their late father's sister, -did not welcome them warmly. She lived in style herself, one of the -leading stars in the society of Tours; and she did not at all like that -two middle-aged nieces, of straitened means, should take up their abode -in the next street. So Mrs. Magnus met her nieces with the assurance -that Tours would not do for them; it was too expensive a place; they -would be swamped in it. Mrs. Magnus was drawing near to the close of her -life then; had she known it, she might have been kinder, and let them -remain; but she was not able to foresee the hour of that great event -which must happen to us all any more than other people are. Oliver -Preen was with her then, revelling in the sunny days which were flitting -away on gossamer wings. - -"Lavinia, do you think we can stay at Tours?" - -The Miss Preens had descended at a fourth-rate hotel, picked out of the -guide-book. When Ann asked this question, they were sitting after dinner -in the table d'hote room, their feet on the sanded floor. Sanded floors -were quite usual at that time in many parts of France. - -"Stay here to put up with Aunt Emily's pride and insolence!" quickly -answered Miss Preen. "No. I will tell you what I have done, Ann. I wrote -yesterday to Mary Carimon, asking her about Sainteville; whether she -thinks it will suit us, and so on. As soon as her answer comes--she's -certain to say yes--we will _go_, dear, and leave Mrs. Magnus to her -grandeur. And, once we are safe away, _I shall write her a letter_," -added Lavinia, in decisive tones; "a letter which she won't like." - -Madame Carimon's answer came by return of post. It was as cordial as -herself. Sainteville would be the very place for them, she said, and she -should count the hours until they were there. - -The Miss Preens turned their backs upon Tours, shaking its dust off -their shoes. Lavinia had a little nest of accumulated money, so was at -ease in that respect. And when the evening of the following day the -railway terminus at Sainteville was reached, the pleasant, smiling face -of Mary Carimon was the first they saw outside the barriere. She must -have been nearly forty now, but she did not look a day older than when -she had left Buttermead. Miss Lavinia was a year or two older than -Mary; Miss Ann a year or two younger. - -"You must put up at the Hotel des Princes," remarked Madame Carimon. "It -is the only really good one in the town. They won't charge you too much; -my husband has spoken to the landlady. And you must spend to-morrow with -me." - -The hotel omnibus was waiting for them and other passengers, the luggage -was piled on the roof, and Madame Carimon accompanied them to the hotel. -A handsome hotel, the sisters thought; quite another thing from the one -at Tours. Mary Carimon introduced them to the landlady, Madame Podevin, -saw them seated down to tea and a cold fowl, and then left for the -night. - -With Sainteville the Miss Preens were simply charmed. It was a fresh, -clean town, with wide streets, and good houses and old families, and -some bright shops. The harbour was large, and the pier extended out to -the open sea. - -"I _should_ like to live here!" exclaimed Miss Lavinia, sitting down at -Madame Carimon's, in a state of rapture. "I never saw such a nice town, -or such a lovely market." - -They had been about all the morning with Madame Carimon. It was -market-day, Wednesday. The market was held on the Grande Place; and -the delicious butter, the eggs, the fresh vegetables, the flowers and -the poultry, took Miss Lavinia's heart by storm. Nancy was more taken -with the picturesque market-women, in their white caps and long gold -ear-rings. Other ladies were doing their marketing as well as Madame -Carimon. She spoke to most of them, in French or in English, as the -case might be. Under the able tuition of her husband, she talked French -fluently now. - -Madame Carimon's habitation--very nice, small and compact--was in the -Rue Pomme Cuite. The streets have queer names in some of these old -French towns. It was near the college, which was convenient for Monsieur -Carimon. Here they lived, with their elderly servant, Pauline. The same -routine went on daily in the steady little domicile from year's end to -year's end. - -"Jules goes to the college at eight o'clock every week-day, after a cup -of coffee and a petit pain," said madame to her guests, "and he returns -at five to dinner. He takes his dejeuner in the college at twelve, and I -take mine alone at home. On Sundays he has no duty: we attend the French -Protestant Church in a morning, dine at one o'clock, and go for a walk -in the afternoon." - -"You have no children, Mary?" - -Mary Carimon's lively face turned sad as she answered: "There was one -little one; she stayed with us six months, and then God took her. I -wrote to you of it, you know, Lavinia. No, we have not any children. -Best not, Jules says; and I agree with him. They might only leave us -when we have learnt to love them; and that's a trial hard to bear. Best -as it is." - -"I'm sure I should never learn to speak French, though we lived here for -a century," exclaimed Miss Lavinia. "Only to hear you jabbering to your -servant, Mary, quite distracts one's ears." - -"Yes, you would. You would soon pick up enough to be understood in the -shops and at market." - -At five o'clock, home came Monsieur Carimon. He welcomed the Miss -Preens with honest, genuine pleasure, interspersed with a little French -ceremony; making them about a dozen bows apiece before he met the hands -held out to him. - -They had quite a gala dinner. Soup to begin with--broth, the English -ladies inwardly pronounced it--and then fish. A small cod, bought by -Madame Carimon at the fish-market in the morning, with oyster sauce. -Ten sous she had given for the cod, for she knew how to bargain now, -and six sous for a dozen oysters, as large as a five-franc piece. -This was followed by a delicious little fricandeau of veal, and that -by a tarte a la creme from the pastrycook's. She told her guests -unreservedly what all the dishes cost, to show them how reasonably -people might live at Sainteville. - -Over the coffee, after dinner, the question of their settling in the -place was fully gone into, for the benefit of Monsieur Carimon's -opinions, who gave them in good English. - -"Depend upon it, Lavinia, you could not do better," remarked Mary -Carimon. "If you cannot make your income do here, you cannot anywhere." - -"We want to make it do well; not to betray our poverty, but to be able -to maintain a fairly good appearance," said Lavinia. "You understand me, -I am sure, monsieur." - -"But certainly, mademoiselle," he answered; "it is what we all like to -do at Sainteville, I reckon." - -"And _can_ do, if we are provident," added madame. "French ways are not -English ways. Our own income is small, Lavinia, yet we put by out of -it." - -"A fact that goes without saying," confirmed the pleasant little man. -"If we did not put by, where would my wife be when I am no longer able -to work?" - -"Provisions being so cheap---- What did you say, Nancy?" asked Madame -Carimon, interrupting herself. - -"I was going to say that I could live upon oysters, and should like to," -replied Nancy, shaking back her flaxen curls with a laugh. "Half-a-dozen -of those great big oysters would make me a lovely dinner any day--and -the cost would be only three halfpence." - -"And only fivepence the cost of that beautiful fish," put in her sister. -"In Sainteville our income would amply suffice." - -"It seems to me that it would, mesdemoiselles," observed Monsieur -Carimon. "Three thousand five hundred francs yearly! We French should -think it a sufficient sum. Doubtless much would depend upon the way in -which you laid it out." - -"What should we have to pay for lodgings, Mary?" inquired Lavinia. "Just -a nice sitting-room and two small bedrooms; or a large room with two -beds in it; and to be waited on?" - -"Oh, you won't find that at Sainteville," was the unexpected answer. -"Nobody lets lodgings English fashion: it's not the custom over here. -You can find a furnished apartment, but the people will not wait upon -you. There is always a little kitchen let with the rooms, and you must -have your own servant." - -It was the first check the ladies had received. They sat thinking. "Dear -me!" exclaimed Nancy. "No lodgings!" - -"Would the apartments you speak of be very dear?" asked Lavinia. - -"That depends upon the number of rooms and the situation," replied -Madame Carimon. "I cannot call to mind just now any small apartment that -is vacant. If you like, we will go to-morrow and look about." - -It was so arranged. And little Monsieur Carimon attended the ladies -back to the Hotel des Princes at the sober hour of nine, and bowed them -into the porte cochere with two sweeps of his hat, wishing them the -good-evening and the very good-night. - - -II. - -Thursday morning. Nancy Preen awoke with a sick headache, and could not -get up. But in the afternoon, when she was better, they went to Mary -Carimon's, and all three set out to look for an apartment--not meeting -with great success. - -All they saw were too large, and priced accordingly. There was one, -indeed, in the Rue Lamartine, which suited as to size, but the rooms -were inconvenient and stuffy; and there was another small one on the -Grande Place, dainty and desirable, but the rent was very high. Madame -Carimon at once offered the landlord half-price, French custom: she -dealt at his shop for her groceries. No, no, he answered; his apartment -was the nicest in the town for its size, as mesdames saw, and it was in -the best situation--and not a single sou would the worthy grocer abate. - -They were growing tired, then; and five o'clock, the universal hour at -Sainteville for dinner, was approaching. - -"Come round to me after dinner, and we will talk it over," said Mary -Carimon, when they parted. "I will give you a cup of tea." - -They dined at the table d'hote, which both of them thought charming, and -then proceeded to the Rue Pomme Cuite. Monsieur Carimon was on the point -of going out, to spend an hour at the Cafe Pillaud, but he put down his -hat to wait awhile, out of respect to the ladies. They told him about -not having found an apartment to suit them. - -"Of course we have not searched all parts of the town, only the most -likely ones," said Madame Carimon. "There are large apartments to be -had, but no small ones. We can search again to-morrow." - -"I suppose there's not a little house to be had cheap, if we cannot find -an apartment?" cried Miss Nancy, who was in love with Sainteville, and -had set her heart upon remaining there. - -"Tiens," quickly spoke Monsieur Carimon in French to his wife, "there's -the Petite Maison Rouge belonging to Madame Veuve Sauvage, in the Place -Ronde. It is still to let: I saw the affiche in the shop window to-day. -What do you think of it, Marie?" - -Madame Carimon did not seem to know quite what to think. She looked at -her husband, then at the eager faces of her two friends; but she did not -speak. - -About half-way down the Rue Tessin, a busy street leading to the port, -was a wide opening, giving on to the Place Ronde. The Place Ronde agreed -with its name, for it was somewhat in form of a horseshoe. Some fifteen -or sixteen substantial houses were built round it, each having a shop -for its basement; and trees, green and feathery, were scattered about, -affording a slight though pleasant shelter from the hot sun in summer -weather. - -The middle house at the bottom of the Place Ronde, exactly facing the -opening from the Rue Tessin, was a very conspicuous house indeed, -inasmuch as it was painted red, whilst the other houses were white. All -of them had green persienne shutters to the upper windows. The shop, a -large one, belonging to this red house was that of the late Monsieur -Jean Sauvage, "Marchand de Vin en gros et en detail," as the -announcement over his door used to run in the later years of his life. -But when Jean Sauvage commenced business, in that same shop, it was only -as a retail vendor. Casting about in his mind one day for some means by -which his shop might be distinguished from other wine-shops and attract -customers, he hit upon the plan of painting the house red. No sooner -thought of than done. A painter was called, who converted the white -walls into a fiery vermilion, and stretched a board across the upper -part, between the windows of the first and second floors, on which -appeared in large letters "A la Maison Rouge." - -Whether this sort of advertisement drew the public, or whether it might -have been the sterling respectability and devotion to business of -Monsieur Sauvage, he got on most successfully. The Marchand en detail -became also Marchand en gros, and in course of time he added liqueurs to -his wines. No citizen of Sainteville was more highly esteemed than he, -both as a man and a tradesman. Since his death the business had been -carried on by his widow, aided by the two sons, Gustave and Emile. -Latterly Madame Veuve Sauvage had given up all work to them; she was now -in years, and had well earned her rest. They lived in the rooms over the -shop, which were large and handsome. In former days, when the energies -of herself and her husband were chiefly devoted to acquiring and saving -money, they had let these upper rooms for a good sum yearly. Old Madame -Sauvage might be seen any day now sitting at a front-window, looking out -upon the world between her embroidered white curtains. - -The door of this prosperous shop was between the two windows. The one -window displayed a few bottles of wine, most of them in straw cases; -in the other window were clear flacons of liqueurs: chartreuse, green -and yellow; curacoa, warm and ruby; eau de vie de Danzick, with its -fluttering gold leaf; and many other sorts. - -However, it is not with the goods of Madame Veuve Sauvage that we -have to do, but with her premises. Standing in front of the shop, as -if coveting a bottle of that choice wine for to-day's dinner, or an -immediate glass of delicious liqueur, you may see on your right hand, -but to the left of the shop, the private door of the house. On the other -side the shop is also a door which opens to a narrow entry. The entry -looks dark, even in the mid-day sun, for it is pretty long, extending -down a portion of the side of the Maison Rouge, which is a deep house, -and terminating in a paved yard surrounded by high buildings. At the end -of the yard is a small dwelling, with two modern windows, one above the -other. Near the under window is the entrance-door, painted oak colour, -with a brass knob, a bell-wire with a curious handle, and a knocker. -This little house the late Monsieur Sauvage had also caused to be -converted into a red one, the same as the larger. - -In earlier days, when Jean Sauvage and his wife were putting their -shoulders to the wheel, they had lived in the little house with their -children; the two sons and the daughter, Jeanne. Jeanne Sauvage married -early and very well, an avocat. But since they had left it, the house in -the yard seemed to have been, as the Widow Sauvage herself expressed it, -unlucky. The first of the tenants had died there; the second had -disappeared--decamped in fact, to avoid paying rent and other debts; the -third had moved into a better house; and the fourth, an old widow lady, -had also died, owing a year's rent to Madame Sauvage, and leaving no -money to pay it. - -It was of this small dwelling, lying under the shadow of the Maison -Rouge, that Monsieur Carimon had thought. Turning to the Miss Preens, he -gave them briefly a few particulars, and said he believed the house was -to be had on very reasonable terms. - -"What do you call it?" exclaimed Lavinia. "The little red house?" - -"Yes, we call it so," said Monsieur Carimon. "Emile Sauvage was talking -of it to me the other evening at the cafe, saying they would be glad to -have it tenanted." - -"I fear our good friends here would find it dull," remarked Madame -Carimon to him. "It is in so gloomy a situation, you know, Jules." - -"Mon amie, I do not myself see how that signifies," said he in reply. -"If your house is comfortable inside, does it matter what it looks out -upon?" - -"Very true," assented Miss Lavinia, whose hopes had gone up again. "But -this house may not be furnished, Mary." - -"It is partly furnished," said Madame Carimon. "When the old lady who -was last in it died, they had to take her furniture for the rent. It was -not much, I have heard." - -"We should not want much, only two of us," cried Miss Ann eagerly. "Do -let us go to look at it to-morrow!" - -On the following day, Friday, the Miss Preens went to the Place Ronde, -piloted by Mary Carimon. They were struck with admiration at the Maison -Rouge, all a fiery glow in the morning sun, and a novelty to English -eyes. Whilst Madame Carimon went into the shop to explain and ask for -the key, the sisters gazed in at the windows. Lying on the wine-bottles -was a small black board on which was written in white letters, "Petite -Maison a louer." - -Monsieur Gustave Sauvage, key in hand, saluted the ladies in English, -which he spoke fairly well, and accompanied them to view the house. -The sun was very bright that day, and the confined yard did not look so -dull as at a less favourable time; and perhaps the brilliant red of the -little house, at which Nancy laughed, imparted a cheerfulness to it. -Monsieur Gustave opened the door with a latch-key, drew back, and waited -for them to enter. - -The first to do so, or to attempt to do so, was Miss Preen. But no -sooner had she put one foot over the threshold than she drew back with -a start, somewhat discomposing the others by the movement. - -"What is it, Lavinia?" inquired Ann. - -"Something seemed to startle me, and throw me backward!" exclaimed -Lavinia Preen, regaining her breath. "Perhaps it was the gloom of the -passage: it is very dark." - -"Pardon, mesdames," spoke Monsieur Gustave politely. "If the ladies will -forgive my entering before them, I will open the salon door." - -The passage was narrow. The broad shoulders of Monsieur Gustave almost -touched the wall on either side as he walked along. Almost at the other -end of it, on his left hand, was the salon door; he threw it open, and -a little light shone forth. The passage terminated in a small square -recess. At the back of this was fixed a shallow marble slab for holding -things, above which was a cupboard let into the wall. On the right -of the recess was the staircase; and opposite the staircase the -kitchen-door, the kitchen being behind the salon. - -The salon was nice when they were in it; the paint was fresh, the paper -light and handsome. It was of good size, and its large window looked to -the front. The kitchen opened upon a small back-yard, furnished with a -pump and a shed for wood or coal. On the floor above were two very good -chambers, one behind the other. Opposite these, on the other side of -the passage, was another room, not so large, but of fair size. It was -apparently built out over some part of the next-door premises, and -was lighted by a skylight. All the rooms were fresh and good, and the -passage had a window at the end. - -Altogether it was not an inconvenient abode for people who did not go -in for show. The furniture was plain, clean and useful, but it would -have to be added to. There were no grates, not even a cooking-stove in -the kitchen. It was very much the Sainteville custom at that period -for tenants to provide grates for themselves, plenty of which could -be bought or hired for a small sum. An easy-chair or two would be -needed; tea-cups and saucers and wine-glasses; and though, there were -washing-stands, these contained no jugs or basins; and there were no -sheets or tablecloths or towels, no knives or forks, no brooms or -brushes, and so on. - -"There is only this one sitting-room, you perceive," remarked Madame -Carimon, as they turned about, looking at the salon again, after coming -downstairs. - -"Yes, that's a pity, on account of dining," replied Miss Nancy. - -"One of our tenants made a pretty salon of the room above this, and this -the salle a manger," replied Monsieur Gustave. "Mesdames might like to -do the same, possibly?" - -He had pointedly addressed Miss Lavinia, near whom he stood. She did not -answer. In fact--it was a very curious thing, but a fact--Miss Lavinia -had not spoken a word since she entered. She had gone through the house -taking in its features in complete silence, just as if that shock at the -door had scared away her speech. - -The rent asked by Monsieur Gustave, acting for his mother, was very -moderate indeed--twenty pounds a-year, including the use of the -furniture. There would be no taxes to pay, he said; absolutely none; -the taxes of this little house, being upon their premises, were included -in their own. But to ensure this low rental, the house must be taken for -five years. - -"Of course we will take it--won't we, Lavinia?" cried Miss Ann in a loud -whisper. "_Only_ twenty pounds a-year! Just think of it!" - -"Sir," Miss Lavinia said to Monsieur Gustave, speaking at last, "the -house would suit us in some respects, especially as regards rent. But we -might find it too lonely: and I should hardly like to be bound for five -years." - -All that was of course for mesdames' consideration, he frankly -responded. But he thought that if the ladies were established in it -with their menage about them, they would not find it lonely. - -"We will give you an answer to-morrow or Monday," decided Miss Lavinia. - -They went about the town all that day with Madame Carimon; but nothing -in the shape of an apartment could be found to suit them. Madame invited -them again to tea in the evening. And by that time they had decided to -take the house. Nancy was wild about it. What with the change from the -monotony of their country house to the bright and busy streets, the gay -outdoor life, the delights of the table d'hote, Ann Preen looked upon -Sainteville as an earthly paradise. - -"The house is certainly more suited to you than anything else we have -seen," observed Madame Carimon. "I have nothing to say against the -Petite Maison Rouge, except its dull situation." - -"Did it strike you, Mary, apart from its situation, as being gloomy?" -asked Lavinia. - -"No. Once you are in the rooms they are cheerful enough." - -"It did me. Gloomy, with a peculiar gloom, you understand. I'm sure the -passage was dark as night. It must have been its darkness that startled -me as we were going in." - -"By the way, Lavinia, what was the matter with you then?" interrupted -her sister. - -"I don't know, Nancy; I said at the time I did not know. With my first -step into the passage, some horror seemed to meet me and drive me -backward." - -"Some horror!" repeated Nancy. - -"I seemed to feel it so. I had still the glare of the streets and the -fiery red walls in my eyes, which must have caused the house passage to -look darker than it ought. That was all, I suppose--but it turned me -sick with a sort of fear; sick and shivery." - -"That salon may be made as pretty a room as any in Sainteville," -remarked Madame Carimon. "Many of the English residents here have only -one salon in their apartments. You see, we don't go in for ceremony; -France is not like England." - -On the morrow the little house under the wing of the Maison Rouge was -secured by the Miss Preens. They took it in their joint names for five -years. To complete the transaction they were ushered upstairs to the -salon and presence of Madame Veuve Sauvage--a rather stately looking old -lady, attired in a voluminous black silk robe and a mourning cap of fine -muslin. Madame, who could not speak a syllable of English, conversed -graciously with her future tenants through the interpretation of Mary -Carimon, offering to be useful to them in any way she could. Lavinia -and Ann Preen both signed the bail, or agreement, and Madame Veuve -Sauvage likewise signed it; by virtue of which she became their -landlady, and they her tenants of the little house for five years. -Madame Carimon, and a shopman who came upstairs for the purpose, signed -as witnesses. - -Wine and the little cakes called pistolets were then introduced; and so -the bargain was complete. - -Oh if some kindly spirit from the all-seeing world above could only -have whispered a hint to those ill-fated sisters of what they were -doing!--had only whispered a warning in time to prevent it! Might not -that horror, which fell upon Lavinia as she was about to pass over the -door-sill, have served her as such? But who regards these warnings when -they come to us? Who personally applies them? None. - -Having purchased or hired the additional things required, the Miss -Preens took possession of their house. Nancy had the front bed-chamber, -which Lavinia thought rather the best, and so gave it up to her; Lavinia -took the back one. The one opposite, with the skylight, remained -unoccupied, as their servant did not sleep in the house. Not at all an -uncommon custom at Sainteville. - -An excellent servant had been found for them in the person of Flore -Pamart, a widow, who was honest, cooked well, and could talk away in -English; all recommendations that the ladies liked. Flore let herself in -with a latch-key before breakfast, and left as soon after five o'clock -in the evening as she could get the dinner things removed. Madame Flore -Pamart had one little boy named Dion, who went to school by day, but -was at home night and morning; for which reason his mother could only -take a daily service. - -Thus the Miss Preens became part of the small colony of English at -Sainteville. They took sittings in the English Protestant Church, which -was not much more than a room; and they subscribed to the casino on the -port when it opened for the summer season, spending many an evening -there, listening to the music, watching the dancing when there was any, -and chattering with the acquaintances they met. They were well regarded, -these new-comers, and they began to speak French after a fashion. Now -and then they went out to a soiree; once in a way gave one in return. -Very sober soirees indeed were those of Sainteville; consisting (as -Sam Weller might inform us) of tea at seven o'clock with, hot galette, -conversation, cake at ten (gateau Suisse or gateau au rhum), and a glass -of Picardin wine. - -They were pleased with the house, once they had settled down in it, and -never a shadow of regret crossed either of them for having taken the -Petite Maison Rouge. - -In this way about a twelvemonth wore on. - - -III. - -It was a fine morning at the beginning of April; the sun being -particularly welcome, as Sainteville had latterly been favoured with -a spell of ill-natured, bitter east winds. About eleven o'clock, Miss -Preen and her sister turned out of their house to take a walk on the -pier--which they liked to do most days, wind and weather permitting. In -going down the Rue des Arbres, they were met by a fresh-looking little -elderly gentleman, with rather long white hair, and wearing a white -necktie. He stopped to salute the ladies, bowing ceremoniously low -to each of them. It was Monsieur le Docteur Dupuis, a kindly man of -skilful reputation, who had now mostly, though not altogether, given up -practice to his son, Monsieur Henri Dupuis. Miss Lavinia had a little -acquaintance with the doctor, and took occasion to ask him news of the -public welfare; for there was raging in the town the malady called "la -grippe," which, being interpreted, means influenza. - -It was not much better at present, Monsieur Dupuis answered; but this -genial sunshine he hoped would begin to drive it away; and, with another -bow, he passed onward. - -The pier was soon reached, and they enjoyed their walk upon it. The -sunlight glinted on the rather turbulent waves of the sea in the -distance, but there was not much breeze to be felt on land. When -nearing the end of the pier their attention was attracted to a -fishing-boat, which was tumbling about rather unaccountably in its -efforts to make the harbour. - -"It almost looks from here as though it had lost its rudder, Nancy," -remarked Miss Lavinia. - -They halted, and stood looking over the side at the object of interest; -not particularly noticing that a gentleman stood near them, also looking -at the same through an opera-glass. He was spare, of middle height and -middle age; his hair was grey, his face pale and impassive; the light -over-coat he wore was of fashionable English cut. - -"Oh, Lavinia, look, look! It is coming right on to the end of the pier," -cried Ann Preen. - -"Hush, Nancy, don't excite yourself," said Miss Lavinia, in lowered -tones. "It will take care not to do that." - -The gentleman gave a wary glance at them. He saw two ladies dressed -alike, in handsome black velvet mantles, and bonnets with violet -feathers; by which he judged them to be sisters, though there was no -resemblance in face. The elder had clear-cut features, a healthy colour, -dark brown hair, worn plain, and a keen, sensible expression. The other -was fair, with blue eyes and light ringlets. - -"Pardon me," he said, turning to them, and his accent was that of a -gentleman. "May I offer you the use of my glasses?" - -"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Nancy, in a light tone bordering on a giggle; -and she accepted the glasses. She was evidently pleased with the offer -and with the stranger. - -Lavinia, on the contrary, was not. The moment she saw his full face -she shrank from it--shrank from him. The feeling might have been as -unaccountable as that which came over her when she had been first -entering the Petite Maison Rouge; but it was there. However, she put it -from her, and thanked him. - -"I don't think I see so well with the glasses as without them; it seems -all a mist," remarked Nancy, who was standing next the stranger. - -"They are not properly focused for you. Allow me," said he, as he took -the glasses from her to alter them. "Young eyes need a less powerful -focus than elderly ones like mine." - -He spoke in a laughing tone; Nancy, fond of compliments, giggled -outright this time. She was approaching forty; he might have been ten -years older. They continued standing there, watching the fishing-boat, -and exchanging remarks at intervals. When it had made the harbour -without accident, the Miss Preens wished him good-morning, and went back -down the pier; he took off his hat to them, and walked the other way. - -"What a _charming_ man!" exclaimed Nancy, when they were at a safe -distance. - -"I don't like him," dissented Lavinia. - -"Not like him!" echoed the other in surprise. "Why, Lavinia, his manners -are delightful. I wonder who he is?" - -When nearly home, in turning into the Place Ronde, they met an English -lady of their acquaintance, the wife of Major Smith. She had been -ordering a dozen of vin Picardin from the Maison Rouge. As they stood -talking together, the gentleman of the pier passed up the Rue de Tessin. -He lifted his hat, and they all, including Mrs. Smith, bowed. - -"Do you know him?" quickly asked Nancy, in a whisper. - -"Hardly that," answered Mrs. Smith. "When we were passing the Hotel des -Princes this morning, a gentleman turned out of the courtyard, and he -and my husband spoke to one another. The major said to me afterwards -that he had formerly been in the--I forget which--regiment. He called -him Mr. Fennel." - -Now, as ill-fortune had it, Miss Preen found herself very poorly after -she got home. She began to sneeze and cough, and thought she must have -taken cold through standing on the pier to watch the vagaries of the -fishing-smack. - -"I hope you are not going to have the influenza!" cried Nancy, her blue -eyes wide with concern. - -But the influenza it proved to be. Miss Preen seemed about to have it -badly, and lay in bed the next day. Nancy proposed to send Flore for -Monsieur Dupuis, but Lavinia said she knew how to treat herself as well -as he could treat her. - -The next day she was no better. Poor Nancy had to go out alone, or to -stay indoors. She did not like doing the latter at all; it was too dull; -her own inclination would have led her abroad all day long and every -day. - -"I saw Captain Fennel on the pier again," said she to her sister that -afternoon, when she was making the tea at Lavinia's bedside, Flore -having carried up the tray. - -"I hope you did not talk to him, Ann," spoke the invalid, as well as she -could articulate. - -"I talked a little," said Nancy, turning hot, conscious that she had -gossiped with him for three-quarters-of-an-hour. "He stopped to speak to -me; I could not walk on rudely." - -"Any way, don't talk to him again, my dear. I do not like that man." - -"What is there to dislike in him, Lavinia?" - -"That I can't say. His countenance is not a good one; it is shifty and -deceitful. He is a man you could never trust." - -"I'm sure I've heard you say the same of other people." - -"Because I can read faces," returned Lavinia. - -"Oh--well--I consider Captain Fennel's is a _handsome_ face," debated -Nancy. - -"Why do you call him 'Captain'?" - -"He calls himself so," answered Nancy. "I suppose it was his rank in the -army when he retired. They retain it afterwards by courtesy, don't they, -Lavinia?" - -"I am not sure. It depends upon whether they retire in rotation or sell -out, I fancy. Mrs. Smith said the major called him Mr. Fennel, and he -ought to know. There, I can't talk any more, Nancy, and the man is -nothing to us, that we need discuss him." - -La grippe had taken rather sharp hold of Lavinia Preen, and she was -upstairs for ten days. On the first afternoon she went down to the -salon, Captain Fennel called, very much to her surprise; and, also to -her surprise, he and Nancy appeared to be pretty intimate. - -In point of fact, they had met every day, generally upon the pier. Nancy -had said nothing about it at home. She was neither sly nor deceitful -in disposition; rather notably simple and unsophisticated; but, after -Lavinia's reproof the first time she told about meeting him, she would -not tell again. - -Miss Preen behaved coolly to him; which he would not appear to see. She -sat over the fire, wrapped in a shawl, for it was a cold afternoon. He -stayed only a little time, and put his card down on the slab near the -stairs when he left. Lavinia had it brought to her. - -"Mr. Edwin Fennel." - -"Then he is not Captain Fennel," she observed. "But, Nancy, what in the -world could have induced the man to call here? And how is it you seem to -be familiar with him?" - -"I have met him out-of-doors, sometimes, while you were ill," said -Nancy. "As to his calling here--he came, I suppose, out of politeness. -There's no harm in it, Lavinia." - -Miss Lavinia did not say there was. But she disliked the man too much to -favour his acquaintanceship. Instinct warned her against him. - -How little was she prepared for what was to follow! Before she was well -out-of-doors again, before she had been anywhere except to church, Nancy -gave her a shock. With no end of simperings and blushings, she confessed -that she had been asked to marry Captain Fennel. - -Had Miss Lavinia Preen been herself politely asked to marry a certain -gentleman popularly supposed to reside underground, she would not have -been much more indignantly startled. Perhaps "frightened" would be the -better word for it. - -"But--you _would_ not, Nancy!" she gasped, when she found her voice. - -"I don't know," simpered foolish Nancy. "I--I--think him very nice and -gentlemanly, Lavinia." - -Lavinia came out of her fright sufficiently to reason. She strove to -show Nancy how utterly unwise such a step would be. They knew nothing -of Captain Fennel or his antecedents; to become his wife might just be -courting misery and destruction. Nancy ceased to argue; and Lavinia -hoped she had yielded. - -Both sisters kept a diary. But for that fact, and also that the diaries -were preserved, Featherston could not have arrived at the details of the -story so perfectly. About this time, a trifle earlier or later, Ann -Preen wrote as follows in hers: - -"_April 16th._--I met Captain Fennel on the pier again this morning. I -do _think_ he goes there because he knows he may meet me. Lavinia is not -out yet; she has not quite got rid of that Grip, as they stupidly call -it here. I'm sure it has gripped _her_. We walked quite to the end of -the pier, and then I sat down on the edge for a little while, and he -stood talking to me. I do wish I could tell Lavinia of these meetings; -but she was so cross the first day I met him, and told her of it, that I -don't like to. Captain Fennel lent me his glasses as usual, and I looked -at the London steamer, which was coming in. Somehow we fell to talking -of the Smiths; he said they were poor, had not much more than the -major's half-pay. 'Not like you rich people, Miss Nancy,' he said--he -thinks that's my right name. 'Your income is different from theirs.' -'Oh,' I screamed out, 'why, it's only a hundred and forty pounds -a-year!' 'Well,' he answered, smiling, 'that's a comfortable sum for -a place like this; five francs will buy as much at Sainteville as -half-a-sovereign will in England.' Which is pretty nearly true." - -Skipping a few entries of little importance, we come to another: - -"_May 1st_, and such a lovely day!--It reminds me of one May-day at -home, when the Jacks-in-the-green were dancing on the grass-plot before -the Court windows at Buttermead, and Mrs. Selby sat watching them, as -pleased as they were, saying she should like to dance, too, if she -could only go first to the mill to be ground young again. Jane and Edith -Peckham were spending the day with us. It was just such a day as this, -warm and bright; light, fleecy clouds flitting across the blue sky. I -wish Lavinia were out to enjoy it! but she is hardly strong enough for -long walks yet, and only potters about, when she does get out, in the -Rue des Arbres or the Grande Place, or perhaps over to see Mary Carimon. - -"I don't know what to do. I lay awake all last night, and sat moping -yesterday, thinking what I _could_ do. Edwin wants me to marry him; I -told Lavinia, and she absolutely forbids it, saying I should rush upon -misery. _He_ says I should be happy as the day's long. I feel like a -distracted lunatic, not knowing which of them is right, or which opinion -I ought to yield to. I have obeyed Lavinia all my life; we have never -had a difference before; her wishes have been mine, and mine have been -hers. But I _can't_ see why she need have taken up this prejudice -against him, for I'm sure he's more like an angel than a man; and, as he -whispers to me, Nancy Fennel would be a prettier name than Nancy Preen. -I said to him to-day, 'My name is Ann, not really Nancy.' 'My dear,' he -answered, 'I shall always call you Nancy; I love the simple name.' - -"I no longer talk about him to Lavinia, or let her suspect that we still -meet on the pier. It would make her angry, and I can't bear that. I dare -not hint to her what Edwin said to-day--that he should take matters into -his own hands. He means to go over to Dover, _via_ Calais; stay at Dover -a fortnight, as the marriage law requires, and then come back to fetch -me; and after the marriage has taken place we shall return here to live. - -"Oh dear, what am I to do? It will be a _dreadful_ thing to deceive -Lavinia; and it will be equally dreadful to lose _him_. He declares that -if I do not agree to this he shall set sail for India (where he used to -be with his regiment), and never, never see me again. Good gracious! -_never_ to see me again! - -"The worst is, he wants to go off to Dover at once, giving one no time -for consideration! Must I say Yes, or No? The uncertainty shakes me to -pieces. He laughed to-day when I said something of this, assuring me -Lavinia's anger would pass away like a summer cloud when I was his wife; -that sisters had no authority over one another, and that Lavinia's -opposition arose from selfishness only, because she did not want to lose -me. '_Risk it_, Nancy,' said he; 'she will receive you with open arms -when I bring you back from Dover.' If I could only think so! Now and -then I feel inclined to confide my dilemma to Mary Carimon, and ask her -opinion, only that I fear she might tell Lavinia." - - * * * * * - -Mr. Edwin Fennel quitted Sainteville. When he was missed people thought -he might have gone for good. But one Saturday morning some time onwards, -when the month of May was drawing towards its close, Miss Lavinia, out -with Nancy at market, came full upon Captain Fennel in the crowd on the -Grande Place. He held out his hand. - -"I thought you had left Sainteville, Mr. Fennel," she remarked, meeting -his hand and the sinister look in his face unwillingly. - -"Got back this morning," he said; "travelled by night. Shall be leaving -again to-day or to-morrow. How are _you_, Miss Nancy?" - -Lavinia pushed her way to the nearest poultry stall. "Will you come -here, Ann?" she said. "I want to choose a fowl." - -She began to bargain, half in French, half in English, with the poultry -man, all to get rid of that other man, and she looked round, expecting -Nancy had followed her. Nancy had not stirred from the spot near the -butter-baskets: she and Captain Fennel had their heads together, he -talking hard and fast. - -They saw Lavinia looking at them; looking angry, too. "Remember," -impressively whispered Captain Fennel to Nancy: and, lifting his hat to -Lavinia, over the white caps of the market-women, he disappeared across -the Place. - -"I wonder what that man has come back for?" cried Miss Preen, as Nancy -reached her--not that she had any suspicion. "And I wonder you should -stay talking with him, Nancy!" - -Nancy did not answer. - -Sending Flore--who had attended them with her market-basket--home with -the fowl and eggs and vegetables, they called at the butcher's and the -grocer's, and then went home themselves. Miss Preen then remembered -that she had forgotten one or two things, and must go out again. Nancy -remained at home. When Lavinia returned, which was not for an hour, for -she had met various friends and stayed to gossip, her sister was in -her room. Flore thought Mademoiselle Nancy was setting her drawers to -rights: she had heard her opening and shutting them. - -Time went on until the afternoon. Just before five o'clock, when Flore -came into lay the cloth for dinner, Lavinia, sitting at the window, saw -her sister leave the house and cross the yard, a good-sized paper parcel -in her hand. - -"Why, that is Miss Nancy," she exclaimed, in much surprise. "Where can -she be going to now?" - -"Miss Nancy came down the stairs as I was coming in here," replied -Flore. "She said to me that she had just time to run to Madame Carimon's -before dinner." - -"Hardly," dissented Miss Lavinia. "What can she be going for?" - -As five o'clock struck, Flore (always punctual, from self-interest) came -in to ask if she should serve the fish; but was told to wait until Miss -Nancy returned. When half-past five was at hand, and Nancy had not -appeared, Miss Preen ordered the fish in, remarking that Madame Carimon -must be keeping her sister to dinner. - -Afterwards Miss Preen set out for the casino, expecting she should meet -them both there; for Lavinia and Nancy had intended to go. Madame -Carimon was not a subscriber, but she sometimes paid her ten sous and -went in. It would be quite a pretty sight to-night--a children's dance. -Lavinia soon joined some friends there, but the others did not come. - -At eight o'clock she was in the Rue Pomme Cuite, approaching Madame -Carimon's. Pauline, in her short woollen petticoats, and shoeless feet -thrust into wooden sabots, was splashing buckets of water before the -door to scrub the pavement, and keeping up a screaming chatter with the -other servants in the street, who were doing the same, Saturday-night -fashion. - -Madame Carimon was in the salon, sitting idle in the fading light; her -sewing lay on the table. Lavinia's eyes went round the room, but she saw -no one else in it. - -"Mary, where is Nancy?" she asked, as Madame Carimon rose to greet her -with outstretched hands. - -"I'm sure I don't know," answered Madame Carimon lightly. "She has not -been here. Did you think she had?" - -"She dined here--did she not?" - -"What, Nancy? Oh no! I and Jules dined alone. He is out now, giving a -French lesson. I have not seen Nancy since--let me see--since Thursday, -I think; the day before yesterday." - -Lavinia Preen sat down, half-bewildered. She related the history of the -evening. - -"It is elsewhere that Nancy is gone," remarked Madame Carimon. "Flore -must have misunderstood her." - -Concluding that to be the case, and that Nancy might already be at -home, Lavinia returned at once to the Petite Maison Rouge, Mary Carimon -bearing her company in the sweet summer twilight. Lavinia opened the -door with her latch-key. Flore had departed long before. There were -three latch-keys to the house, Nancy possessing one of them. - -They looked into every room, and called out "Nancy! Nancy!" But she was -not there. - -Nancy Preen had gone off with Captain Fennel by the six-o'clock train, -en route for Dover, there to be converted into Mrs. Fennel. - -And had Nancy foreseen the terrible events and final crime which this -most disastrous step would bring about, she might have chosen, rather -than take it, to run away to the Protestant cemetery outside the gates -of Sainteville, there to lay herself down to die. - - -IV. - -"Where _can_ Nancy be?" - -Miss Preen spoke these words to Mary Carimon in a sort of flurry. After -letting themselves into the house, the Petite Maison Rouge, and calling -up and down it in vain for Nancy, the question as to where she could be -naturally arose. - -"She must be spending the evening with the friends she stayed to dine -with," said Madame Carimon. - -"I don't know where she would be likely to stay. Unless--yes--perhaps -at Mrs. Hardy's." - -"That must be it, Lavinia," pronounced Madame Carimon. - -It was then getting towards nine o'clock. They set out again for Mrs. -Hardy's to escort Nancy home. She lived in the Rue Lothaire; a long -street, leading to the railway-station. - -Mrs. Hardy was an elderly lady. When near her door they saw her -grand-nephew, Charles Palliser, turn out of it. Charley was a -good-hearted young fellow, the son of a rich merchant in London. He -was staying at Sainteville for the purpose of acquiring the art of -speaking French as a native. - -"Looking for Miss Ann Preen!" cried he, as they explained in a word or -two. "No, she is not at our house; has not been there. I saw her going -off this evening by the six-o'clock train." - -"Going off by the six-o'clock train!" echoed Miss Lavinia, staring at -him. "Why, what do you mean, Mr. Charles? My sister has not gone off by -any train." - -"It was in this way," answered the young man, too polite to flatly -contradict a lady. "Mrs. Hardy's cousin, Louise Soubitez, came to town -this morning; she spent the day with us, and after dinner I went to see -her off by the train. And there, at the station, was Miss Ann Preen." - -"But not going away by train," returned Miss Lavinia. - -"Why, yes, she was. I watched the train out of the station. She and -Louise Soubitez sat in the same compartment." - -A smile stole to Charles Palliser's face. In truth, he was amused at -Miss Lavinia's consternation. It suddenly struck her that the young man -was joking. - -"Did you speak to Ann, Mr. Charles?" - -"Oh yes; just a few words. There was not time for much conversation; -Louise was late." - -Miss Preen felt a little shaken. - -"Was Ann alone?" - -"No; she was with Captain Fennel." - -And, with that, a suspicion of the truth, and the full horror of it, -dawned upon Lavinia Preen. She grasped Madame Carimon's arm and turned -white as death. - -"It never can be," she whispered, her lips trembling: "it never can be! -She cannot have--have--run away--with that man!" - -Unconsciously perhaps to herself, her eyes were fixed on Charles. He -thought the question was put to him, and answered it. - -"Well--I--I'm afraid it looks like it, as she seems to have said nothing -to you," he slowly said. "But I give you my word, Miss Preen, that until -this moment that aspect of the matter never suggested itself to me. I -supposed they were just going up the line together for some purpose or -other; though, in fact, I hardly thought about it at all." - -"And perhaps that is all the mystery!" interposed Madame Carimon -briskly. "He may have taken Ann to Drecques for a little jaunt, and they -will be back again by the last train. It must be almost due, Lavinia." - -With one impulse they turned to the station, which was near at hand. -Drecques, a village, was the first place the trains stopped at on the -up-line. The passengers were already issuing from the gate. Standing -aside until all had passed, and not seeing Nancy anywhere, Charley -Palliser looked into the omnibuses. But she was not there. - -"They may have intended to come back and missed the train, Miss Preen; -it's very easy to miss a train," said he in his good nature. - -"I think it must be so, Lavinia," spoke up Madame Carimon. "Any way, -we will assume it until we hear to the contrary. And, Charley, we had -better not talk of this to-night." - -"_I_ won't," answered Charley earnestly. "You may be sure of me." - -Unless Captain Fennel and Miss Ann Preen chartered a balloon, there was -little probability of their reaching Sainteville that evening, for this -had been the last train. Lavinia Preen passed a night of discomfort, -striving to hope against hope, as the saying runs. Not a very wise -saying; it might run better, striving to hope against despair. - -When Sunday did not bring back the truants, or any news of them, the -three in the secret--Mary Carimon, Lavinia, and Charley Palliser--had -little doubt that the disappearance meant an elopement. Monsieur Jules -Carimon, not easily understanding such an escapade, so little in -accordance with the customs and manners of his own country, said in his -wife's ear he hoped it would turn out that there was a marriage in the -case. - -Miss Preen received a letter from Dover pretty early in the week, -written by Ann. She had been married that day to Captain Fennel. - -Altogether, the matter was the most bitter blow ever yet dealt to -Lavinia Preen. No living being knew, or ever would know, how cruelly her -heart was wrung by it. But, being a kindly woman of good sound sense, -she saw that the best must be made of it, not the worst; and this she -set herself out to do. She began by hoping that her own instinct, -warning her against Captain Fennel, might be a mistaken one, and that he -had a good home to offer his wife and would make her happy in it. - -She knew no more about him--his family, his fortune, his former life, -his antecedents--than she knew of the man in the moon. Major Smith -perhaps did; he had been acquainted with him in the past. Nancy's -letter, though written the previous day, had been delivered by the -afternoon post. As soon as she could get dinner over, Lavinia went to -Major Smith's. He lived at the top of the Rue Lambeau, a street turning -out of the Grande Place. He and his wife, their own dinner just removed, -were sitting together, the major indulging in a steaming glass of -schiedam and water, flavoured with a slice of lemon. He was a very jolly -little man, with rosy cheeks and a bald head. They welcomed Miss Lavinia -warmly. She, not quite as composed as usual, opened her business without -preamble; her sister Ann had married Captain Fennel, and she had come to -ask Major Smith what he knew of him. - -"Not very much," answered the major. - -There was something behind his tone, and Lavinia burst into tears. -Compassionating her distress, the major offered her a comforting glass, -similar to his own. Lavinia declined it. - -"You will tell me what you know," she said; and he proceeded to do so. - -Edwin Fennel, the son of Colonel Fennel, was stationed in India with -his regiment for several years. He got on well enough, but was not -much liked by his brother officers: they thought him unscrupulous and -deceitful. All at once, something very disagreeable occurred, which -obliged Captain Fennel to quit her Majesty's service. The affair was -hushed up, out of consideration to his family and his father's long term -of service. "In fact, I believe he was allowed to retire, instead of -being cashiered," added the major, "but I am not quite sure which it -was." - -"What was it that occurred--that Captain Fennel did, to necessitate his -dismissal?" questioned Lavinia. - -"I don't much like to mention it," said the major, shaking his head. -"It might get about, you see, Miss Preen, which would make it awkward -for him. I have no wish, or right either, to do the man a gratuitous -injury." - -"I promise you it shall not get about through me," returned Lavinia; "my -sister's being his wife will be the best guarantee for that. You must -please tell me, Major Smith." - -"Well, Fennel was suspected--detected, in short--of cheating at cards." - -Lavinia drew a deep breath. "Do you know," she said presently, in an -undertone, "that when I first met the man I shrank from his face." - -"Oh my! And it has such nice features!" put in Mrs. Smith, who was but -a silly little woman. - -"There was something in its shifty look which spoke to me as a warning," -continued Lavinia. "It did, indeed. All my life I have been able to read -faces, and my first instinct has rarely, if ever, deceived me. Each -time I have seen this man since, that instinct against him has become -stronger." - -Major Smith took a sip at his schiedam. "I believe--between -ourselves--he is just a mauvais sujet," said he. "He has a brother who -is one, out and out; as I chance to know." - -"What is Edwin Fennel's income, major?" - -"I can't tell at all. I should not be surprised to hear that he has -none." - -"How does he live then?" asked Lavinia, her heart going at a gallop. - -"Don't know that either," said the major. "His father is dead now and -can't help him. A very respectable man, the old colonel, but always -poor." - -"He cannot live upon air; he must have some means," debated Lavinia. - -"Lives upon his wits, perhaps; some men do. He wanted to borrow ten -pounds from me a short time ago," added the major, taking another sip -at his tumbler; "but I told him I had no money to lend--which was a -fact. I have an idea that he got it out of Charley Palliser." - -The more Lavinia Preen heard of this unhappy case, the worse it seemed -to be. Declining to stay for tea, as Mrs. Smith wished, she betook her -miserable steps home again, rather wishing that the sea would swallow up -Captain Fennel. - -The next day she saw Charles Palliser. Pouncing upon him as he was -airing his long legs in the Grande Place, she put the question to him -in so determined a way that Charley had no chance against her. He -turned red. - -"I don't know who can have set that about," said he. "But it's true, -Miss Preen. Fennel pressed me to lend him ten pounds for a month; and -I--well, I did it. I happened to have it in my pocket, you see, having -just cashed a remittance from my father." - -"Has he repaid you, Mr. Charles?" - -"Oh, the month's not quite up yet," cried Charley. "Please don't talk -of it, Miss Preen; he wouldn't like it, you know. How on earth it has -slipped out I can't imagine." - -"No, I shall not talk of it," said Lavinia, as she wished him good-day -and walked onwards, wondering what sort of a home Captain Fennel meant -to provide for Ann. - -Lavinia Preen's cup of sorrow was not yet full. A morning or two after -this she was seated at breakfast with the window open, when she saw the -postman come striding across the yard with a letter. It was from the -bride; a very short letter, and one that Miss Lavinia did not at once -understand. She read it again. - - "MY DEAR LAVINIA, - - "All being well, we shall be home to-morrow; that is, on the day you - receive this letter; reaching Sainteville by the last train in the - evening. Please get something nice and substantial for tea, Edwin - says, and please see that Flore has the bedroom in good order. - - "Your affectionate sister, - "ANN FENNEL." - -The thing that Miss Lavinia did, when comprehension came to her, was to -fly into a passion. - -"Come home here--_he!_--is that what she means?" cried she. "Never. Have -that man in my house? Never, never." - -"But what has mademoiselle received?" exclaimed Flore, appearing just -then with a boiled egg. "Is it bad news?" - -"It is news that I will not put up with--will not tolerate," cried Miss -Lavinia. And, in the moment's dismay, she told the woman what it was. - -"Tiens!" commented Flore, taking a common-sense view of matters: -"they must be coming just to show themselves to mademoiselle on their -marriage. Likely enough they will not stay more than a night or two, -while looking out for an apartment." - -Lavinia did not believe it; but the very suggestion somewhat soothed -her. To receive that man even for a night or two, as Flore put it, would -be to her most repugnant, cruel pain, and she resolved not to do it. -Breakfast over, she carried the letter and her trouble to the Rue Pomme -Cuite. - -"But I am afraid, Lavinia, you cannot refuse to receive them," spoke -Madame Carimon, after considering the problem. - -"Not refuse to receive them!" echoed Lavinia. "Why do you say that?" - -"Well," replied Mary Carimon uneasily, for she disliked to add to -trouble, "you see the house is as much Ann's as yours. It was taken -in your joint names. Ann has the right to return to it; and also, I -suppose"--more dubiously--"to introduce her husband into it." - -"Is that French law?" - -"I think so. I'll ask Jules when he comes home to dinner. Would it not -be English law also, Lavinia?" - -Lavinia was feeling wretchedly uncomfortable. With all her plain -common-sense, this phase of the matter had not struck her. - -"Mary," said she--and there stopped, for she was seized with a violent -shivering, which seemed difficult to be accounted for. "Mary, if that -man has to take up his abode in the house, I can never remain in it. I -would rather die." - -"Look here, dear friend," whispered Mary: "life is full of trouble--as -Job tells us in the Holy Scriptures--none of us are exempt from it. It -attacks us all in turn. The only one thing we can do is to strive to -make the best of it, under God; to ask Him to help us. I am afraid -there is a severe cross before you, Lavinia; better _bear_ it than fight -against it." - -"I will never bear _that_," retorted Lavinia, turning a deaf ear in her -anger. "You ought not to wish me to do so." - -"And I would not if I saw anything better for you." - -Madame Veuve Sauvage, sitting as usual at her front-window that same -morning, was surprised at receiving an early call from her tenant, Miss -Preen. Madame handed her into her best crimson velvet fauteuil, and they -began talking. - -Not to much purpose, however; for neither very well understood what the -other said. Lavinia tried to explain the object of her visit, but found -her French was not equal to it. Madame called her maid, Mariette, and -sent her into the shop below to ask Monsieur Gustave to be good enough -to step up. - -Lavinia had gone to beg of them to cancel the agreement for the little -house, so far as her sister was concerned, and to place it in her name -only. - -Monsieur Gustave, when he had mastered the request, politely answered -that such a thing was not practicable; Miss Ann's name could not be -struck out of the lease without her consent, or, as he expressed it, -breaking the bail. His mother and himself had every disposition to -oblige Miss Preen in any way, as indeed she must know, but they had no -power to act against the law. - -So poor Miss Lavinia went into her home wringing her hands in despair. -She was perfectly helpless. - - -V. - -The summer days went on. Mr. Edwin Fennel, with all the impudence in the -world, had taken up his abode in the Petite Maison Rouge, without saying -with your leave or by your leave. - -"How could you _think_ of bringing him here, Ann?" Lavinia demanded of -her sister in the first days. - -"I did not think of it; it was he thought of it," returned Mrs. Fennel -in her simple way. "I feared you would not like it, Lavinia; but what -could I do? He seemed to look upon it as a matter of course that he -should come." - -Yes, there he was; "a matter of course;" making one in the home. Lavinia -could not show fight; he was Ann's husband, and the place was as much -Ann's as hers. The more Lavinia saw of him the more she disliked him; -which was perhaps unreasonable, since he made himself agreeable to her -in social intercourse, though he took care to have things his own way. -If Lavinia's will went one way in the house and his the other, she found -herself smilingly set at naught. Ann was his willing slave; and when -opinions differed she sided with her husband. - -It was no light charge, having a third person in the house to live upon -their small income, especially one who studied his appetite. For a very -short time Lavinia, in her indignation at affairs generally, turned the -housekeeping over to Mrs. Fennel. But she had to take to it again. Ann -was naturally an incautious manager; she ordered in delicacies to please -her husband's palate without regard to cost, and nothing could have come -of that but debt and disaster. - -That the gallant ex-Captain Fennel had married Ann Preen just to -have a roof over his head, Lavinia felt as sure of as that the moon -occasionally shone in the heavens. She did not suppose he had any other -refuge in the wide world. And through something told her by Ann she -judged that he had believed he was doing better for himself in marrying -than he had done. - -The day after the marriage Mr. and Mrs. Fennel were sitting on a bench -at Dover, romantically gazing at the sea, honeymoon fashion, and talking -of course of hearts and darts. Suddenly the bridegroom turned his -thoughts to more practical things. - -"Nancy, how do you receive your money--half-yearly or quarterly?" asked -he. - -"Oh, quarterly," said Nancy. "It is paid punctually to us by the -acting-trustee, Colonel Selby." - -"Ah, yes. Then you have thirty-five pounds every quarter?" - -"Between us, we do," assented Nancy. "Lavinia has seventeen pounds ten, -and I have the same; and the colonel makes us each give a receipt for -our own share." - -Captain Fennel turned his head and gazed at her with a hard stare. - -"You told me your income was a hundred and forty pounds a-year." - -"Yes, it is that exactly," said she quietly; "mine and Lavinia's -together. We do not each have that, Edwin; I never meant to imply----" - -Mrs. Fennel broke off, frightened. On the captain's face, cruel enough -just then, there sat an expression which she might have thought -diabolical had it been any one else's face. Any way, it scared her. - -"What is it?" she gasped. - -Rising rapidly, Captain Fennel walked forward, caught up some pebbles, -flung them from him and waited, apparently watching to see where they -fell. Then he strolled back again. - -"Were you angry with me?" faltered Nancy. "Had I done anything?" - -"My dear, what should you have done? Angry?" repeated he, in a light -tone, as if intensely amused. "You must not take up fancies, Mrs. -Fennel." - -"I suppose Mrs. Selby thought it would be sufficient income for us, both -living together," remarked Nancy. "If either of us should die it all -lapses to the other. We found it quite enough last year, I assure you, -Edwin; Sainteville is so cheap a place." - -"Oh, delightfully cheap!" agreed the captain. - -It was this conversation that Nancy repeated to Lavinia; but she did not -speak of the queer look which had frightened her. Lavinia saw that Mr. -Edwin Fennel had taken up a wrong idea of their income. Of course the -disappointment angered him. - -An aspect of semi-courtesy was outwardly maintained in the intercourse -of home life. Lavinia was a gentlewoman; she had not spoken unpleasant -things to the captain's face, or hinted that he was a weight upon the -housekeeping pocket; whilst he, as yet, was quite officiously civil to -her. But there was no love lost between them; and Lavinia could not -divest her mind of an undercurrent of conviction that he was, in some -way or other, a man to be dreaded. - -Thus Captain Fennel (as he was mostly called), being domiciled with the -estimable ladies in the Petite Maison Rouge, grew to be considered one -of the English colony of Sainteville, and was received as such. As -nobody knew aught against him, nobody thought anything. Major Smith had -not spoken of antecedents, neither had Miss Preen; the Carimons, who -were in the secret, never spoke ill of any one: and as the captain could -assume pleasing manners at will, he became fairly well liked by his -country-people in a passing sort of way. - -Lavinia Preen sat one day upon the low edge of the pier, her back to the -sun and the sea. She had called in at the little shoe-shop on the port, -just as you turn out of the Rue Tessin, and had left her parasol there. -The sun was not then out in the grey sky, and she did not miss it. Now -that the sun was shining, and the grey canopy above had become blue, she -said to herself that she had been stupid. It was September weather, so -the sun was not unbearable. - -Lavinia Preen was thinner; the thraldom of the past three months had -made her so. Now and then it would cross her mind to leave the Petite -Maison Rouge to its married inmates; but for Nancy's sake she hesitated. -Nancy had made the one love of her life, and Nancy had loved her in -return. Now, the love was chiefly given to the new tie she had formed; -Lavinia was second in every respect. - -"They go their way now, and I have to go mine," sighed Lavinia, as she -sat this morning on the pier. "Even my walks have to be solitary." - -A cloud came sailing up and the sun went in again. Lavinia rose; she -walked onwards till she came to the end of the pier, where she again sat -down. The next moment, chancing to look the way she had come, she saw a -lady and gentleman advancing arm-in-arm. - -"Oh, _they_ are on the pier, are they!" mentally spoke Lavinia. For it -was Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Fennel. - -Nancy sat down beside her. "It is a long walk!" cried she, drawing a -quick breath or two. "Lavinia, what do you think we have just heard?" - -"How can I tell?" returned the elder sister. - -"You know those queer people, an old English aunt and three nieces, who -took Madame Gibon's rooms in the Rue Menar? They have all disappeared -and have paid nobody," continued Nancy. "Charley Palliser told us just -how; he was laughing like anything over it." - -"I never thought they looked like people to be trusted," remarked -Lavinia. "Dear me! here's the sun coming out again." - -"Where is your parasol?" - -Lavinia recounted her negligence in having left it at the shoe-mart. -Captain Fennel had brought out a small silk umbrella; he turned from the -end of the pier, where he stood looking out to sea, opened the umbrella, -and offered it. - -"It is not much larger than a good-sized parasol," remarked he. "Pray -take it, Miss Lavinia." - -Lavinia did so after a moment's imperceptible hesitation, and thanked -him. She hated to be under the slightest obligation to him, but the sun -was now full in her eyes, and might make her head ache. - -The pleasant smell of a cigar caused them to look up. A youngish man, -rather remarkably tall, with a shepherd's plaid across his broad -shoulders, was striding up the pier. He sat down near Miss Preen, and -she glanced round at him. Appearing to think that she looked at his -cigar, he immediately threw it into the sea behind him. - -"Oh, I am sorry you did that," said Lavinia, speaking impulsively. "I -like the smell of a cigar." - -"Oh, thank you; thank you very much," he answered. "I had nearly smoked -it out." - -Voice and manner were alike pleasant and easy, and Lavinia spoke -again--some trivial remark about the fine expanse of sea; upon which -they drifted into conversation. We are reserved enough with strangers -at home, we Islanders, as the world knows, but most of us are less -ungracious abroad. - -"Sainteville seems a clean, healthy place," remarked the new-comer. - -"Very," said Miss Lavinia. "Do you know it well?" - -"I never saw it before to-day," he replied. "I have come here from Douai -to meet a friend, having two or three days to spare." - -"Douai is a fine town," remarked Captain Fennel, turning to speak, for -he was still looking out over the sea, and had his opera-glasses in his -hand. "I spent a week there not long ago." - -"Douai!" exclaimed Nancy. "That's the place where the great Law Courts -are, is it not? Don't you remember the man last year, Lavinia, who -committed some dreadful crime, and was taken up to Douai to be tried at -the Assizes there?" - -"We have a great case coming on there as soon as the Courts meet," said -the stranger, who seemed a talkative man; "and that's what I am at Douai -for. A case of extensive swindling." - -"You are a lawyer, I presume?" said Miss Preen. - -The stranger nodded. "Being the only one of our London firm who can -speak French readily, and we are four of us in it, I had to come over -and watch this affair and wait for the trial. For the young fellow is -an Englishman, I am sorry to say, and his people, worthy and well-to-do -merchants, are nearly mad over it." - -"But did he commit it in England?" cried Miss Preen. - -"Oh no; in France, within the arrondissement of the Douai Courts. He is -in prison there. I dare say you get some swindling in a petty way even -at Sainteville," added the speaker. - -"That we do," put in Nancy. "An English family of ladies ran away only -yesterday, owing twenty pounds at least, it is said." - -"Ah," said the stranger, with a smile. "I think the ladies are sometimes -more clever at that game than the men. By the way," he went on briskly, -"do you know a Mr. Dangerfield at Sainteville?" - -"No," replied Lavinia. - -"He is staying here, I believe, or has been." - -"Not that I know of," said Lavinia. "I never heard his name." - -"Changed it again, probably," carelessly observed the young man. - -"Is Dangerfield not his true name, then?" - -"Just as much as it is mine, madam. His real name is Fennel; but he has -found it convenient to drop that on occasion." - -Now it was a curious fact that Nancy did not hear the name which the -stranger had given as the true one. Her attention was diverted by some -men who were working at the mud in the harbour, for it was low water, -and who were loudly disputing together. Nancy had moved to the side of -the pier to look down at them. - -"Is he a swindler, that Mr. Dangerfield?" asked she, half-turning her -head to speak. But the stranger did not answer. - -As to Lavinia, the avowal had struck her speechless. She glanced at -Captain Fennel. He had his back to them, and stood immovable, apparently -unconcerned, possibly not having heard. A thought struck her--and -frightened her. - -"Do you know that Mr. Dangerfield yourself?" she asked the stranger, in -a tone of indifference. - -"No, I do not," he said; "but there's a man coming over in yonder boat -who does." - -He pointed over his shoulder at the sea as he spoke. Lavinia glanced -quickly in the same direction. - -"In yonder boat?" she repeated vaguely. - -"I mean the London boat, which is on its way here, and will get in this -evening," he explained. - -"Oh, of course," said Lavinia, as if her wits had been wool-gathering. - -The young man took out his watch and looked at it. Then he rose, lifted -his hat, and, with a general good-morning, walked quickly down the pier. - -Nancy was still at the side of the pier, looking down at the men. -Captain Fennel put up his glasses and sat down beside Lavinia, his -impassive face still as usual. - -"I wonder who that man is?" he cried, watching the footsteps of the -retreating stranger. - -"Did you hear what he said?" asked Lavinia, dropping her voice. - -"Yes. Had Nancy not been here, I should have given him a taste of my -mind; but she hates even the semblance of a quarrel. He had no right to -say what he did." - -"What could it have meant?" murmured Lavinia. - -"It meant my brother, I expect," said Captain Fennel savagely, and, as -Lavinia thought, with every appearance of truth. "But he has never been -at Sainteville, so far as I know; the fellow is mistaken in that." - -"Does he pass under the name of Dangerfield?" - -"Possibly. This is the first I've heard of it. He is an extravagant man, -often in embarrassment from debt. There's nothing worse against him." - -He did not say more; neither did Lavinia. They sat on in silence. The -tall figure in the Scotch plaid disappeared from sight; the men in the -harbour kept on disputing. - -"How long are you going to stay here?" asked Nancy, turning towards her -husband. - -"I'm ready to go now," he answered. And giving his arm to Nancy, they -walked down the pier together. - -Never a word to Lavinia; never a question put by him or by Nancy, if -only to say, "Are you not coming with us?" It was ever so now. Nancy, -absorbed in her husband, neglected her sister. - -Lavinia sighed. She sat on a little while longer, and then took her -departure. - -The shoe-shop on the port was opposite the place in the harbour where -the London steamers were generally moored. The one now there was -taking in cargo. As Lavinia was turning into the shop for her parasol, -she heard a stentorian English voice call out to a man who was -superintending the work in his shirt-sleeves: "At what hour does this -boat leave to-night?" - -"At eight o'clock, sir," was the answer. "Eight sharp; we want to get -away with the first o' the tide." - - -_From Miss Lavinia Preen's Diary._ - -_September 22nd._--The town clocks have just struck eight, and I could -almost fancy that I hear the faint sound of the boat steaming down the -harbour in the dark night, carrying Nancy away with it, and carrying -_him_. However, that is fancy and nothing else, for the sound could not -penetrate to me here. - -Perhaps it surprised me, perhaps it did not, when Nancy came to me this -afternoon as I was sitting in my bedroom reading Scott's "Legend of -Montrose," which Mary Carimon had lent me from her little stock of -English books, and said she and Captain Fennel were going to London that -night by the boat. He had received a letter, he told her, calling him -thither. He might tell Nancy that if he liked, but it would not do -for me. He is going, I can only believe, in consequence of what that -gentleman in the shepherd's plaid said on the pier to-day. Can it be -that the "Mr. Dangerfield" spoken of applies to Edwin Fennel himself and -not to his brother? Is he finding himself in some dangerous strait, and -is running away from the individual coming over in the approaching boat, -who personally knows Mr. Dangerfield? "Can you lend me a five-pound -note, Lavinia?" Nancy went on, when she had told me the news; "lend it -to myself, I mean. I will repay you when I receive my next quarter's -income, which is due, you know, in a few days." I chanced to have a -five-pound note by me in my own private store, and I gave it her, -reminding her that unless she did let me have it again, it would be so -much less in hand to meet expenses with, and that I had found difficulty -enough in the past quarter. "On the other hand," said Nancy, "if I and -Edwin stay away a week or two, you will be spared our housekeeping; and -when our money comes, Lavinia, you can open my letter and repay yourself -if I am not here. I don't at all know where we are going to stay," she -said, in answer to my question. "I was beginning to ask Edwin just now -in the other room, but he was busy packing his portmanteau, and told me -not to bother him." - -And so, there it is: they are gone, and I am left here all alone. - -I wonder whether any Mr. Dangerfield has been at Sainteville? I think we -should have heard the name. Why, that is the door-bell! I must go and -answer it. - -It was Charley Palliser. He had come with a message from Major and -Mrs. Smith. They are going to Drecques to-morrow morning by the -eleven-o'clock train with a few friends and a basket of provisions, -and had sent Charley to say they would be glad of my company. "Do -come, Miss Preen," urged Charley as I hesitated; "you are all alone -now, and I'm sure it must be dreadfully dull." - -"How do you know I am alone?" I asked. - -"Because," said Charley, "I have been watching the London boat out, and -I saw Captain Fennel and your sister go by it. Major and Mrs. Smith were -with me. It is a lovely night." - -"Wait a moment," I said, as Charley was about to depart when I had -accepted the invitation. "Do you know whether an Englishman named -Dangerfield is living here?" - -"Don't think there is; I have not met with him," said Charley. "Why, -Miss Preen?" - -"Oh, only that I was asked to-day whether I knew any one of that name," -I returned carelessly. "Good-night, Mr. Charles. Thank you for coming." - -They have invited me, finding I was left alone, and I think it very kind -of them. But the Smiths are both kind-hearted people. - -_September 23rd._--Half-past nine o'clock, p.m. Have just returned from -Drecques by the last train after spending a pleasant day. Quiet, of -course, for there is not much to do at Drecques except stroll over the -ruins of the old castle, or saunter about the quaint little ancient -town, and go into the grand old church. It was so fine and warm that we -had dinner on the grass, the people at the cottage bringing our plates -and knives and forks. Later in the day we took tea indoors. In the -afternoon, when all the rest were scattered about and the major sat -smoking his cigar on the bench under the trees, I sat down by him to -tell him what happened yesterday, and I begged him to give me his -opinion. It was no betrayal of confidence, for Major Smith is better -acquainted with the shady side of the Fennels than I am. - -"I heard there was an English lawyer staying at the Hotel des Princes, -and that he had come here from Douai," observed the major. "His name's -Lockett. It must have been he who spoke to you on the pier." - -"Yes, of course. Do you know, major, whether any one has stayed at -Sainteville passing as Mr. Dangerfield?" - -"I don't think so," replied the major. "Unless he has kept himself -remarkably quiet." - -"Could it apply to Captain Fennel?" - -"I never knew that he had gone under an assumed name. The accusation is -one more likely to apply to his brother than to himself. James Fennel is -unscrupulous, very incautious: notwithstanding that, I like him better -than I like the other. There's something about Edwin Fennel that repels -you; at least, it does me; but one can hardly help liking James, mauvais -sujet though he is," added the speaker, pausing to flirt off the ashes -of his cigar. - -"The doubt pointing to Edwin Fennel in the affair is his suddenly -decamping," continued Major Smith. "It was quite impromptu, you say, -Miss Preen?" - -"Quite so. I feel sure he had no thought of going away in the morning; -and he did not receive any letter from England later, which was the -excuse he gave Nancy for departing. Rely upon it that what he heard -about the Mr. Dangerfield on the pier drove him away." - -"Well, that looks suspicious, you see." - -"Oh yes, I do see it," I answered, unable to conceal the pain I felt. -"It was a bitter calamity, Major Smith, when Nancy married him." - -"I'll make a few cautious inquiries in the town, and try to find out if -there's anything against him in secret, or if any man named Dangerfield -has been in the place and got into a mess. But, indeed, I don't -altogether see that it could apply to him," concluded the major after a -pause. "One can't well go under two names in the same town; and every -one knows him as Edwin Fennel.--Here they are, some of them, coming -back!" And when the wanderers were close up, they found Major Smith -arguing with me about the architecture of the castle. - -Ten o'clock. Time for bed. I am in no haste to go, for I don't sleep as -well as I used to. - -A thought has lately sometimes crossed me that this miserable trouble -worries me more than it ought to do. "Accept it as your cross, and -_yield_ to it, Lavinia," says Mary Carimon to me. But I _cannot_ yield -to it; that is, I cannot in the least diminish the anxiety which always -clings to me, or forget the distress and dread that lie upon me like a -shadow. I know that my life has been on the whole an easy life--that -during all the years I spent at Selby Court I never had any trouble; I -know that crosses do come to us all, earlier or later, and that I ought -not to be surprised that "no new thing has happened to me," the world -being full of such experiences. I suppose it is because I have been so -exempt from care, that I feel this the more. - -Half-past ten! just half-an-hour writing these last few lines and -_thinking_! Time I put up. I wonder when I shall hear from Nancy? - - -VI. - -A curious phase, taken in conjunction with what was to follow, now -occurred in the history. Miss Preen began to experience a nervous dread -at going into the Petite Maison Rouge at night. - -She could go into the house ten times a-day when it was empty; she could -stay in the house alone in the evening after Flore took her departure; -she could be its only inmate all night long; and never at these times -have the slightest sense of fear. But if she went out to spend the -evening, she felt an unaccountable dread, amounting to horror, at -entering it when she arrived home. - -It came on suddenly. One evening when Lavinia had been at Mrs. Hardy's, -Charley Palliser having run over to London, she returned home a little -before ten o'clock. Opening the door with her latch-key, she was -stepping into the passage when a sharp horror of entering it seized her. -A dread, as it seemed to her, of going into the empty house, up the -long, dark, narrow passage. It was the same sort of sensation that had -struck her the first time she attempted to enter it under the escort of -Monsieur Gustave Sauvage, and it came on now with as little reason as it -had come on then. For Lavinia this night had not a thought in her mind -of fear or loneliness, or anything else unpleasant. Mrs. Hardy had been -relating a laughable adventure that Charley Palliser met with on board -the boat when going over, the account of which he had written to her, -and Lavinia was thinking brightly of it all the way home. She was -smiling to herself as she unlatched the door and opened it. And then, -without warning, arose the horrible fear. - -How she conquered it sufficiently to enter the passage and reach the -slab, where her candle and matches were always placed, she did not know. -It had to be done, for Lavinia Preen could not remain in the dark yard -all night, or patrol the streets; but her face had turned moist, and her -hands trembled. - -That was the beginning of it. Never since had she come home in the -same way at night but the same terror assailed her; and I must beg the -reader to understand that this is no invention. Devoid of reason and -unaccountable though the terror was, Lavinia Preen experienced it. - -She went out often--two or three times a-week, perhaps--either to dine -or to spend the evening. Captain Fennel and Nancy were still away, and -friends, remembering Miss Preen's solitary position, invited her. - -October had passed, November was passing, and as yet no news came to -Lavinia of the return of the travellers. At first they did not write to -her at all, leaving her to infer that as the boat reached London safely -they had done the same. After the lapse of a fortnight she received a -short letter from Nancy telling her really nothing, and not giving any -address. The next letter came towards the end of November, and was as -follows: - - "MY DEAR LAVINIA, - - "I have not written to you, for, truly, there is nothing to write - about, and almost every day I expect Edwin to tell me we are going - home. Will you _kindly_ lend me a ten-pound note? Please send it in - a letter. We are staying at Camberwell, and I enclose you the - address in strict confidence. Do not repeat it to any one--not even - to Mary Carimon. It is a relation of Edwin's we are staying with, - but he is not well off. I like his wife. Edwin desires his best - regards. - - "Your loving sister, - "NANCY." - -Miss Preen did not send the ten-pound note. She wrote to tell Nancy that -she could not do it, and was uncomfortably pressed for money herself in -consequence of Nancy's own action. - -The five-pound note borrowed from Lavinia by Nancy on her departure had -not been repaid; neither had Nancy's share of the previous quarter's -money been remitted. On the usual day of payment at the end of -September, Lavinia's quarterly income came to her at Sainteville, as was -customary; not Nancy's. For Nancy there came neither money nor letter. -The fact was, Nancy, escorted by her husband, had presented herself -at Colonel Selby's bank--he was junior partner and manager of a small -private bank in the City--the day before the dividends were due, and -personally claimed the quarterly payment, which was paid to her. - -But now, the summary docking of just half their income was a matter -of embarrassment to Miss Preen, as may readily be imagined. The house -expenses had to go on, with only half the money to meet them. Lavinia -had a little nest-egg of her own, it has been said before, saved in -earlier years; and this she drew upon, and so kept debt down. But it was -very inconvenient, as well as vexatious. Lavinia told the whole truth -now to Mary Carimon and her husband, with Nancy's recent application for -a ten-pound note, and her refusal. Little Monsieur Carimon muttered a -word between his closed lips which sounded like "Rat," and was no doubt -applied to Edwin Fennel. - -Pretty close upon this, Lavinia received a blowing-up letter from -Colonel Selby. Having known Lavinia when she was in pinafores, the -colonel, a peppery man, considered he had a right to take her to task at -will. He was brother to Paul Selby, of Selby Court, and heir presumptive -to it. The colonel had a wife and children, and much ado at times to -keep them, for his income was not large at present, and growing-up sons -are expensive. - - "DEAR LAVINIA, - - "What in the name of common sense could have induced you to imagine - that I should pay the two quarterly incomes some weeks before they - were due, and to send Ann and that man Fennel here with your orders - that I should do so? Pretty ideas of trusteeship you must have! If - you are over head and ears in debt, as they tell me, and for that - reason wish to forestall the time for payment, _I_ can't help it. It - is no reason with me. Your money will be forwarded to Sainteville, - at the proper period, to _yourself_. Do not ask me again to pay it - into Ann's hands, and to accept her receipt for it. I can do nothing - of the kind. Ann's share will be sent at the same time. She tells me - she is returning to you. She must give me her own receipt for it, - and you must give me yours. - - "Your affectionate kinsman, - "WILLIAM SELBY." - -Just for a few minutes Lavinia Preen did not understand this letter. -What could it mean? Why had Colonel Selby written it to her? Then the -truth flashed into her mind. - -Nancy (induced, of course, by Edwin Fennel) had gone with him to Colonel -Selby, purporting to have been sent by Lavinia, to ask him to pay them -the quarter's money not due until the end of December, and not only -Nancy's share but Lavinia's as well. - -"Why, it would have been nothing short of swindling!" cried Lavinia, as -she gazed in dismay at the colonel's letter. - -In the indignation of the moment, she took pen and ink and wrote an -answer to William Selby. Partly enlightening him--not quite--but telling -him that her money must never be paid to any one but herself, and that -the present matter had better be hushed up for Ann's sake, who was as a -reed in the hands of the man she had married. - -Colonel Selby exploded a little when he received this answer. Down he -sat in his turn, and wrote a short, sharp note to Edwin Fennel, giving -that estimable man a little of his mind, and warning him that he must -not be surprised if the police were advised to look after him. - -When Edward Fennel received this decisive note through an address he had -given to Colonel Selby, but not the one at Camberwell, he called Miss -Lavinia Preen all the laudatory names in the thieves' dictionary. - -And on the feast of St. Andrew, which as every one knows is the last day -of November, the letters came to an end with the following one from -Nancy: - - "All being well, my dear Lavinia, we propose to return home by next - Sunday's boat, which ought to get in before three o'clock in the - afternoon. On Wednesday, Edwin met Charley Palliser in the Strand, - and had a chat with him, and heard all the Sainteville news; not - that there seemed much to hear. Charley says he runs over to London - pretty often now, his mother being ill. Of course you will not mind - waiting dinner for us on Sunday. - - "Ever your loving sister, - "ANN." - -So at length they were coming! Either that threat of being looked after -by the police had been too much for Captain Fennel, or the failure to -obtain funds was cutting short his stay in London. Any way, they were -coming. Lavinia laid the letter beside her breakfast-plate and fell into -thought. She resolved to welcome them graciously, and to say nothing -about bygones. - -Flore was told the news, and warned that instead of dining at half-past -one on the morrow, the usual Sunday hour, it would be delayed until -three. Flore did not much like the prospect of her afternoon's holiday -being shortened, but there was no help for it. Lavinia provided a couple -of ducks for dinner, going into the market after breakfast to buy them; -the dish was an especial favourite of the captain's. She invited Mary -Carimon to partake of it, for Monsieur Carimon was going to spend Sunday -at Lille with an old friend of his, who was now master of the college -there. - -On this evening, Saturday, Lavinia dined out herself. Some ladies named -Bosanquet, three sisters, with whom she had become pretty intimate, -called at the Petite Maison Rouge, and carried her off to their home in -the Rue Lamartine, where they had lived for years. After a very pleasant -evening with them, Lavinia left at ten o'clock. - -And when she reached her own door, and was putting the latch-key into -the lock, the old fear came over her. Dropping her hands, she stood -there trembling. She looked round at the silent, deserted yard, she -looked up at the high encircling walls; she glanced at the frosty sky -and the bright stars; and she stood there shivering. - -But she must go in. Throwing the door back with an effort of will, she -turned sick and faint: to enter that dark, lonely, empty house seemed -beyond her strength and courage. What could this strange feeling -portend?--why should it thus attack her? It was just as if some fatality -were in the house waiting to destroy her, and a subtle power would keep -her from entering it. - -Her heart beating wildly, her breath laboured, Lavinia went in; she shut -the door behind her and sped up the passage. Feeling for the match-box -on the slab, put ready to her hand, she struck a match and lighted the -candle. At that moment, when turning round, she saw, or thought she saw, -Captain Fennel. He was standing just within the front-door, which she -had now come in at, staring at her with a fixed gaze, and with the most -malignant expression on his usually impassive face. Lavinia's terror -partly gave place to astonishment. Was it he himself? How had he come -in? - -Turning to take the candle from the slab in her bewilderment, when she -looked again he was gone. What had become of him? Lavinia called to him -by name, but he did not answer. She took the candle into the salon, -though feeling sure he could not have come up the passage; but he was -not there. Had he slipped out again? Had she left the door open when -thinking she closed it, and had he followed her in, and was now gone -again? Lavinia carried her lighted candle to the door, and found it was -fastened. She had _not_ left it open. - -Then, as she undressed in her room, trying all the while to solve the -problem, an idea crept into her mind that the appearance might have been -supernatural. Yet--supernatural visitants of the living do not appear to -us, but of the dead. Was Edwin Fennel dead? - -So disturbed was the brain of Lavinia Preen that she could not get to -sleep; but tossed and turned about the bed almost until daybreak. At six -o'clock she fell into an uneasy slumber, and into a most distressing -dream. - -It was a confused dream; nothing in it was clear. All she knew when -she awoke, was that she had appeared to be in a state of inexplicable -terror, of most intense apprehension throughout it, arising from some -evil threatened her by Captain Fennel. - - -VII. - -It was a fine, frosty day, and the first of December. The sun shone on -the fair streets of Sainteville and on the small congregation turning -out of the English Protestant Church after morning service. - -Lavinia Preen went straight home. There she found that Madame Carimon, -who was to spend the rest of the day with her--monsieur having gone to -Lille--had not yet arrived, though the French Church Evangelique was -always over before the English. After glancing at Flore in the kitchen, -busy over the fine ducks, Lavinia set off for the Rue Pomme Cuite. - -She met Mary Carimon turning out of it. "Let us go and sit under the -wall in the sun," said Mary. "It is too early yet for the boat." - -This was a high wall belonging to the strong north gates of the town, -near Madame Carimon's. The sun shone full upon the benches beneath it, -which it sheltered from the bleak winds; in front was a patch of green -grass, on which the children ran about amidst the straight poplar trees. -It was very pleasant sitting there, even on this December day--bright -and cheerful; the wall behind them was quite warm, the sunshine rested -upon all. - -Sitting there, Lavinia Preen told Madame Carimon of the curious dread -of entering her house at night, which had pursued her for the past two -months that she had been alone in it, and which she had never spoken of -to any one before. She went on to speak of the belief that she had seen -Captain Fennel the previous night in the passage, and of the dream -which had visited her when at length she fell asleep. - -Madame Carimon turned her kindly, sensible face and her quiet, dark, -surprised eyes upon Lavinia. "I cannot understand you," she said. - -"You mean, I suppose, that you cannot understand the facts, Mary. -Neither can I. Why this fear of going into the house should lie upon me -is most strange. I never was nervous before." - -"I don't know that that is so very strange," dissented Mary Carimon, -after a pause. "It must seem lonely to let one's self into a dark, empty -house in the middle of the night; and your house is in what may be -called an isolated situation; I should not much like it myself. That's -nothing. What I cannot understand, Lavinia, is the fancy that you saw -Captain Fennel." - -"He appeared to be standing there, and was quite visible to me. The -expression on his face, which seemed to be looking straight into mine, -was most malicious. I never saw such an expression upon it in reality." - -Mary Carimon laughed a little, saying she had never been troubled with -nervous fears herself; she was too practical for anything of the sort. - -"And I have been practical hitherto," returned Lavinia. "When the first -surprise of seeing him there, or fancying I saw him there, was over, I -began to think, Mary, that he might be dead; that it was his apparition -which had stood there looking at me." - -Mary Carimon shook her head. "Had anything of that sort happened, Nancy -would have telegraphed to you. Rely upon it, Lavinia, it was pure -fancy. You have been disagreeably exercised in mind lately, you know, -about that man; hearing he was coming home, your brain was somewhat -thrown off its balance." - -"It may be so. The dream followed on it; and I did not like the dream." - -"We all have bad dreams now and then. You say you do not remember much -of this one." - -"I think I did not know much of it when dreaming it," quaintly spoke -Lavinia. "I was in a sea of trouble, throughout which I seemed to be -striving to escape some evil menaced me by Captain Fennel, and could not -do so. Whichever way I turned, there he was at a distance, scowling at -me with a threatening, evil countenance. Mary," she added in impassioned -tones, "I am sure some ill awaits me from that man." - -"I am sure, were I you, I would put these foolish notions from me," -calmly spoke Madame Carimon. "If Nancy set up a vocation for seeing -ghosts and dreaming dreams, one would not so much wonder at it. _You_ -have always been reasonable, Lavinia; be so now." - -Miss Preen took out her watch and looked at it. "We may as well be -walking towards the port, Mary," she remarked. "It is past two. The boat -ought to be in sight." - -Not only in sight was the steamer, but rapidly nearing the port. She had -made a calm and quick passage. When at length she was in and about to -swing round, and the two ladies were looking down at it, with a small -crowd of other assembled spectators, the first passengers they saw on -board were Nancy and Captain Fennel, who began to wave their hands in -greeting and to nod their heads. - -"Any way, Lavinia, it could not have been his ghost last night," -whispered Mary Carimon. - - * * * * * - -Far from presenting an evil countenance to Lavinia, as the days passed -on, Captain Fennel appeared to wish to please her, and was all suavity. -So at present nothing disturbed the peace of the Petite Maison Rouge. - -"What people were they that you stayed with in London, Nancy?" Lavinia -inquired of her sister on the first favourable opportunity. - -Nancy glanced round the salon before answering, as if to make sure they -were alone; but Captain Fennel had gone out for a stroll. - -"We were at James Fennel's, Lavinia." - -"What--the brother's! And has he a wife?" - -"Yes; a wife, but no children. Mrs. James Fennel has money of her own, -which she receives weekly." - -"Receives weekly!" echoed Lavinia. - -"She owns some little houses which are let out in weekly tenements; -an agent collects the rents, and brings her the money every Tuesday -morning. She dresses in the shabbiest things sometimes, and does her own -housework, and altogether is not what I should call quite a lady, but -she is very good-hearted. She did her best to make us comfortable, -and never grumbled at our staying so long. I expect Edwin paid her -something. James only came home by fits and starts. I think he was in -some embarrassment--debt, you know. He used to dash into the house like -a whirlwind when he did come, and steal out of it when he left, peering -about on all sides." - -"Have they a nice house?" asked Lavinia. - -"Oh, good gracious, no! It's not a house at all, only small lodgings. -And Mrs. James changed them twice over whilst we were there. When we -first went they were at a place called Ball's Pond." - -"Why did you remain all that time?" - -Mrs. Edwin Fennel shook her head helplessly; she could not answer the -question. "I should have liked to come back before," she said; "it was -very wearisome, knowing nobody and having nothing to do. Did you find it -dull here, Lavinia, all by yourself?" - -"'Dull' is not the right word for it," answered Lavinia, catching her -breath with a sigh. "I felt more lonely, Ann, than I shall ever care -to feel again. Especially when I had to come home at night from some -soiree, or from spending the evening quietly with Mary Carimon or any -other friend." And she went on to tell of the feeling of terror which -had so tried her. - -"I never heard of such a thing!" exclaimed Ann. "How silly you must be, -Lavinia! What could there have been in the house to frighten you?" - -"I don't know; I wish I did know," sighed Lavinia, just as she had said -more than once before. - -Nancy, who was attired in a bright ruby cashmere robe, with a gold chain -and locket, some blue ribbons adorning her light ringlets, for she had -made a point of dressing more youthfully than ever since her marriage, -leaned back in her chair, as she sat staring at her sister and thinking. - -"Lavinia," she said huskily, "you remember the feeling you had the -day we were about to look at the house with Mary Carimon, and which -you thought was through the darkness of the passage striking you -unpleasantly? Well, my opinion is that it must have given you a scare." - -"Why, of course it did." - -"Ah, but I mean a scare which lasts," said Ann; "one of those scares -which affect the mind and take very long to get rid of. You recollect -poor Mrs. Hunt, at Buttermead? She was frightened at a violent -thunderstorm, though she never had been before; and for years -afterwards, whenever it thundered, she became so alarmingly ill and -agitated that Mr. Featherston had to be run for. He called it a scare. -I think the fear you felt that past day must have left that sort of -scare upon you. How else can you account for what you tell me?" - -Truth to say, the same idea had more than once struck Lavinia. She knew -how devoid of reason some of these "scares" are, and yet how terribly -they disturb the mind on which they fasten. - -"But I had quite forgotten that fear, Ann," she urged in reply. "We had -lived in the house eighteen months when you went away, and I had never -recalled it." - -"All the same, I think you received the scare; it had only lain -dormant," persisted Ann. - -"Well, well; you are back again now, and it is over," said Lavinia. "Let -us forget it. Do not speak of it again at all to any one, Nancy love." - - -VIII. - -Winter that year had quite set in when Sainteville found itself honoured -with rather a remarkable visitor; one Signor Talcke, who descended, one -morning at the beginning of December, at the Hotel des Princes. Though -he called himself "Signor," it seemed uncertain to what country he -owed his birth. He spoke five or six languages as a native, including -Hindustani. Signor Talcke was a professor of occult sciences; he was -a great astronomer; astrology he had at his fingers' ends. He was a -powerful mesmerist; he would foretell the events of your life by your -hands, or your fortune by the cards. - -For a fee of twenty-five francs, he would attend an evening party, and -exhibit some of his powers. Amidst others who engaged him were the Miss -Bosanquets, in the Rue Lamartine. A relative of theirs, Sir George -Bosanquet, K.C.B., had come over with his wife to spend Christmas with -them. Sir George laughed at what he heard of Signor Talcke's powers of -reading the future, and said he should much like to witness a specimen -of it. So Miss Bosanquet and her sisters hastily arranged an evening -entertainment, engaged the mystical man, and invited their friends and -acquaintances, those of the Petite Maison Rouge included. - -It took place on the Friday after Christmas-Day. Something that occurred -during the evening was rather remarkable. Miss Preen's diary gives a -full account of it, and that shall be transcribed here. And I, Johnny -Ludlow, take this opportunity of assuring the reader that what she -wrote was in faithful accordance with the facts of the case. - - -_From Miss Preen's Diary._ - -_Saturday morning._--I feel very tired; fit for nothing. Nancy has -undertaken to do the marketing, and is gone out for that purpose with -her husband. It is to be hoped she will be moderate, and not attempt to -buy up half the market. - -I lay awake all night, after the evening at Miss Bosanquet's, thinking -how foolish Ann was to have had her "future cast," as that Italian -(if he is Italian) called it, and how worse than foolish I was to let -what he said worry me. "As if there could be anything in it!" laughed -Ann, as we were coming home; fortunately she is not as I am in -temperament--nervously anxious. "It is only nonsense," said Miss Anna -Bosanquet to me when the signor's predictions were at an end; "he will -tell some one else just the same next time." But _I_ did not think -so. Of course, one is at a loss how to trust this kind of man. Take -him for all in all, I rather like him; and he appears to believe -implicitly in what he says: or, rather, in what he tell us the cards -say. - -They are charming women, these three sisters--Grace, Rose, and Anna -Bosanquet; good, considerate, high-bred ladies. I wonder how it is they -have lived to middle life without any one of them marrying? And I often -wonder how they came to take up their residence at Sainteville, for they -are very well off, and have great connections. I remember, though, Anna -once said to me that the dry, pure air of the place suited her sister -Rose, who has bad health, better than any other they had tried. - -When seven o'clock struck, the hour named, Nancy and I appeared together -in the sitting-room, ready to start, for we observe punctuality at -Sainteville. I wore my black satin, handsome yet, trimmed with the rich -white lace that Mrs. Selby gave me. Nancy looked very nice and young in -her lilac silk. She wore a white rose in her hair, and her gold chain -and locket round her neck. Captain Fennel surprised us by saying he was -not going--his neuralgia had come on. I fancied it was an excuse--that -he did not wish to meet Sir George Bosanquet. He had complained of the -same thing on Christmas-Day, so it might be true. Ann and I set off -together, leaving him nursing his cheek at the table. - -It was a large gathering for Sainteville--forty guests, I should think; -but the rooms are large. Professor Talcke exhibited some wonderful feats -in--what shall I call it?--necromancy?--as good a word, perhaps, as any -other. He mesmerized some people, and put one of them into a state of -clairvoyance, and her revelations took my breath away. Signor Talcke -assured us that what she said would be found minutely true. I think he -has the strangest eyes I ever saw: grey eyes, with a sort of light in -their depths. His features are fair and delicate, his voice is gentle as -a woman's, his manner retiring; Sir George seemed much taken with him. - -Later, when the evening was passing, he asked if any one present would -like to have their future cast, for he had cards which would do it. -Three of his listeners pressed forward at once; two of them with gay -laughter, the other pale and awestruck. The signor went into the recess -in the small room, and sat down behind the little table there, and as -many as could crowd round to look on, did so. I don't know what passed; -there was no room for me; or whether the "Futures" he disclosed were -good or bad. I had sat on the sofa at a distance, talking with Anna -Bosanquet and Madame Carimon. - -Suddenly, as we were for a moment silent, Ann's voice was heard, eager -and laughing: - -"Will you tell my fortune, Signor Talcke? I should like to have mine -revealed." - -"With pleasure, madame," he answered. - -We got up and drew near. I felt vexed that Ann should put herself -forward in any such matter, and whispered to her; but she only shook her -curls, laughed at me, and persisted. Signor Talcke put the cards in her -hands, telling her to shuffle them. - -"It is all fun, Lavinia," she whispered to me. "Did you hear him tell -Miss Peet she was going to have money left her?" - -After Ann had shuffled the cards, he made her cut them into three -divisions, and he then turned them up on the table himself, faces -upwards, and laid them out in three rows. They were not like the cards -we play with; quite different from those; nearly all were picture-cards, -and the plain ones bore cabalistic characters. We stood looking on with -two or three other people; the rest had dispersed, and had gone into the -next room to listen to the singing. - -At first Signor Talcke never spoke a word. He looked at the cards, and -looked at Nancy; looked, and looked again. "They are not propitious," he -said in low tones, and picked them up, and asked Nancy to shuffle and -cut them again. Then he laid them as before, and we stood waiting in -silence. - -Chancing at that moment to look at Signor Talcke, his face startled me. -He was frowning at the cards in so painful a manner as to quite alter -its expression. But he did not speak. He still only gazed at the cards -with bent eyes, and glanced up at Ann occasionally. Then, with an -impatient sweep of the hand, he pushed the cards together. - -"I must trouble you to shuffle and cut them once more, madame," he said. -"Shuffle them well." - -"Are they still unpropitious?" asked a jesting voice at my elbow. -Turning, I saw Charley Palliser's smiling face. He must have been -standing there, and heard Signor Talcke's previous remark. - -"Yes, sir, they are," replied the signor, with marked emphasis. "I never -saw the cards so unpropitious in my life." - -Nancy took up the cards, shuffled them well, and cut them three times. -Signor Talcke laid them out as before, bent his head, and looked -attentively at them. He did not speak, but there was no mistaking the -vexed, pained, and puzzled look on his face. - -I do not think he knew Nancy, even by name. I do not think he knew me, -or had the least notion that we were related. Neither of us had ever met -him before. He put his hand to his brow, still gazing at the cards. - -"But when are you going to begin my fortune, sir?" broke in Nancy. - -"I would rather not tell it at all, madame," he answered. - -"_Cannot_ you tell it?--have your powers of forecasting inconveniently -run away?" said she incautiously, her tone mocking in her -disappointment. - -"I could tell it, all too surely; but you might not like to hear it," -returned he. - -"Our magician has lost his divining-rod just when he needed it," -observed a gentleman with a grey beard, a stranger to me, who was -standing opposite, speaking in a tone of ill-natured satire; and a laugh -went round. - -"It is not that," said the signor, keeping his temper perfectly. "I -could tell what the cards say, all too certainly; but it would not give -satisfaction." - -"Oh yes, it would," returned Nancy. "I should like to hear it, every bit -of it. Please do begin." - -"The cards are dark, very dark indeed," he said; "I don't remember ever -to have seen them like it. Each time they have been turned the darkness -has increased. _Nothing_ can show worse than they do now." - -"Never mind that," gaily returned Ann. "You undertook to tell my -fortune, sir; and you ought not to make excuses in the middle of it. -Let the cards be as dark as night, we must hear what they say." - -He drew in his thin lips for a moment, and then spoke, his tone quiet, -calm, unemotional. - -"Some great evil threatens you," he began; "you seem to be living in -the midst of it. It is not only you that it threatens; there is another -also----" - -"Oh, my goodness!" interrupted Nancy, in her childish way. "I hope it -does not threaten Edwin. What _is_ the evil?--sickness?" - -"Worse than that. It--is----" Signor Talcke's attention was so absorbed -by the aspect of the cards that, as it struck me, he appeared hardly to -heed what he was saying. He had a long, thin black pencil in his long, -thin fingers, and kept pointing to different cards as if in accordance -with his thoughts, but not touching them. "There is some peculiar form -of terror here," he went on. "I cannot make it out; it is very unusual. -It does not come close to you; not yet, at any rate; and it seems to -surround you. It seems to be in the house. May I ask"--quickly lifting -his eyes to Ann--"whether you are given to superstitious fears?" - -"Do you mean ghosts?" cried Ann, and Charley Palliser burst out -laughing. "Not at all, sir; I don't believe in ghosts. I'm sure there -are none in our house." - -Remembering my own terror in regard to the house, and the nervous fancy -of having seen Captain Fennel in it when he was miles away, a curious -impression came over me that he must surely be reading my fortune as -well as Nancy's. But I was not prepared for her next words. Truly she -has no more reticence than a child. - -"My sister has a feeling that the house is lonely. She shivers when she -has to go into it after night-fall." - -Signor Talcke let his hands fall on the table, and lifted his face. -Apparently, he was digesting this revelation. I do not think he knew the -"sister" was present. For my part, disliking publicity, I slipped behind -Anna Bosanquet, and stood by Charley Palliser. - -"Shivers?" repeated the Italian. - -"Shivers and trembles, and turns sick at having to go in," affirmed -Nancy. "So she told me when I arrived home from England." - -"If a feeling of that sort assailed me, I should never go into the house -again," said the signor. - -"But how could you help it, if it were your home?" she argued. - -"All the same. I should regard that feeling as a warning against the -house, and never enter it. Then you are not yourself troubled with -superstitious fears?" he broke off, returning to the business in hand, -and looking at the cards. "Well--at present--it does not seem to touch -you, this curious terror which is assuredly in the house----" - -"I beg your pardon," interrupted Ann. "Why do you say 'at present'? Is -it to touch me later?" - -"I cannot say. Each time that the cards have been spread it has -shown itself nearer to you. It is not yet very near. Apart from that -terror--or perhaps remotely connected with it--I see evil threatening -you--great evil." - -"Is it in the house?" - -"Yes; hovering about it. It is not only yourself it seems to threaten. -There is some one else. And it is nearer to that person than it is to -you." - -"But who is that person?--man or woman?" - -"It is a woman. See this ugly card," continued he, pointing with his -pencil; "it will not be got rid of, shuffle as you will; it has come -nearer to that woman each time." - -The card he pointed to was more curious-looking than any other in the -pack. It was not unlike the nine of spades, but crowded with devices. -The gentleman opposite, whom I did not know, leaned forward and touched -the card with the tip of his forefinger. - -"Le cercueil, n'est-ce-pas?" said he. - -"My!" whispered an English lad's voice behind me. "Cercueil? that means -coffin." - -"How did you know?" asked Signor Talcke of the grey-bearded man. - -"I was at the Sous-Prefect's soiree on Sunday evening when you were -exhibiting. I heard you tell him in French that that was the ugliest -card in the pack: indicating death." - -"Well, it is not this lady the card is pursuing," said the signor, -smiling at Ann to reassure her. "Not yet awhile, at least. And we must -all be pursued by it in our turn, whenever that shall come," he added, -bending over the cards again. "Pardon me, madame--may I ask whether -there has not been some unpleasantness in the house concerning money?" - -Nancy's face turned red. "Not--exactly," she answered with hesitation. -"We are like a great many more people--not as rich as we should wish to -be." - -"It does not appear to lie precisely in the want of money: but certainly -money is in some way connected with the evil," he was beginning to say, -his eyes fixed dreamily on the cards, when Ann interrupted him. - -"That is too strong a word--evil. Why do you use it?" - -"I use it because the evil is there. No lighter word would be -appropriate. There is some evil element pervading your house, very -grave and formidable; it is most threatening; likely to go on -to--to--darkness. I mean that it looks as if there would be some great -break-up," he corrected swiftly, as if to soften the other word. - -"That the house would be broken up?" questioned Ann. - -He stole a glance at her. "Something of that sort," he said carelessly. - -"Do you mean that the evil comes from an enemy?" she went on. - -"Assuredly." - -"But we have no enemy. I'm sure we have not one in all the world." - -He slightly shook his head. "You may not suspect it yet, though I should -have said"--waving the pencil thoughtfully over some of the cards--"that -he was already suspected--doubted." - -Nancy took up the personal pronoun briskly. "He!--then the evil enemy -must be a man? I assure you we do not know any man likely to be our -enemy or to wish us harm. No, nor woman either. Perhaps your cards don't -tell true to-night, Signor Talcke?" - -"Perhaps not, madame; we will let it be so if you will," he quietly -said, and shuffled all the cards together. - -That ended the seance. As if determined not to tell any more fortunes, -the signor hurriedly put up the cards and disappeared from the recess. -Nancy did not appear to be in the least impressed. - -"What a curious 'future' it was!" she exclaimed lightly to Mary Carimon. -"I might as well not have had it cast. He told me nothing." - -They walked away together. I went back to the sofa and Anna Bosanquet -followed me. - -"Mrs. Fennel calls it 'curious,'" I said to her. "I call it more than -that--strange; ominous. I wish I had not heard it." - -"Dear Miss Preen, it is only nonsense," she answered. "He will tell some -one else the same next time." But she only so spoke to console me. - -A wild wish flashed into my mind--that I should ask the man to tell -_my_ future. But had I not heard enough? Mine was blended with this of -Ann's. _I_ was the other woman whom the dark fate was more relentlessly -pursuing. There could be no doubt of that. There could be as little -doubt that it was I who already suspected the author of the "evil." What -can the "dark fate" be that we are threatened with? Debt? Will his debts -spring upon us and break up our home, and turn us out of it? Or will it -be something worse? That card which followed me meant a coffin, they -said. Ah me! Perhaps I am foolish to dwell upon such ideas. Certainly -they are more fitting for the world's dark ages than for this -enlightened nineteenth century of it. - -Charley Palliser gallantly offered to see us home. I said no; as if we -were not old enough to go by ourselves; but he would come with us. As we -went along Ann began talking of the party, criticizing the dresses, and -so on. Charley seemed to be unusually silent. - -"Was not mine a grand fortune?" she presently said with a laugh, as we -crossed the Place Ronde. - -"Stunning," said he. - -"As if there could be anything in it, you know! Does the man think we -believe him, I wonder?" - -"Oh, these conjurers like to fancy they impose on us," remarked -Charley, shaking hands as we halted before the house of Madame Sauvage. - -And I have had a wretched night, for somehow the thing has frightened -me. I never was superstitious; never; and I'm sure I never believed in -conjurers, as Charles had it. If I should come across Signor Talcke -again while he stays here, I would ask him---- Here comes Nancy! and -Flore behind her with the marketings. I'll put up my diary. - - * * * * * - -"I've bought such a lovely capon," began Nancy, as Lavinia went into the -kitchen. "Show it to madame, Flore." - -It was one that even Lavinia could praise; they both understood poultry. -"It really is a beauty," said Lavinia. "And did you remember the -salsifis? And, Ann, where have you left your husband?" - -"Oh, we met old Mr. Griffin, and Edwin has gone up to Drecques with him. -My opinion is, Lavinia, that that poor old Griffin dare not go about -far by himself since his attack. He had to see his landlord at Drecques -to-day, and he asked Edwin to accompany him. They went by the -eleven-o'clock train." - -Lavinia felt it a relief. Even that little absence, part of a day, she -felt thankful for, so much had she grown to dislike the presence in the -house of Edwin Fennel. - -"Did you tell your husband about your 'fortune' Nancy?" - -"No; I was too sleepy last night to talk, and I was late in getting up -this morning. I'm not sure that I shall tell him," added Mrs. Fennel -thoughtfully; "he might be angry with me for having had it done." - -"That is more than likely," replied Lavinia. - -Late in the afternoon, as they were sitting together in the salon, they -saw the postman come marching up the yard. He brought two letters--one -for Miss Preen, the other for her sister. - -"It is the remittance from William Selby," said Lavinia as she opened -hers. "He has sent it a day or two earlier than usual; it is not really -due until Monday or Tuesday." - -Seventeen pounds ten shillings each. Nancy, in a hasty sort of manner, -put her cheque into the hands of Lavinia, almost as if she feared it -would burn her own fingers. "You had better take it from me whilst you -can," she said in low tones. - -"Yes; for I must have it, Ann," was the answer. "We are in debt--as you -may readily conceive--with only half the usual amount to spend last -quarter." - -"It was not my fault; I was very sorry," said Ann humbly; and she rose -hastily to go to the kitchen, saying she was thirsty, and wanted a glass -of water. But Lavinia thought she went to avoid being questioned. - -Lavinia carried the two cheques to her room and locked them up. After -their five-o'clock dinner, each sister wrote a note to Colonel Selby, -enclosing her receipt. Flore took them out to post when she left. The -evening passed on. Lavinia worked; Nancy nodded over the fire: she was -very sleepy, and went to bed early. - -It was past eleven o'clock when Captain Fennel came in, a little the -worse for something or other. After returning from Drecques by the last -train, he had gone home with Mr. Griffin to supper. He told Lavinia, -in words running into one another, that the jolting train had made him -giddy. Of course she believed as much of that as she liked, but did not -contradict it. He went to the cupboard in the recess, unlocked it to get -out the cognac, and then sat down with his pipe by the embers of the -dying fire. Lavinia, unasked, brought in a decanter of water, put it on -the table with a glass, and wished him good-night. - -All next day Captain Fennel lay in bed with a racking headache. His wife -carried up a choice bit of the capon when they were dining after morning -service, but he could not so much as look at it. Being a fairly cautious -man as a rule, he had to pay for--for the jolting of the train. - -He was better on Monday morning, but not well, still shaky, and did not -come down to breakfast. It was bitterly cold--a sort of black frost; but -Lavinia, wrapping herself up warmly, went out as soon as breakfast was -over. - -Her first errand was to the bank, where she paid in the cheques and -received French money for them. Then she visited sundry shops; the -butcher's, the grocer's, and others, settling the accounts due. Last of -all, she made a call upon Madame Veuve Sauvage, and paid the rent for -the past quarter. All this left her with exactly nineteen pounds, which -was all the money she had to go on with for every purpose until the end -of March--three whole months. - -Lunch was ready when she returned. Taking off her things upstairs and -locking up her cash, she went down to it. Flore had made some delicious -soupe maigre. Only those who have tried it know how good it is on a -sharp winter's day. Captain Fennel seemed to relish it much, though his -appetite had not quite come back to him, and he turned from the dish of -scrambled eggs which supplemented the soup. In the evening they went, by -appointment, to dine at Madame Carimon's, the other guests being -Monsieur Henri Dupuis with his recently married wife, and Charles -Palliser. - -After dinner, over the coffee, Monsieur Henri Dupuis suddenly spoke of -the soiree at Miss Bosanquet's the previous Friday, regretting that he -and his wife had been unable to attend it. He was engaged the whole -evening with a patient dangerously ill, and his wife did not like to -appear at it without him. Nancy--Nancy!--then began to tell about the -"fortune" which had been forecast for her by Signor Talcke, thinking -possibly that her husband could not reproach her for it before company. -She was very gay over it; a proof that it had left no bad impression on -her mind. - -"What's that, Nancy?" cried Captain Fennel, who had listened as if he -disbelieved his ears. "The fellow told you we had something evil in our -house?" - -"Yes, he did," assented Nancy. "An evil influence, he said, which was -destined to bring forth something dark and dreadful." - -"I am sorry you did not tell this before," returned the captain stiffly. -"I should have requested you not again to allude to such folly. It was -downright insolence." - -"I--you--you were out on Saturday, you know, Edwin, and in bed with your -headache all Sunday; and to-day I forgot it," said Nancy in less brave -tones. - -"Suppose we have a game at wholesome card-playing," interposed Mary -Carimon, bringing forth a new pack. "Open them, will you, Jules? Do -you remember, mon ami, having your fortune told once by a gipsy woman -when we were in Sir John Whitney's coppice with the two Peckham girls? -She told you you would fall into a rich inheritance and marry a -Frenchwoman." - -"Neither of which agreeable promises is yet fulfilled," said little -Monsieur Carimon with his happy smile. Monsieur Carimon had heard the -account of Nancy's "forecast" from his wife; he was not himself present, -but taking a hand at whist in the card-room. - -They sat down to a round game--spin. Monsieur Henri Dupuis and his -pretty young wife had never played it before, but they soon learned -it and liked it much. Both of them spoke English well; she with the -prettiest accent imaginable. Thus the evening passed, and no more -allusion was made to the fortune-telling at Miss Bosanquet's. - -That was Monday. On Tuesday, Miss Preen was dispensing the coffee at -breakfast in the Petite Maison Rouge to her sister and Mr. Fennel, when -Flore came bustling in with a letter in her hand. - -"Tenez, madame," she said, putting it beside Mrs. Fennel. "I laid it -down in the kitchen when the facteur brought it, whilst I was preparing -the dejeuner, and forgot it afterwards." - -Before Nancy could touch the letter, her husband caught it up. He gazed -at the address, at the postmark, and turned it about to look at the -seal. The letters of gentlefolk were generally fastened with a seal in -those days: this had one in transparent bronze wax. - -Mr. Fennel put the letter down with a remark peevishly uttered. "It is -not from London; it is from Buttermead." - -"And from your old friend, Jane Peckham, Nancy," struck in Lavinia. "I -recognize her handwriting." - -"I _am_ glad," exclaimed Nancy. "I have not heard from them for ages. -Why now--is it not odd?--that Madame Carimon should mention the Peckhams -last night, and I receive a letter from them this morning?" - -"I supposed it might be from London, with your remittance," said Mr. -Fennel to his wife. "It is due, is it not?" - -"Oh, that came on Saturday, Edwin," she said, as she opened her letter. - -"Came on Saturday!" echoed Captain Fennel ungraciously, as if disputing -the assertion. - -"By the afternoon post; you were at Drecques, you know." - -"The _money_ came? _Your_ money?" - -"Yes," said Nancy, who had stepped to the window to read her letter, for -it was a dark day, and stood there with her back to the room. - -"And where is it?" demanded he. - -"I gave it to Lavinia. I always give it to her." - -Captain Fennel glared at his wife for a moment, then smoothed his face -to its ordinary placidity, and turned to Lavinia. - -"Will you be good enough to hand over to me my wife's money, Miss -Preen?" - -"No," she answered quietly. - -"I must trouble you to do so, when breakfast shall be finished." - -"I cannot," pursued Lavinia. "I have paid it away." - -"That I do not believe. I claim it from you in right of my wife; and I -shall enforce the claim." - -"The money is Nancy's, not yours," said Lavinia. "In consequence of your -having stopped her share last quarter in London, I was plunged here into -debt and great inconvenience. Yesterday morning I went out to settle the -debts--and it has taken the whole of her money to do it. That is the -state of things, Captain Fennel." - -"I am in debt here myself," retorted he, but not angrily. "I owe money -to my tailor and bootmaker; I owe an account at the chemist's; I want -money in my pockets--and I must indeed have it." - -"Not from me," returned Lavinia. - -Edwin Fennel broke into a little access of temper. He dashed his -serviette on the table, strode to the window, and roughly caught his -wife by the arm. She cried out. - -"How dared you hand your money to any one but me?" he asked in a low -voice of passion. - -"But how are we to live if I don't give it to Lavinia for the -housekeeping?" returned Nancy, bursting into tears. "It takes all we -have; her share and mine; every farthing of it." - -"Let my sister alone, Mr. Fennel," spoke up Lavinia with authority. "She -is responsible for the debts we contract in this house, just as much -as I am, and she must contribute her part to pay them. You ought to be -aware that the expenses are now increased by nearly a third; I assure -you I hardly like to face the difficulties I see before me." - -"Do you suppose I can stop in the place without some loose cash to keep -me going?" he asked calmly. "Is that reasonable, Miss Lavinia?" - -"And do you suppose I can keep you and Ann here without her money to -help me to do it?" she rejoined. "Perhaps the better plan will be for me -to take up my abode elsewhere, and leave the house to you and Ann to do -as you please in it." - -Captain Fennel dropped his argument, returned to the table, and went on -with his breakfast. The last words had startled him. Without Lavinia, -which meant without her money, they could not live in the house at all. - -Matters were partly patched up in the course of the day. Nancy came -upstairs to Lavinia, begging and praying, as if she were praying for her -life, for a little ready money for her husband--just a hundred francs. -Trembling and sobbing, she confessed that she dared not return to him -without it; she should be too frightened at his anger. - -And Lavinia gave it to her. - - -IX. - -Matters went on to the spring. There were no outward differences in the -Petite Maison Rouge, but it was full of an undercurrent of discomfort. -At least for Lavinia. Captain Fennel was simply to her an incubus; and -now and again petty accounts of his would be brought to the door by -tradespeople who wanted them settled. As to keeping up the legitimate -payments, she could not do it. - -March was drawing to an end, when a surprise came to them. Lavinia -received a letter from Paris, written by Colonel Selby. He had been -there for two days on business, he said, and purposed returning via -Sainteville, to take a passing glimpse at herself and her sister. He -hoped to be down that afternoon by the three-o'clock train, and he asked -them to meet him at the Hotel des Princes afterwards, and to stay and -dine with him. He proposed crossing to London by the night boat. - -Lavinia read the letter aloud. Nancy went into ecstasies, for a wonder; -she had been curiously subdued in manner lately. Edwin Fennel made no -remark, but his pale face wore a look of thought. - -During the morning he betook himself to the Rue Lothaire to call upon -Mr. Griffin; and he persuaded that easy-natured old gentleman to take -advantage of the sunny day and make an excursion en voiture to the -nearest town, a place called Pontipette. Of course the captain went -also, as his companion. - -Colonel Selby arrived at three. Lavinia and Nancy met him at the -station, and went with him in the omnibus to the hotel. They then showed -him about Sainteville, to which he was a stranger, took him to see their -domicile, the little red house (which he did not seem to admire), and -thence to Madame Carimon's. In the Buttermead days, the colonel and Mary -Featherston had been great friends. He invited her and her husband to -join them at the table d'hote dinner at five o'clock. - -Lavinia and Nancy went home again to change their dresses for it. Nancy -put on a pretty light green silk, which had been recently modernized. -Mrs. Selby had kept up an extensive wardrobe, and had left it between -the two sisters. - -"You should wear your gold chain and locket," remarked Lavinia, who -always took pride in her sister's appearance. "It will look very nice -upon that dress." - -She alluded to a short, thick chain of gold, the gold locket attached to -it being set round with pearls, Nancy's best ornament; nay, the only one -she had of any value; it was the one she had worn at Miss Bosanquet's -celebrated party. Nancy made no answer. She was turning red and white. - -"What's the matter?" cried Lavinia. - -The matter was, that Mr. Edwin Fennel had obtained possession of the -chain and locket more than a month ago. Silly Nancy confessed with -trembling lips that she feared he had pledged it. - -Or sold it, thought Lavinia. She felt terribly vexed and indignant. "I -suppose, Ann, it will end in his grasping everything," she said, "and -starving us out of house and home: _myself_, at any rate." - -"He expects money from his brother James, and then he will get it back -for me," twittered Nancy. - -Monsieur Jules Carimon was not able to come to the table d'hote; his -duties that night would detain him at the college until seven o'clock. -It happened so on occasion. Colonel Selby sat at one end of their party, -Lavinia at the other; Mary Carimon and Nancy between them. A gentleman -was on the other side of Lavinia whom she did not particularly notice; -and, upon his asking the waiter for something, his voice seemed to -strike upon her memory. Turning, she saw that it was the tall Englishman -they had seen on the pier some months before in the shepherd's plaid, -the lawyer named Lockett. He recognized her face at the same moment, and -they entered into conversation. - -"Are you making any stay at Sainteville?" she inquired. - -"For a few days. I must be back in London on Monday morning." - -Colonel Selby's attention was attracted to the speakers. "What, is it -you, Lockett?" he exclaimed. - -Mr. Lockett bent forward to look beyond Lavinia and Madame Carimon. -"Why, colonel, are you here?" he cried. So it was evident that they knew -one another. - -But you can't talk very much across people at a table d'hote; and -Lavinia and Mr. Lockett were, so to say, left together again. She put a -question to him, dropping her voice to a whisper. - -"Did you ever find that person you were looking for?" - -"The person I was looking for?" repeated the lawyer, not remembering. -"What person was that?" - -"The one you spoke of on the pier that day--a Mr. Dangerfield." - -"Oh, ay; but I was not looking for him myself. No; I believe he is not -dropped upon yet. He is keeping quiet, I expect." - -"Is he still being looked for?" - -"Little doubt of that. My friend here, on my left, could tell you more -about him than I can, if you want to know." - -"No, thank you," said Lavinia hastily, in a sort of fear. And she then -observed that next to Mr. Lockett another Englishman was sitting, who -looked very much like a lawyer also. - -After dinner Colonel Selby took his guests, the three ladies, into the -little salon, which opened to Madame Podevin's bureau; for it was she -who, French fashion, kept the bureau and all its accounts, not her -husband. Whilst the coffee which the colonel ordered was preparing, he -took from his pocket-book two cheques, and gave one each to Lavinia and -Mrs. Fennel. It was their quarterly income, due about a week hence. - -"I thought I might as well give it you now, as I am here, and save the -trouble of sending," he remarked. "You can write me a receipt for it; -here's pen, ink and paper." - -Each wrote her receipt, and gave it him. Nancy held the cheque in her -hand, looking at her sister in a vacillating manner. "I suppose I ought -to give it you, Lavinia," she said. "Must I do so?" - -"What do you think about it yourself?" coldly rejoined Lavinia. - -"He was so very angry with me the last time," sighed Nancy, still -withholding the cheque. "He said I ought to keep possession of my own, -and he ordered me to do so in future." - -"That he may have the pleasure of spending it," said Mary Carimon in a -sharp tone, though she laughed at the same time. "Lavinia has to pay for -the bread-and-cheese that you and he eat, Nancy; how can she do that -unless she receives your money?" - -"Yes, I know; it is very difficult," said poor Nancy. "Take the cheque, -Lavinia; I shall tell him that you and Mary Carimon both said I must -give it up." - -"Oh, tell him I said so, and welcome," spoke Madame Carimon. "I will -tell him so myself, if you like." - -As Colonel Selby returned to the room--he had been seeing to his -luggage--the coffee was brought in, and close upon it came Monsieur -Carimon. - -The boat for London was leaving early that night--eight o'clock; they -all went down to it to see William Selby off. It was a calm night, warm -for the time of year, the moon beautifully bright. After the boat's -departure, Lavinia and Ann went home, and found Captain Fennel there. He -had just got in, he said, and wanted some supper. - -Whilst he was taking it, his wife told him of Mr. Lockett's having -sat by them at the table d'hote, and that he and Colonel Selby were -acquainted with one another. Captain Fennel drew a grim face at the -information, and asked whether the lawyer had also "cleared out" for -London. - -"I don't think so; I did not see him go on board," said Nancy. "Lavinia -knows; she was talking with Mr. Lockett all dinner-time." - -Captain Fennel turned his impassive face to Lavinia, as if demanding an -answer to his question. - -"Mr. Lockett intends to remain here until Sunday, I fancy; he said he -had to be in London on Monday morning. He has some friend with him here. -I inquired whether they had found the Mr. Dangerfield he spoke of last -autumn," added Lavinia slowly and distinctly. "'Not yet,' he answered, -'but he is still being looked for.'" - -Whether Lavinia said this with a little spice of malice, or whether she -really meant to warn him, she best knew. Captain Fennel finished his -supper in silence. - -"I presume the colonel did not hand you over your quarter's money?" he -next said to his wife in a mocking sort of way. "It is not due for a -week yet; he is not one to pay beforehand." - -Upon which Nancy began to tremble and looked imploringly at her sister, -who was putting the plates together upon the tray. After Flore went home -they had to wait upon themselves. - -"Colonel Selby did hand us the money," said Lavinia. "I hold both -cheques for it." - -Well, there ensued a mild disturbance; what schoolboys might call a -genteel row. Mr. Edwin Fennel insisted upon his wife's cheque being -given to him. Lavinia decisively refused. She went into a bit of a -temper, and told him some home truths. He said he had a right to hold -his wife's money, and should appeal to the law on the morrow to enforce -it. He might do that, Lavinia retorted; no French law would make her -give it up. Nancy began to cry. - -Probably he knew his threats were futile. Instead of appealing to the -law on the morrow, he went off by an early train, carrying Nancy with -him. Lavinia's private opinion was that he thought it safer to take her, -though it did increase the expense, than to leave her; she might get -talking with Mr. Lockett. Ann's eyes were red, as if she had spent the -night in crying. - -"Has he _beaten_ you?" Lavinia inquired, snatching the opportunity of -a private moment. - -"Oh, Lavinia, don't, don't! I shall _never_ dare to let you have the -cheque again," she wailed. - -"Where is it that you are going?" - -"He has not told me," Nancy whispered back again. "To Calais, I think, -or else up to Lille. We are to be away all the week." - -"Until Mr. Lockett and his friend are gone," thought Lavinia. "Nancy, -how can he find money for it?" - -"He has some napoleons in his pocket--borrowed yesterday, I think, from -old Griffin." - -Lavinia understood. Old Griffin, as Nancy styled him, had been careless -of his money since his very slight attack of paralysis; he would freely -lend to any one who asked him. She had not the slightest doubt that -Captain Fennel had borrowed of him--and not for the first time. - -It was on Wednesday morning that they went away, and for the rest of -the week Lavinia was at peace. She changed the cheques at the bank as -before, and paid the outstanding debts. But it left her so little to go -on with, that she really knew not how she should get through the months -until midsummer. - -On Friday two of the Miss Bosanquets called. Hearing she was alone, they -came to ask her to dine with them in the evening. Lavinia did so. But -upon returning home at night, the old horror of going into the house -came on again. Lavinia was in despair; she had hoped it had passed away -for good. - -On Saturday morning at market she met Madame Carimon, who invited her -for the following day, Sunday. Lavinia hesitated. Glad enough indeed -she was at the prospect of being taken out of her solitary home for -a happy day at Mary Carimon's; but she shrank from again risking the -dreadful feeling which would be sure to attack her when going into the -house at night. - -"You must come, Lavinia," cheerily urged Madame Carimon. "I have invited -the English teacher at Madame Deauville's school; she has no friends -here, poor thing." - -"Well, I will come, Mary; thank you," said Lavinia slowly. - -"To be sure you will. Why do you hesitate at all?" - -Lavinia could not say why in the midst of the jostling market-place; -perhaps would not had they been alone. "For one thing, they may be -coming home before to-morrow," observed Lavinia, alluding to Mr. and -Mrs. Fennel. - -"Let them come. You are not obliged to stay at home with them," laughed -Mary. - - -_From the Diary of Miss Preen._ - -_Monday morning._--Well, it is over. The horror of last night is over, -and I have not died of it. That will be considered a strong expression, -should any eye save my own see this diary: but I truly believe the -horror would kill me if I were subjected many more times to it. - -I went to Mary Carimon's after our service was over in the morning, -and we had a pleasant day there. The more I see of Monsieur Jules the -more I esteem and respect him. He is so genuine, so good at heart, so -simple in manner. Miss Perry is very agreeable; not so young as I -had thought--thirty last birthday, she says. Her English is good and -refined, and that is not always the case with the English teachers who -come over to France--the French ladies who engage them cannot judge of -our accent. - -Miss Perry and I left together a little before ten. She wished me -good-night in the Rue Tessin, Madame Deauville's house lying one way, -mine another. The horror began to come over me as I crossed the Place -Ronde, which had never happened before. Stay; not the horror itself, but -the dread of it. An impulse actually crossed me to ring at Madame -Sauvage's, and ask Mariette to accompany me up the entry, and stand at -my open door whilst I went in to light the candle. But I could see no -light in the house, not even in madame's salon, and supposed she and -Mariette might be gone to bed. They are early people on Sundays, and the -two young men have their latch-keys. - -I will try to overcome it this time, I bravely said to myself, and -not allow the fear to keep me halting outside the door as it has done -before. So I took out my latch-key, put it straight into the door, -opened it, went in, and closed it again. Before I had well reached the -top of the passage and felt for the match-box on the slab, I was in a -paroxysm of horror. Something, like an icy wind coming up the passage, -seemed to flutter the candle as I lighted it. Can I have left the door -open? I thought, and turned to look. There stood Edwin Fennel. He stood -just inside the door, which appeared to be shut, and he was looking -straight at me with a threatening, malignant expression on his pale -face. - -"Oh! have you come home to-night?" I exclaimed aloud. For I really -thought it was so. - -The candle continued to flicker quickly as if it meant to go out, -causing me to glance at it. When I looked up again Mr. Fennel was gone. -_It was not himself who had been there; it was only an illusion._ - -Exactly as he had seemed to appear to me the night before he and Nancy -returned from London in December, so he had appeared again, his back to -the door, and the evil menace on his countenance. Did the appearance -come to me as a warning? or was the thing nothing but a delusion of my -own optic nerves? - -I dragged my shaking limbs upstairs, on the verge of screaming at each -step with the fear of what might be behind me, and undressed and went to -bed. For nearly the whole night I could not sleep, and when I did get to -sleep in the morning I was tormented by a distressing dream. All, all as -it had been that other night from three to four months ago. - -A confused dream, no method in it. Several people were about--Nancy for -one; I saw her fair curls. We all seemed to be in grievous discomfort -and distress; whilst I, in worse fear than this world can know, was ever -striving to hide myself from Edwin Fennel, to escape some dreadful fate -which he held in store for me. And I knew I should not escape it. - - -X. - -Like many another active housewife, Madame Carimon was always busy on -Monday mornings. On the one about to be referred to, she had finished -her household duties by eleven o'clock, and then sat down in her little -salle-a-manger, which she also made her workroom, to mend some of -Monsieur Carimon's cotton socks. By her side, on the small work-table, -lay a silver brooch which Miss Perry had inadvertently left behind her -the previous evening. Mary Carimon was considering at what hour she -could most conveniently go out to leave it at Madame Deauville's when -she heard Pauline answer a ring at the door-bell, and Miss Preen came -in. - -"Oh, Lavinia, I am glad to see you. You are an early visitor. Are you -not well?" continued Madame Carimon, noticing the pale, sad face. "Is -anything the matter?" - -"I am in great trouble, Mary; I cannot rest; and I have come to talk -to you about it," said Lavinia, taking the sable boa from her neck and -untying her bonnet-strings. "If things were to continue as they are now, -I should die of it." - -Drawing a chair near to Mary Carimon, Lavinia entered upon her -narrative. She spoke first of general matters. The home discomfort, the -trouble with Captain Fennel regarding Nancy's money, and the difficulty -she had to keep up the indispensable payments to the tradespeople, -expressing her firm belief that in future he would inevitably seize upon -Nancy's portion when it came and confiscate it. Next, she went on to -tell the story of the past night--Sunday: how the old terrible horror -had come upon her of entering the house, of a fancied appearance of -Edwin Fennel in the passage, and of the dream that followed. All this -latter part was but a repetition of what she had told Madame Carimon -three or four months ago. Hearing it for the second time, it impressed -Mary Carimon's imagination. But she did not speak at once. - -"I never in my life saw anything plainer or that looked more life-like -than Captain Fennel, as he stood and gazed at me from the end of the -passage with the evil look on his countenance," resumed Lavinia. "And I -hardly know why I tell you about it again, Mary, except that I have no -one else to speak to. You rather laughed at me the first time, if you -remember; perhaps you will laugh again now." - -"No, no," dissented Mary Carimon. "I did not put faith in it before, -believing you were deceived by the uncertain light in the passage, and -were, perhaps, thinking of him, and that the dream afterwards was merely -the result of your fright; nothing else. But now that you have had a -second experience of it, I don't doubt that you do see this spectre, and -that the dream follows as a sequence to it. And I think," she added, -slowly and emphatically, "that it has come to warn you of some -threatened harm." - -"I seem to see that it has," murmured Lavinia. "Why else should it -come at all? I wish I could picture it to you half vividly enough: the -reality of it and the horror. Mary, I am growing seriously afraid." - -"Were I you, I should get away from the house," said Madame Carimon. -"Leave them to themselves." - -"It is what I mean to do, Mary. I cannot remain in it, apart from this -undefined fear--which of course _may_ be only superstitious fancy," -hastily acknowledged Lavinia. "If things continue in the present -state--and there is no prospect of their changing----" - -"I should leave at once--as soon as they arrive home," rather sharply -interrupted Mary Carimon, who seemed to like the aspect of what she had -heard less and less. - -"As soon as I can make arrangements. They come home to-night; I received -a letter from Nancy this morning. They have been only at Pontipette all -the time." - -"Only at Pontipette!" - -"Nancy says so. It did as well as any other place. Captain Fennel's -motive was to hide away from the lawyers we met at the table d'hote." - -"Have they left Sainteville, I wonder, those lawyers?" - -"Yes," said Lavinia. "On Friday I met Mr. Lockett when I was going to -the Rue Lamartine, and he told me he was leaving for Calais with his -friend on Saturday morning. It is rather remarkable," she added, after -a pause, "that the first time I saw that appearance in the passage and -dreamed the dream, should have been the eve of Mr. Fennel's return -here, and that it is the same again now." - -"You must leave the house, Lavinia," reiterated Madame Carimon. - -"Let me see," considered Lavinia. "April comes in this week. Next week -will be Passion Week, preceding Easter. I will stay with them over -Easter, and then leave." - -Monsieur Jules Carimon's sock, in process of renovation, had been -allowed to fall upon the mender's lap. She slowly took it up again, -speaking thoughtfully. - -"I should leave at once; before Easter. But you will see how he behaves, -Lavinia. If not well; if he gives you any cause of annoyance, come away -there and then. We will take you in, mind, if you have not found a place -to go to." - -Lavinia thanked her, and rearranged her bonnet preparatory to returning -home. She went out with a heavy heart. Only one poor twelvemonth to have -brought about all this change! - -At the door of the Petite Maison Rouge, when she reached it, stood -Flore, parleying with a slim youth, who held an open paper in his -outstretched hand. Flore was refusing to touch the paper, which was -both printed and written on, and looked official. - -"I tell him that Monsieur le Capitaine is not at home; he can bring it -when he is," explained Flore to her mistress in English. - -Lavinia turned to the young man. "Captain Fennel has been away from -Sainteville for a few days; he probably will be here to-morrow," she -said. "Do you wish to leave this paper for him?" - -"Yes," said the messenger, evidently understanding English but speaking -in French, as he contrived to slip the paper into Miss Preen's -unconscious hand. "You will have the politeness to give it to him, -madame." - -And, with that, he went off down the entry, whistling. - -"Do you know what the paper is, Flore?" asked Lavinia. - -"I think so," said Flore. "I've seen these papers before to-day. It's -just a sort of order from the law court on Captain Fennel, to pay up -some debt that he owes; and, if he does not pay, the court will issue a -proces against him. That's what it is, madame." - -Lavinia carried the paper into the salon, and sat studying it. As far as -she could make it out, Mr. Edwin Fennel was called upon to pay to some -creditor the sum of one hundred and eighty-three francs, without delay. - -"Over seven pounds! And if he does not pay, the law expenses, to enforce -it, will increase the debt perhaps by one-half," sighed Lavinia. "There -may be, and no doubt _are_, other things at the back of this. Will he -turn us out of house and home?" - -Propping the paper against the wall over the mantelpiece, she left it -there, that it might meet the captain's eye on his return. - -Not until quite late that evening did Madame Carimon get her husband to -herself, for he brought in one of the young under-masters at the college -to dine with them. But as soon as they were sitting cosily alone, he -smoking his pipe before bed-time, she told him all she had heard from -Lavinia Preen. - -"I don't like it, Jules; I don't indeed," she said. "It has made a -strangely disagreeable impression on me. What is your opinion?" - -Placid Monsieur Jules did not seem to have much opinion one way or the -other. Upon the superstitious portion of the tale he, being a practical -Frenchman, totally declined to have any at all. He was very sorry for -the uncomfortable position Miss Preen found herself in, and he certainly -was not surprised she should wish to quit the Petite Maison Rouge if -affairs could not be made more agreeable there. As to the Capitaine -Fennel, he felt free to confess there was something about him which he -did not like: and he was sure no man of honour ought to have run away -clandestinely, as he did, with Miss Nancy. - -"You see, Jules, what the man aims at is to get hold of Nancy's income -and apply it to his own uses--and for Lavinia to keep them upon hers." - -"I see," said Jules. - -"And Lavinia _cannot_ do it; she has not half enough. It troubles me -very much," flashed Madame Carimon. "She says she shall stay with -them until Easter is over. _I_ should not; I should leave them to it -to-morrow." - -"Yes, my dear, that's all very well," nodded Monsieur Jules; "but we -cannot always do precisely what we would. Miss Preen is responsible for -the rent of that house, and if Fennel and his wife do not pay it, she -would have to. She must have a thorough understanding upon that point -before she leaves it." - -By the nine-o'clock train that night they came home, Lavinia, pleading a -bad headache and feeling altogether out of sorts, got Flore to remain -for once, and went herself to bed. She dreaded the very sight of Captain -Fennel. - -In the morning she saw that the paper had disappeared from the -mantelpiece. He was quite jaunty at breakfast, talking to her and Nancy -about Pontipette; and things passed pleasantly. About eleven o'clock he -began brushing his hat to go out. - -"I'm going to have a look at Griffin, and see how he's getting on," he -remarked. "Perhaps the old man would enjoy a drive this fine day; if -so, you may not see me back till dinner-time." - -But just as Captain Fennel turned out of the Place Ronde to the Rue -Tessin, he came upon Charles Palliser, strolling along. - -"Fine day, Mr. Charles," he remarked graciously. - -"Capital," assented Charles, "and I'm glad of it; the old gentleman will -have a good passage. I've just seen him off by the eleven train." - -"Seems to me you spend your time in seeing people off by trains. Which -old gentleman is it now?--him from below?" - -Charley laughed. "It's Griffin this time," said he. "Being feeble, I -thought I might be of use in starting him, and went up." - -"Griffin!" exclaimed Captain Fennel. "Why, where's he gone to?" - -"To Calais. En route for Dover and----" - -"What's he gone for? When's he coming back?" interrupted the captain, -speaking like a man in great amazement. - -"He is not coming back at all; he has gone for good," said Charley. "His -daughter came to fetch him." - -"Why on earth should she do that?" - -"It seems that her husband, a clergyman at Kensington, fell across Major -Smith last week in London, and put some pretty close questions to him -about the old man, for they had been made uneasy by his letters of late. -The major----" - -"What business had the major in London?" questioned Captain Fennel -impatiently. - -"You can ask him," said Charles equably, "I didn't. He is back again. -Well, Major Smith, being questioned, made no bones about it at all; said -Griffin and Griffin's money both wanted looking after. Upon that, the -daughter came straight off, arriving here on Sunday morning; she settled -things yesterday, and has carried her father away to-day. He was as -pleased as Punch, poor childish old fellow, at the prospect of a voyage -in the boat." - -Whether this information put a check upon any little plan Captain Fennel -may have been entertaining, Charles Palliser could not positively know; -but he thought he had never seen so evil an eye as the one glaring upon -him. Only for a moment; just a flash; and then the face was smoothed -again. Charley had his ideas--and all his wits about him; and old -Griffin had babbled publicly. - -Captain Fennel strolled by his side towards the port, talking of -Pontipette and other matters of indifference. When in sight of the -harbour, he halted. - -"I must wish you good-day now, Palliser; I have letters to write," said -he; and walked briskly back again. - -Lavinia and Nancy were sitting together in the salon when he reached -home. Nancy was looking scared. - -"Edwin," she said, leaving her chair to meet him--"Edwin, what do you -think Lavinia has been saying? That she is going to leave us." - -"Oh, indeed," he carelessly answered. - -"But it is true, Edwin; she means it." - -"Yes, I mean it," interposed Lavinia very quietly. "You and Nancy will -be better without me; perhaps happier." - -He looked at her for a full minute in silence, then laughed a little. -"Like Darby and Joan," he remarked, as he put his writing-case on the -table and sat down to it. - -Mrs. Fennel returned to her chair by Lavinia, who was sitting close to -the window mending a lace collar which had been torn in the ironing. As -usual Nancy was doing nothing. - -"You _couldn't_ leave me, Lavinia, you know," she said in coaxing tones. - -"I know that I never thought to do so, Ann, but circumstances alter -cases," answered the elder sister. Both of them had dropped their voices -to a low key, not to disturb the letter-writer. But he could hear if -he chose to listen. "I began putting my things together yesterday, and -shall finish doing it at leisure. I will stay over Easter with you; but -go then I shall." - -"You must be cruel to think of such a thing, Lavinia." - -"Not cruel," corrected Lavinia. "I am sorry, Ann, but the step is forced -upon me. The anxieties in regard to money matters are wearing me out; -they would wear me out altogether if I did not end them. And there are -other things which urge upon me the expediency of departure from this -house." - -"What things?" - -"I cannot speak of them. Never mind what they are, Ann. They concern -myself; not you." - -Ann Fennel sat twirling one of her fair silken ringlets between her -thumb and finger; a habit of hers when thinking. - -"Where shall you live, Lavinia, if you do leave? Take another apartment -at Sainteville?" - -"I think not. It is a puzzling question. Possibly I may go back to -Buttermead, and get some family to take me in as a boarder," dreamily -answered Lavinia. "Seventy pounds a-year will not keep me luxuriously." - -Captain Fennel lifted his face. "If it will not keep one, how is it to -keep two?" he demanded, in rather defiant tones. - -"I don't know anything about that," said Lavinia civilly. "I have not -two to keep; only one." - -Nancy chanced to catch a glimpse of his face just then, and its look -frightened her. Lavinia had her back to him, and did not see it. Nancy -began to cry quietly. - -"Oh, Lavinia, you will think better of this; you will not leave us!" -she implored. "We could not do at all without you and your half of the -money." - -Lavinia had finished her collar, and rose to take it upstairs. "Don't be -distressed, Nancy," she paused to say; "it is a thing that _must be_. I -am very sorry; but it is not my fault. As you----" - -"You can stay in the house if you choose!" flashed Nancy, growing feebly -angry. - -"No, I cannot. I _cannot_," repeated Lavinia. "I begin to foresee that I -might--might die of it." - - -XI. - -Sainteville felt surprised and sorry to hear that Miss Preen was going -to leave it to its own devices, for the town had grown to like her. -Lavinia did not herself talk about going, but the news somehow got -wind. People wondered why she went. Matters, as connected with the -financial department of the Petite Maison Rouge, were known but -imperfectly--to most people not known at all; so that reason was not -thought of. It was quite understood that Ann Preen's stolen marriage, -capped by the bringing home of her husband to the Petite Maison Rouge, -had been a sharp blow to Miss Preen: perhaps, said Sainteville now, she -had tried living with them and found it did not answer. Or perhaps she -was only going away for a change, and would return after a while. - -Passion week passed, and Easter week came in, and Lavinia made her -arrangements for the succeeding one. On the Tuesday in that next week, -all being well, she would quit Sainteville. Her preparations were -made; her larger box was already packed and corded. Nancy, of shallow -temperament and elastic spirits, seemed quite to have recovered from the -sting of the proposed parting; she helped Lavinia to put up her laces -and other little fine things, prattling all the time. Captain Fennel -maintained his suavity. Beyond the words he had spoken--as to how she -expected the income to keep two if it would not keep one--he had -said nothing. It might be that he hardly yet believed Lavinia would -positively go. - -But she was going. At first only to Boulogne-sur-Mer. Monsieur -Jules Carimon had a cousin, Madame Degravier, who kept a superior -boarding-house there, much patronized by the English; he had written -to her to introduce Miss Preen, and to intimate that it would oblige -him if the terms were made tres facile. Madame had written back to -Lavinia most satisfactorily, and, so far, that was arranged. - -Once at Boulogne in peace and quietness, Lavinia would have leisure to -decide upon her future plans. She hoped to pay a visit to Buttermead in -the summer-time, for she had begun to yearn for a sight of the old place -and its people. After that--well, she should see. If things went on -pleasantly at Sainteville--that is, if Captain Fennel and Nancy were -still in the Petite Maison Rouge, and he was enabled to find means to -continue in it--then, perhaps, she might return to the town. Not to make -one of the household--never again that; but she might find a little -pied-a-terre in some other home. - -Meanwhile, Lavinia heard no more of the proces, and she wondered how the -captain was meeting it. During the Easter week she made her farewell -calls. That week she was not very much at home; one or other of her old -acquaintances wanted her. Major and Mrs. Smith had her to spend a day -with them; the Miss Bosanquets invited her also; and so on. - -One call, involving also private business, she made upon old Madame -Sauvage, Mary Carimon accompanying her. Monsieur Gustave was called up -to the salon to assist at the conference. Lavinia partly explained her -position to them in strict confidence, and the motive, as touching -pecuniary affairs, which was taking her away: she said nothing of that -other and greater motive, her superstitious fear. - -"I have come to speak of the rent," she said to Monsieur Gustave, and -Mary Carimon repeated the words in French to old Madame Sauvage. "You -must in future look to Captain Fennel for it; you must make him pay it -if possible. At the same time, I admit my own responsibility," added -Lavinia, "and if it be found totally impracticable to get it from -Captain Fennel or my sister, I shall pay it to you. This must, of -course, be kept strictly between ourselves, Monsieur Gustave; you and -madame understand that. If Captain Fennel gained any intimation of it, -he would take care not to pay it." - -Monsieur Gustave and madame his mother assured her that they fully -understood, and that she might rely upon their honour. They were grieved -to lose so excellent a tenant and neighbour as Miss Preen, and wished -circumstances had been more kindly. One thing she might rest assured -of--that they should feel at least as mortified at having to apply to -her for the rent as she herself would be, and they would not leave a -stone unturned to extract it from the hands of Captain Fennel. - -"It has altogether been a most bitter trial to me," sighed Lavinia, as -she stood up to say farewell to madame. - -The old lady understood, and the tears came into her compassionate eyes -as she held Lavinia's hands between her own. "Ay, for certain," she -replied in French. "She and her sons had said so privately to one -another ever since the abrupt coming home of the strange captain to the -petite maison a cote." - -On Sunday, Lavinia, accompanied by Nancy and Captain Fennel, attended -morning service for the last time. She spoke to several acquaintances -coming out, wishing them good-bye, and was hastening to overtake her -sister, when she heard rapid steps behind her, and a voice speaking. -Turning, she saw Charley Palliser. - -"Miss Preen," cried he, "my aunt wants you to come home and dine with -us. See, she is waiting for you. You could not come any one day last -week, you know." - -"I was not able to come to you last week, Mr. Charles; I had so much to -do, and so many engagements," said Lavinia, as she walked back to Mrs. -Hardy, who stood smiling. - -"But you will come to-day, dear Miss Preen," said old Mrs. Hardy, who -had caught the words. "We have a lovely fricandeau of veal, and----" - -"Why, that is just our own dinner," interrupted Lavinia gaily. "I should -like to come to you, Mrs. Hardy, but I cannot. It is my last Sunday at -home, and I could not well go out and leave them." - -They saw the force of the objection. Mrs. Hardy asked whether she should -be at church in the evening. Lavinia replied that she intended to be, -and they agreed to bid each other farewell then. - -"You don't know what you've lost, Miss Preen," said Charley comically. -"There's a huge cream tart--lovely." - -Captain Fennel was quite lively at the dinner-table. He related a rather -laughable story which had been told him by Major Smith, with whom he had -walked for ten minutes after church, and was otherwise gracious. - -After dinner, while Flore was taking away the things, he left the room, -and came back with three glasses of liqueur, on a small waiter, handing -one to Lavinia, another to his wife, and keeping the third himself. It -was the yellow chartreuse; Captain Fennel kept a bottle of it and of one -or two other choice liqueurs in the little cupboard at the end of the -passage, and treated them to a glass sometimes. - -"How delightful!" cried Nancy, who liked chartreuse and anything else -that was good. - -They sat and sipped it, talking pleasantly together. The captain soon -finished his, and said he should take a stroll on the pier. It was a -bright day with a brisk wind, which seemed to be getting higher. - -"The London boat ought to be in about four o'clock," he remarked. -"It's catching it sweetly, I know; passengers will look like ghosts. -Au revoir; don't get quarrelling." And thus, nodding to the two -ladies, he went out gaily. - -Not much danger of their quarrelling. They turned their chairs to -the fire, and plunged into conversation, which chanced to turn upon -Buttermead. In calling up one reminiscence of the old place after -another, now Lavinia, now Nancy, the time passed on. Lavinia wore her -silver-grey silk dress that day, with some yellowish-looking lace -falling at the throat and wrists. - -Flore came in to bring the tea-tray; she always put it on the table in -readiness on a Sunday afternoon. The water, she said, would be on the -boil in the kitchen by the time they wanted it. And then she went away -as usual for the rest of the day. - -Not long afterwards, Lavinia, who was speaking, suddenly stopped in the -middle of a sentence. She started up in her chair, fell back again, and -clasped her hands below her chest with a great cry. - -"Oh, Nancy!--Nancy!" - -Nancy dashed across the hearthrug. "What is it?" she exclaimed. "What is -it, Lavinia?" - -Lavinia apparently could not say what it was. She seemed to be in the -greatest agony; her face had turned livid. Nancy was next door to an -imbecile in any emergency, and fairly wrung her hands in her distress. - -"Oh, what can be the matter with me?" gasped Lavinia. "Nancy, I think I -am dying." - -The next moment she had glided from the chair to the floor, and lay -there shrieking and writhing. Bursting away, Nancy ran round to the -next house, all closed to-day, rang wildly at the private door, and -when it was opened by Mariette, rushed upstairs to madame's salon. - -Madame Veuve Sauvage, comprehending that something was amiss, without -understanding Nancy's frantic words, put a shawl on her shoulders to -hasten to the other house, ordering Mariette to follow her. Her sons -were out. - -There lay Lavinia, in the greatest agony. Madame Sauvage sent Mariette -off for Monsieur Dupuis, and told her to fly. "Better bring Monsieur -Henri Dupuis, Mariette," she called after her: "he will get quicker over -the ground than his old father." - -But Monsieur Henri Dupuis, as it turned out, was absent. He had left -that morning for Calais with his wife, to spend two days with her -friends who lived there, purposing to be back early on Tuesday morning. -Old Monsieur Dupuis came very quickly. He thought Mademoiselle Preen -must have inward inflammation, he said to Madame Sauvage, and inquired -what she had eaten for dinner. Nancy told him as well as she could -between her sobs and her broken speech. - -A fricandeau of veal, potatoes, a cauliflower au gratin, and a -frangipane tart from the pastrycook's. No fruit or any other dessert. -They took a little Bordeaux wine with dinner, and a liqueur glass of -chartreuse afterwards. - -All very wholesome, pronounced Monsieur Dupuis, with satisfaction; not -at all likely to disagree with mademoiselle. Possibly she had caught a -chill. - -Mariette had run for Flore, who came in great consternation. Between -them all they got Lavinia upstairs, undressed her and laid her in bed, -applying hot flannels to the pain--and Monsieur Dupuis administered in -a wine-glass of water every quarter-of-an-hour some drops from a glass -phial which he had brought in his pocket. - -It was close upon half-past five when Captain Fennel came in. He -expressed much surprise and concern, saying, like the doctor, that she -must have eaten something which had disagreed with her. The doctor -avowed that he could not otherwise account for the seizure; he did not -altogether think it was produced by a chill; and he spoke again of the -dinner. Captain Fennel observed that as to the dinner they had all three -partaken of it, one the same as another; he did not see why it should -affect his sister-in-law and not himself or his wife. This reasoning was -evident, admitted Monsieur Dupuis; but Miss Preen had touched nothing -since her breakfast, except at dinner. In point of fact, he felt very -much at a loss, he did not scruple to add; but the more acute symptoms -were showing a slight improvement, he was thankful to perceive, and he -trusted to bring her round. - -As he did. In a few hours the pain had so far abated, or yielded to -remedies, that poor Lavinia, worn out, dropped into a comfortable sleep. -Monsieur Dupuis was round again early in the morning, and found her -recovered, though still feeling tired and very weak. He advised her -to lie in bed until the afternoon; not to get up then unless she felt -inclined; and he charged her to take chiefly milk food all the day--no -solids whatever. - -Lavinia slept again all the morning, and awoke very much refreshed. In -the afternoon she felt quite equal to getting up, and did so, dressing -herself in the grey silk she had worn the previous day, because it was -nearest at hand. She then penned a line to Madame Degravier, saying she -was unable to travel to Boulogne on the morrow, as had been fixed, but -hoped to be there on Wednesday, or, at the latest, Thursday. - -Captain Fennel, who generally took possession of the easiest chair in -the salon, and the warmest place, resigned it to Lavinia the instant she -appeared downstairs. He shook her by the hand, said how glad he was that -she had recovered from her indisposition, and installed her in the chair -with a cushion at her back and a rug over her knees. All she had to -dread now, he thought, was cold; she must guard against that. Lavinia -replied that she could not in the least imagine what had been the matter -with her; she had never had a similar attack before, and had never been -in such dreadful pain. - -Presently Mary Carimon came in, having heard of the affair from -Mariette, whom she had met in the fish-market during the morning. All -danger was over, Mariette said, and mademoiselle was then sleeping -quietly: so Madame Carimon, not to disturb her, put off calling until -the afternoon. Captain Fennel sat talking with her a few minutes, and -then went out. For some cause or other he never seemed to be quite at -ease in the presence of Madame Carimon. - -"I know what it must have been," cried Mary Carimon, coming to one of -her rapid conclusions after listening to the description of the illness. -"Misled by the sunny spring days last week, you went and left off some -of your warm underclothing, Lavinia, and so caught cold." - -"Good gracious!" exclaimed Nancy, who had curled herself up on the sofa -like a ball, not having yet recovered from her fatigue and fright. -"Leave off one's warm things the beginning of April! I never heard of -such imprudence! How came you to do it, Lavinia?" - -"I did not do it," said Lavinia quietly. "I have not left off anything. -Should I be so silly as to do that with a journey before me?" - -"Then what caused the attack?" debated Madame Carimon. "Something you -had eaten?" - -Lavinia shook her head helplessly. "It could hardly have been that, -Mary. I took nothing whatever that Nancy and Captain Fennel did not -take. I wish I did know--that I might guard, if possible, against a -similar attack in future. The pain seized me all in a moment. I thought -I was dying." - -"It sounds odd," said Madame Carimon. "Monsieur Dupuis does not know -either, it seems. That's why I thought you might have been leaving off -your things, and did not like to tell him." - -"I conclude that it must have been one of those mysterious attacks of -sudden illness to which we are all liable, but for which no one can -account," sighed Lavinia. "I hope I shall never have it again. This -experience has been enough for a lifetime." - -Mary Carimon warmly echoed the hope as she rose to take her departure. -She advised Lavinia to go to bed early, and promised to come again in -the morning. - -While Captain Fennel and Nancy dined, Flore made her mistress some tea, -and brought in with it some thin bread-and-butter. Lavinia felt all the -better for the refreshment, laughingly remarking that by the morning -she was sure she should be as hungry as a hunter. She sat chatting, and -sometimes dozing between whiles, until about a quarter to nine o'clock, -when she said she would go to bed. - -Nancy went to the kitchen to make her a cup of arrowroot. Lavinia then -wished Captain Fennel good-night, and went upstairs. Flore had left as -usual, after washing up the dinner-things. - -"Lavinia, shall I---- Oh, she has gone on," broke off Nancy, who had -come in with the breakfast-cup of arrowroot in her hand. "Edwin, do you -think I may venture to put a little brandy into this?" - -Captain Fennel sat reading with his face to the fire and the lamp at his -elbow. He turned round. - -"Brandy?" said he. "I'm sure I don't know. If that pain meant -inflammation, brandy might do harm. Ask Lavinia; she had better decide -for herself. No, no; leave the arrowroot on the table here," he hastily -cried, as Nancy was going out of the room with the cup. "Tell Lavinia -to come down, and we'll discuss the matter with her. Of course a little -brandy would do her an immense deal of good, if she might take it with -safety." - -Nancy did as she was told. Leaving the cup and saucer on the table, she -went up to her sister. In a minute or two she was back again. - -"Lavinia won't come down again, Edwin; she is already half-undressed. -She thinks she had better be on the safe side, and not have the brandy." - -"All right," replied the captain, who was sitting as before, intent on -his book. Nancy took the cup upstairs. - -She helped her sister into bed, and then gave her the arrowroot, -inquiring whether she had made it well. - -"Quite well, only it was rather sweet," answered Lavinia. - -"Sweet!" echoed Nancy, in reply. "Why, I hardly put any sugar at all -into it; I remembered that you don't like it." - -Lavinia finished the cupful. Nancy tucked her up, and gave her a -good-night kiss. "Pleasant dreams, Lavinia dear," she called back, as -she was shutting the door. - -"Thank you, Nancy; but I hope I shall sleep to-night without dreaming," -answered Lavinia. - -As Nancy went downstairs she turned into the kitchen for her own -arrowroot, which she had left all that time in the saucepan. Being fond -of it, she had made enough for herself as well as for Lavinia. - - -XII. - -It was between half-past ten and eleven, and Captain and Mrs. Fennel -were in their bedroom preparing to retire to rest. She stood before the -glass doing her hair, having thrown a thin print cotton cape upon her -shoulders as usual, to protect her dress; he had taken off his coat. - -"What was that?" cried she, in startled tones. - -Some sound had penetrated to their room. The captain put his coat on a -chair and bent his ear. "I did not hear anything, Nancy," he answered. - -"There it is again!" exclaimed Nancy. "Oh, it is Lavinia! I do believe -it is Lavinia!" - -Flinging the comb from her hand, Nancy dashed out at the room-door, -which was near the head of the stairs; Lavinia's door being nearly at -the end of the passage. Unmistakable sounds, now a shriek, now a wail, -came from Lavinia's chamber. Nancy flew into it, her fair hair falling -on her shoulders. - -"What is it, Lavinia? Oh, Edwin, Edwin, come here!" called Mrs. Fennel, -beside herself with terror. Lavinia was rolling about the bed, as she -had the previous day rolled on the salon floor; her face was distorted -with pain, her moans and cries were agonizing. - -Captain Fennel stayed to put on his coat, came to Lavinia's door, and -put his head inside it. "Is it the pain again?" he asked. - -"Yes, it is the pain again," gasped Lavinia, in answer. "I am dying, I -am surely dying!" - -That put the finishing-touch to timorous Nancy. "Edwin, run, run for -Monsieur Dupuis!" she implored. "Oh, what shall we do? What shall we -do?" - -Captain Fennel descended the stairs. When Nancy thought he must have -been gone out at least a minute or two, he appeared again with a -wine-glass of hot brandy-and-water, which he had stayed to mix. - -"Try and get her to take this," he said. "It can't do harm; it may do -good. And if you could put hot flannels to her, Nancy, it might be well; -they eased the pain yesterday. I'll bring Dupuis here as soon as I can." - -Lavinia could not take the brandy-and-water, and it was left upon the -grey marble top of the chest of drawers. Her paroxysms increased; Nancy -had never seen or imagined such pain, for this attack was worse than the -other, and she almost lost her wits with terror. Could she see Lavinia -die before her eyes?--no helping hand near to strive to save her? Just -as Nancy had done before, she did again now. - -Flying down the stairs and out of the house, across the yard and through -the dark entry, she seized the bell-handle of Madame Veuve Sauvage's -door and pulled it frantically. The household had all retired for the -night. - -Presently a window above opened, and Monsieur Gustave--Nancy knew his -voice--looked out. - -"Who's there?" he asked in French. "What's the matter?" - -"Oh, Monsieur Gustave, come in for the love of Heaven!" responded poor -Nancy, looking up. "She has another attack, worse than the first; she's -dying, and there's no one in the house but me." - -"Directly, madame; I am with you on the instant," he kindly answered. -"I but wait to put on my effects." - -He was at the Petite Maison Rouge almost as soon as she; his brother -Emile followed him in, and Mariette, whom they had called, came shortly. -Miss Preen lay in dreadful paroxysms; it did appear to them that she -must die. Nancy and Mariette busied themselves in the kitchen, heating -flannels. - -The doctor did not seem to come very quickly. Captain Fennel at length -made his appearance and said Monsieur Dupuis would be there in a minute -or two. - -"I am content to hear that," remarked Monsieur Gustave in reply. "I was -just about to despatch my brother for the first doctor he could find." - -"Never had such trouble in ringing up a doctor before," returned Captain -Fennel. "I suppose the old man sleeps too soundly to be easily aroused; -many elderly people do." - -"I fear she is dying," whispered Monsieur Gustave. - -"No, no, surely not!" cried Captain Fennel, recoiling a step at the -words. "What can it possibly be? What causes the attacks?" - -Whilst Monsieur Gustave was shaking his head at this difficult question, -Monsieur Dupuis arrived. Monsieur Emile, anxious to make himself useful, -was requested by Mariette to go to Flore's domicile and ring her up. -Flore seemed to have been sleeping with her clothes on, for they came -back together. - -Monsieur Dupuis could do nothing for his patient. He strove to -administer drops of medicinal remedies; he caused her to be nearly -smothered in scalding-hot flannels--all in vain. He despatched Monsieur -Emile Sauvage to bring in another doctor, Monsieur Podevin, who lived -near. All in vain. Lavinia died. Just at one o'clock in the morning, -before the cocks had begun to crow, Lavinia Preen died. - -The shock to those in the house was great. It seemed to stun them, one -and all. The brothers Sauvage, leaving a few words of heartfelt sympathy -with Captain Fennel, withdrew silently to their own home. Mariette -stayed. The two doctors, shut up in the salon, talked with one another, -endeavouring to account for the death. - -"Inflammation, no doubt," observed Monsieur Dupuis; "but even so, the -death has been too speedy." - -"More like poison," rejoined the younger man, Monsieur Podevin. He -was brother to the proprietor of the Hotel des Princes, and was much -respected by his fellow-citizens as a safe and skilful practitioner. - -"The thought of poison naturally occurred to me on Sunday, when I was -first called to her," returned Monsieur Dupuis, "but it could not be -borne out. You see, she had partaken of nothing, either in food or -drink, but what the other inmates had taken; absolutely nothing. This -was assured me by them all, herself included." - -"She seems to have taken nothing to-day, either, that could in any way -harm her," said Monsieur Podevin. - -"Nothing. She took a cup of tea at five o'clock, which the servant, -Flore, prepared and also partook of herself--a cup out of the same -teapot. Later, when the poor lady went to bed, her sister made her a -basin of arrowroot, and made herself one at the same time." - -"Well, it appears strange." - -"It could not have been a chill. The symptoms----" - -"A chill?--bah!" interrupted Monsieur Podevin. "We shall know more -after the post-mortem," he added, taking up his hat. "Of course there -must be one." - -Wishing his brother practitioner good-night, he left. Monsieur Dupuis -went looking about for Captain Fennel, and found him in the kitchen, -standing by the hot stove, and drinking a glass of hot brandy-and-water. -The rest were upstairs. - -"This event has shaken my nerves, doctor," apologized the captain, in -reference to the glass. "I never was so upset. Shall I mix you one?" - -Monsieur Dupuis shook his head. He never took anything so strong. The -most calming thing, in his opinion, was a glass of eau sucree, with a -teaspoonful of orange-flower water in it. - -"Sir," he went on, "I have been conversing with my esteemed confrere. We -cannot, either of us, decide what mademoiselle has died of, being unable -to see any adequate cause for it; and we wish to hold a post-mortem -examination. I presume you will not object to it?" - -"Certainly not; I think there should be one," briskly spoke Captain -Fennel after a moment's pause. "For our satisfaction, if for nothing -else, doctor." - -"Very well. Will nine o'clock in the morning suit you, as to time? It -should be made early." - -"I--expect it will," answered the captain, reflecting. "Do you hold it -here?" - -"Undoubtedly. In her own room." - -"Then wait just one minute, will you, doctor, whilst I speak to my wife. -Nine o'clock seems a little early, but I dare say it will suit." - -Monsieur Dupuis went back into the salon. He had waited there a short -interval, when Mrs. Fennel burst in, wild with excitement. Her hair -still hung down her back, her eyes were swollen with weeping, her face -was one of piteous distress. She advanced to Monsieur Dupuis, and held -up her trembling hands. - -The old doctor understood English fairly well when it was quietly -spoken; but he did not in the least understand it in a storm. Sobbing, -trembling, Mrs. Fennel was beseeching him not to hold a post-mortem on -her poor dead sister, for the love of mercy. - -Surprised and distressed, he placed her on the sofa, soothed her into -calmness, and then bade her tell him quietly what her petition was. She -repeated it--begging, praying, imploring him not to disturb her sister -now she was at rest; but to let her be put into her grave in peace. -Well, well, said the compassionate old man; if it would pain the -relatives so greatly to have it done, he and Monsieur Podevin would, of -course, abandon the idea. It would be a satisfaction to them both to be -able to decide upon the cause of death, but they did not wish to proceed -in it against the feelings of the family. - -Sainteville woke up in the morning to a shock. Half the townspeople -still believed that Miss Preen was leaving that day, Tuesday, for -Boulogne; and to hear that she would not go on that journey, that she -would never go on any earthly journey again, that she was _dead_, shook -them to the centre. - -What had been the matter with her?--what had killed her so quickly in -the midst of life and health? Groups asked this; one group meeting -another. "Inflammation," was the answer--for that report had somehow -started itself. She caught a chill on the Sunday, probably when leaving -the church after morning service; it induced speedy and instant -inflammation, and she had died of it. - -With softened steps and mournful faces, hosts of people made their way -to the Place Ronde. Only to take a glimpse at the outside of the Maison -Rouge brought satisfaction to excited feelings. Monsieur Gustave Sauvage -had caused his white shop window-blinds to be drawn half-way down, out -of respect to the dead; all the windows above had the green persiennes -closed before them. The calamity had so greatly affected old Madame -Sauvage that she lay in bed. - -When her sons returned indoors after the death had taken place, their -mother called them to her room. Nancy's violent ringing had disturbed -her, and she had lain since then in anxiety, waiting for news. - -"Better not tell the mother to-night," whispered Emile to his brother -outside her door. - -But the mother's ears were quick; she was sitting up in bed, and the -door was ajar. "Yes, you will tell me, my sons," she said. "I am fearing -the worst." - -"Well, mother, it is all over," avowed Gustave. "The attack was more -violent than the one last night, and the poor lady is gone." - -"May the good God have taken her to His rest!" fervently aspirated -madame. But she lay down in the bed in her distress and covered her face -with the white-frilled pillow and sobbed a little. Gustave and Emile -related a few particulars. - -"And what was really the malady? What is it that she has died of?" -questioned the mother, wiping her eyes. - -"That is not settled; nobody seems to know," replied Gustave. - -Madame Veuve Sauvage lay still, thinking. -"I--hope--that--man--has--not--done--her--any--injury!" she slowly said. - -"I hope not either; there is no appearance of it," said Monsieur -Gustave. "Any way, mother, she had two skilful doctors with her, honest -men and upright. Better not admit such thoughts." - -"True, true," murmured madame, appeased. "I fear the poor dear lady must -have taken a chill, which struck inwardly. That handsome demoiselle, -the cousin of Monsieur le Procureur, died of the same thing, you may -remember. Good-night, my sons; you leave me very unhappy." - -About eight o'clock in the morning, Monsieur Jules Carimon heard of it. -In going through the large iron entrance-gates of the college to his -day's work, he found himself accosted by one of two or three young -gamins of pupils, who were also entering. It was Dion Pamart. The -well-informed reader is of course aware that the French educational -colleges are attended by all classes, high and low, indiscriminately. - -"Monsieur, have you heard?" said the lad, with timid deprecation. -"Mademoiselle is dead." - -Monsieur Jules Carimon turned his eyes on the speaker. At first he did -not recognize him: his own work lay with the advanced desks. - -"Ah, c'est Pamart, n'est-ce-pas?" said he. "What did you say, my boy? -Some one is dead?" - -Dion Pamart repeated his information. The master, inwardly shocked, took -refuge in disbelief. - -"I think you must be mistaken, Pamart," said he. - -"Oh no, I'm not, sir. Mademoiselle was taken frightfully ill again last -night, and they fetched my mother. They had two doctors to her and all; -but they couldn't do anything for her, and she died. Grandmother gave me -my breakfast just now; she said my mother was crying too much to come -home. The other lady, the captain's wife, has been in hysterics all -night." - -"Go on to your desks," commanded Monsieur Carimon to the small fry now -gathered round him. - -He turned back home himself. When he entered the salle-a-manger, Pauline -was carrying away the last of the breakfast-things. Her mistress stood -putting a little water on a musk plant in the window. - -"Is it you, Jules?" she exclaimed. "Have you forgotten something?" - -Monsieur Jules shut the door. "I have not forgotten anything," he -answered. "But I have heard of a sad calamity, and I have come back to -prepare you, Marie, before you hear it from others." - -He spoke solemnly; he was looking solemn. His wife put down the jug of -water on the table. "A calamity?" she repeated. - -"Yes. You will grieve to hear it. Your friend, Miss Preen, was--was -taken ill last night with the same sort of attack, but more violent; and -she----" - -"Oh, Jules, don't tell me, don't tell me!" cried Mary Carimon, lifting -her hands to ward off the words with a too sure prevision of what they -were going to be. - -"But, my dear, you must be told sooner or later," remonstrated he; "you -cannot go through even this morning without hearing it from one person -or another. Flore's boy was my informant. In spite of all that could be -done by those about her, poor lady--in spite of the two doctors who were -called to her aid--she died." - -Madame Carimon was a great deal too much stunned for tears. She sank -back in a chair with a face of stone, feeling that the room was turning -upside down about her. - -An hour later, when she had somewhat gathered her scattered senses -together, she set off for the Petite Maison Rouge. Her way lay past the -house of Monsieur Podevin; old Monsieur Dupuis was turning out of it as -she went by. Madame Carimon stopped. - -"Yes," the doctor said, when a few words had passed, "it is a most -desolating affair. But, as madame knows, when Death has laid his grasp -upon a patient, medical craft loses its power to resist him." - -"Too true," murmured Mary Carimon. "And what is it that she has died -of?" - -Monsieur Dupuis shook his head to indicate that he did not know. - -"I could have wished for an examination, to ascertain the true cause of -the seizure," continued the doctor, "and I come now from expressing my -regrets to my confrere, Monsieur Podevin. He agrees with me in deciding -that we cannot press it in opposition to the family. Captain Fennel -was quite willing it should take place, but his wife, poor distressed -woman, altogether objects to it." - -Mary Carimon went on to the house of death. She saw Lavinia, looking so -peaceful in her stillness. A happy smile sat on her countenance. On her -white attire lay some sweet fresh primroses, which Flore had placed -there. Lavinia loved primroses. She used to say that when she looked at -them they brought to her mind the woods and dales of Buttermead, always -carpeted with the pale, fair blossoms in the spring of the year. Mrs. -Fennel lay in a heavy sleep, exhausted by her night of distress, Flore -informed Madame Carimon; and the captain, anxious about her, was sitting -in her room, to guard against her being disturbed. - -On the next day, Wednesday, in obedience to the laws of France relating -to the dead, Lavinia Preen was buried. All the English gentlemen in the -town, and some Frenchmen, including Monsieur Carimon and the sons of -Madame Veuve Sauvage, assembled in the Place Ronde, and fell in behind -the coffin when it was brought forth. They walked after it to the -portion of the cemetery consecrated to Protestants, and there witnessed -the interment. The tears trickled down Charley Palliser's face as he -took his last look into the grave, and he was honest enough not to mind -who saw them. - - -XIII. - -In their new mourning, at the English Church, the Sunday after the -interment of Lavinia Preen, appeared Captain and Mrs. Fennel. The -congregation looked at them more than at the parson. Poor Nancy's eyes -were so blinded with tears that she could not see the letters in her -Prayer-book. Only one little week ago when she had sat there, Lavinia -was on the bench at her side, alive and well; and now---- It was with -difficulty Nancy kept herself from breaking down. - -Two or three acquaintances caught her hand on leaving the church, -whispering a few words of sympathy in her ear. Not one but felt truly -sorry for her. The captain's hat, which had a wide band round it, was -perpetually raised in acknowledgment of silent greetings, as he piloted -his wife back to their house, the Petite Maison Rouge. - -A very different dinner-table, this which the two sat down to, from -last Sunday's, in the matter of cheerfulness. Nancy was about half-way -through the wing of the fowl her husband had helped her to, when a -choking sob caught her throat. She dropped her knife and fork. - -"Oh, Edwin, I cannot! I cannot eat for my unhappy thoughts! This time -last Sunday Lavinia was seated at the table with us. Now----" Nancy's -speech collapsed altogether. - -"Come, come," said Captain Fennel. "I hope you are not going to be -hysterical again, Nancy. It is frightfully sad; I know that; but this -prolonged grief will do no good. Go on with your dinner; it is a very -nice chicken." - -Nancy gave a great sob, and spoke impulsively, "I don't believe you -regret her one bit, Edwin!" - -Edwin Fennel in turn laid down his knife and fork and stared at his -wife. A curious expression sat on his face. - -"Not regret her," he repeated with emphasis. "Why, Nancy, I regret her -every hour of the day. But I do not make a parade of my regrets. Why -should I?--to what end? Come, come, my dear; you will be all the better -for eating your dinner." - -He went on with his own as he spoke. Nancy took up her knife and fork -with a hopeless sigh. - -Dinner over, Captain Fennel went to his cupboard and brought in some -of the chartreuse. Two glasses, this time, instead of three. He might -regret Lavinia, as he said, every hour of the day; possibly he did so; -but it did not seem to affect his appetite, or his relish for good -things. - -Most events have their dark and their light sides. It could hardly -escape the mind of Edwin Fennel that by the death of Lavinia the whole -income became Nancy's. To him that must have been a satisfactory -consolation. - -In the afternoon he went with Nancy for a walk on the pier. She did not -want to go; said she had no spirits for it; it was miserable at home; -miserable out; miserable everywhere. Captain Fennel took her off, as -he might have taken a child, telling her she should come and see the -fishing-boats. After tea they went to church--an unusual thing for -Captain Fennel. Lavinia and Nancy formerly went to evening service; he, -never. - -That night something curious occurred. Nancy went up to bed leaving the -captain to follow, after finishing his glass of grog. He generally took -one the last thing. Nancy had taken off her gown, and was standing -before the glass about to undo her hair, when she heard him leave the -parlour. Her bedroom-door, almost close to the head of the stairs, was -not closed, and her ears were on the alert. Since Lavinia died, Nancy -had felt timid in the house when alone, and she was listening for her -husband to come up. She heard him lock up the spirit bottle in the -little cupboard below, and begin to ascend the stairs, and she opened -her door wider, that the light might guide him, for the staircase was in -darkness. - -Captain Fennel had nearly gained the top, when something--he never knew -what--induced him to look round sharply, as though he fancied some one -was close behind him. In fact, he did fancy it. In a moment, he gave a -shout, dashed onwards into the bedroom, shut the door with a bang, and -bolted it. Nancy, in great astonishment, turned to look at him. He -seemed to have shrunk within himself in a fit of trembling, his face was -ghastly, and the perspiration stood upon his brow. - -"Edwin!" she exclaimed in a scared whisper, "what is the matter?" - -Captain Fennel did not answer at first. He was getting up his breath. - -"Has Flore not gone?" he then said. - -"_Flore!_" exclaimed Nancy in surprise. "Why, Edwin, you know Flore goes -away on Sundays in the middle of the afternoon! She left before we went -on the pier. Why do you ask?" - -"I--I thought--some person--followed me upstairs," he replied, in uneasy -pauses. - -"Oh, my goodness!" cried timid Nancy. "Perhaps a thief has got into the -house!" - -She went to the door, and was about to draw it an inch open, intending -to peep out gingerly and listen, when her husband pulled her back with a -motion of terror, and put his back against it. This meant, she thought, -that he _knew_ a thief was there. Perhaps two of them! - -"Is there more than one?" she whispered. "Lavinia's silver--my silver, -now--is in the basket on the console in the salon." - -He did not answer. He appeared to be listening. Nancy listened also. The -house seemed still as death. - -"Perhaps I was mistaken," said Captain Fennel, beginning to recover -himself after a bit. "I dare say I was." - -"Well, I think you must have been, Edwin; I can't hear anything. We had -better open the door." - -She undid the bolt as she spoke, and he moved away from it. Nancy -cautiously took a step outside, and kept still. Not a sound met her ear. -Then she brought forth the candle and looked down the staircase. Not a -sign of anything or any one met her eye. - -"Edwin, there's nothing, there's nobody; come and see. You must have -fancied it." - -"No doubt," answered Captain Fennel. But he did not go to see, for all -that. - -Nancy went back to the room. "Won't you just look downstairs?" she said. -"I--I don't much mind going with you." - -"Not any necessity," replied he, and began to undress--and slipped the -bolt again. - -"Why do you bolt the door to-night?" asked Nancy. - -"To keep the thief out," said he, in grim tones, which Nancy took for -jesting. But she could not at all understand him. - -His restlessness kept her awake. "It _must_ have been all fancy," she -more than once heard him mutter to himself. - -When he rose in the morning, his restlessness seemed still to hang upon -him. Remarking to Nancy, who was only half-awake, that his nerves were -out of order, and he should be all the better for a sea-bath, he dressed -and left the room. Nancy got down at the usual hour, half-past eight; -and was told by Flore that monsieur had left word madame was not to wait -breakfast for him: he was gone to have a dip in the sea, and should -probably take a long country walk after it. - -Flore was making the coffee at the kitchen stove; her mistress stood by, -as if wanting to watch the process. These last few days, since Lavinia -had been carried from the house, Nancy had felt easier in Flore's -company than when alone with her own. - -"That's to steady his nerves; they are out of order," replied Nancy, who -had as much idea of reticence as a child. "Monsieur had a great fright -last night, Flore." - -"Truly!" said Flore, much occupied just then with her coffee-pot. - -"He was coming up to bed between ten and eleven; I had gone on. When -nearly at the top of the stairs he thought he heard some one behind -him. It startled him frightfully. Not being prepared for it, supposing -that the house was empty, you see, Flore, of course it would startle -him." - -"Naturally, madame." - -"He cried out, and dashed into the bedroom and bolted the door. I never -saw any one in such a state of terror, Flore; he was trembling all over; -his face was whiter than your apron." - -"Vraiment!" returned Flore, turning to look at her mistress in a little -surprise. "But, madame, what had terrified him? What was it that he had -seen?" - -"Why, he could have seen nothing," corrected Mrs. Fennel. "There was -nothing to see." - -"Madame has reason; there could have been nothing, the house being -empty. But then, what could have frightened him?" repeated Flore. - -"Why, he must have fancied it, I suppose. Any way, he fancied some one -was there. The first question he asked me was, whether you were in the -house." - -"Moi! Monsieur might have known I should not be in the house at that -hour, madame. And why should he show terror if he thought it was me?" - -Mrs. Fennel shrugged her shoulders. "It was a moment's scare; just that, -I conclude; and it upset his nerves. A sea-bath will put him all right -again." - -Flore carried the coffee into the salon, and her mistress sat down to -breakfast. - -Now it chanced that this same week a guest came to stay with Madame -Carimon. Stella Featherston, from Buttermead, was about to make a -sojourn in Paris, and she took Sainteville on her route that she might -stay a few days with her cousin, Mary Carimon, whom she had not seen for -several years. - -Lavinia and Ann Preen had once been very intimate with Miss Featherston, -who reached Madame Carimon's on the Thursday. On the Friday morning Mrs. -Fennel called to see her--and, in Nancy's impromptu way, she invited her -and Mary Carimon to take tea at seven o'clock that same evening at the -Petite Maison Rouge. - -Nancy went home delighted. It was a little divertissement to her present -saddened life. Captain Fennel knitted his brow when he heard of the -arrangement, but made no objection in words. His wife shrank at the -frown. - -"Don't you like my having invited Miss Featherston to tea, Edwin?" - -"Oh! I've no objection to it," he carelessly replied. "I am not in love -with either Carimon or his wife, and don't care how little I see of -them." - -"He cannot come, having a private class on to-night. And I could not -invite Miss Featherston without Mary Carimon," pleaded Nancy. - -"Just so. I am not objecting." - -With this somewhat ungracious assent, Nancy had to content herself. -She ordered a gateau Suisse, the nicest sort of gateau to be had at -Sainteville; and told Flore that she must for once remain for the -evening. - -The guests appeared punctually at seven o'clock. Such a thing as being -invited for one hour, and strolling in an hour or two after it, was a -mark of English breeding never yet heard of in the simple-mannered -French town. Miss Featherston, a smart, lively young woman, wore a -cherry-coloured silk; Mary Carimon was in black; she had gone into -slight mourning for Lavinia. Good little Monsieur Jules had put a small -band on his hat. - -Captain Fennel was not at home to tea, and the ladies had it all their -own way in the matter of talking. What with items of news from the old -home, Buttermead, and Stella's telling about her own plans, the -conversation never flagged a moment. - -"Yes, that's what I am going to Paris for," said Stella, explaining her -plans. "I don't seem likely to marry, for nobody comes to ask me, and I -mean to go out in the world and make a little money. It is a sin and a -shame that a healthy girl, the eldest of three sisters, should be living -upon her poor mother in idleness. Not much of a girl, you may say, for -I was three-and-thirty last week! but we all like to pay ourselves -compliments when age is in question." - -Nancy laughed. Almost the first time she had laughed since Lavinia's -death. - -"So you are going to Paris to learn French, Stella!" - -"I am going to Paris to learn French, Nancy," assented Miss Featherston. -"I know it pretty well, but when I come to speak it I am all at sea; and -you can't get out as a governess now unless you speak it fluently. At -each of the two situations I applied for in Worcestershire, it was the -one fatal objection: 'We should have liked you, Miss Featherston, but we -can only engage a lady who will speak French with the children.' So I -made my mind up to _speak_ French; and I wrote to good Monsieur Jules -Carimon, and he has found me a place to go to in Paris, where not a -soul in the household speaks English. He says, and I say, that in six -months I shall chatter away like a native," she concluded, laughing. - - -XIV. - -About nine o'clock Captain Fennel came home. He was gracious to the -visitors. Stella Featherston thought his manners were pleasing. Shortly -afterwards Charley Palliser called. He apologized for the lateness of -the hour, but his errand was a good-natured one. His aunt, Mrs. Hardy, -had received a box of delicious candied fruits from Marseilles; she had -sent him with a few to Mrs. Fennel, if that lady would kindly accept -them. The truth was, every one in Sainteville felt sorry just now for -poor Nancy Fennel. - -Nancy looked as delighted as a child. She called to Flore to bring -plates, turned out the fruits and handed them round. Flore also brought -in the gateau Suisse and glasses, and a bottle of Picardin wine, that -the company might regale themselves. Charley Palliser suddenly spoke; he -had just thought of something. - -"Would it be too much trouble to give me back that book which I lent you -a week or two ago--about the plans of the fortifications?" he asked, -turning to Captain Fennel. "I want it sometimes for reference in my -studies." - -"Not at all; I ought to have returned it to you before this--but the -trouble here has driven other things out of my head," replied Captain -Fennel. "Let me see--where did I put it? Nancy, do you remember where -that book is?--the heavy one, you know, with red edges and a mottled -cover." - -"That book? Why, it is on the drawers in our bedroom," replied Nancy. - -"To be sure; I'll get it," said Captain Fennel. - -His wife called after him to bring down the dominoes also; some one -might like a game. The captain did not intend to take the trouble of -going himself; he meant to send Flore. But Flore was not in the kitchen, -and he took it for granted she was upstairs. In fact, Flore was in the -yard at the pump; but he never thought of the yard or the pump. Lighting -a candle, he strode upstairs. - -He was coming down again, the open box of dominoes and Charley -Palliser's book in one hand, the candlestick in the other, when the -same sort of thing seemed to occur which had occurred on Sunday night. -Hearing, as he thought, some one close behind him, almost treading, as -it were, upon his heels, and thinking it was Flore, he turned his head -round, intending to tell her to keep her distance. - -Then, with a frightful yell, down dashed Captain Fennel the few -remaining stairs, the book, the candlestick, and the box of dominoes -all falling in the passage from his nerveless hands. The dominoes were -hard and strong, and made a great crash. But it was the yell which had -frightened the company in the salon. - -They flocked out in doubt and wonder. The candle had gone out; and -Charley Palliser was bringing forth the lamp to light up the darkness, -when he was nearly knocked down by Captain Fennel. Flore, returning -from the pump with her own candle, much damaged by the air of the yard, -held it up to survey the scene. - -Captain Fennel swept past Charley into the salon, and threw himself -into a chair behind the door, after trying to dash it to; but they -were trooping in behind him. His breath was short, his terrified face -looked livid as one meet for the grave. - -"Why, what has happened to you, sir?" asked Charles, intensely -surprised. - -"Oh! he must have seen the thief again!" shrieked Nancy. - -"Shut the door; bolt it!" called out the stricken man. - -They did as they were bid. This order, as it struck them all, could -only have reference to keeping out some nefarious intruder, such as a -thief. Flore had followed them in, after picking up the debris. She -put the book and the dominoes on the table, and stood staring over her -mistress's shoulder. - -"Has the thief got in again, Edwin?" repeated Mrs. Fennel, who was -beginning to tremble. "Did you see him?--or hear him?" - -"My foot slipped; it sent me headforemost down the stairs," spoke the -captain at last, conscious, perhaps, that something must be said to -satisfy the inquisitive faces around him. "I heard Flore behind me, -and----" - -"Not me, sir," put in Flore in her best English. "I was not upstairs at -all; I was out at the pump. There is nobody upstairs, sir; there can't -be." But Captain Fennel only glared at her in answer. - -"What did you cry out at?" asked Charles Palliser, speaking soothingly, -for he saw that the man was pitiably unstrung. "Have you had a thief in -the house? Did you think you saw one?" - -"I saw no thief; there has been no thief in the house that I know of; I -tell you I slipped--and it startled me," retorted the captain, his tones -becoming savage. - -"Then--why did you have the door bolted, captain?" struck in Miss Stella -Featherston, who was extremely practical and matter-of-fact, and who -could not understand the scene at all. - -This time the captain glared at _her_. Only for a moment; a sickly smile -then stole over his countenance. - -"Somebody here talked about a thief: I said bolt him out," answered he. - -With this general explanation they had to be contented; but to none of -them did it sound natural or straightforward. - -Order was restored. The ladies took a glass of wine each and some of the -gateau, which Flore handed round. Charles Palliser said good-night and -departed with his book. Captain Fennel went out at the same time. He -turned into the cafe on the Place Ronde, and drank three small glasses -of cognac in succession. - -"Nancy, what did you mean by talking about a thief?" began Madame -Carimon, the whole thing much exercising her mind. - -Upon which, Mrs. Fennel treated them all, including Flore, to an -elaborate account of her husband's fright on the Sunday night. - -"It was on the stairs; just as it was again now," she said. "He thought -he heard some one following behind him as he came up to bed. He fancied -it was Flore; but Flore had left hours before. I never saw any one show -such terror in all my life. He said it was Flore behind him to-night, -and you saw how terrified he was." - -"But if he took it to be Flore, why should he be frightened?" returned -Mary Carimon. - -"Pardon, mesdames, but it is the same argument I made bold to use to -madame," interposed Flore from the background, where she stood. "There -is not anything in me to give people fright." - -"I--think--it must have been," said Mrs. Fennel, speaking slowly, "that -he grew alarmed when he found it was not Flore he saw. Both times." - -"Then who was it that he did see--to startle him like that?" asked Mary -Carimon. - -"Why, he must have thought it was a thief," replied Nancy. "There's -nothing else for it." - -At this juncture the argument was brought to a close by the entrance of -Monsieur Jules Carimon, who had come to escort his wife and Stella -Featherston home. - -These curious attacks of terror were repeated; not often, but at a few -days' interval; so that at length Captain Fennel took care not to go -about the house alone in the dark. He went up to bed when his wife did; -he would not go to the door, if a ring came after Flore's departure, -without a light in his hand. By-and-by he improvised a lamp, which he -kept on the slab. - -What was it that he was scared at? An impression arose in the minds of -the two or three people who were privy to this, that he saw, or fancied -he saw, in the house the spectre of one who had just been carried out -of it, Lavinia Preen. Nancy had no such suspicion as yet; she only -thought her husband could not be well. She was much occupied about that -time, having at length nerved herself to the task of looking over her -poor sister's effects. - -One afternoon, when sitting in Lavinia's room (Flore--who stayed with -her for company--had run down to the kitchen to see that the dinner did -not burn), Nancy came upon a small, thin green case. Between its leaves -she found three one-hundred-franc notes--twelve pounds in English value. -She rightly judged that it was all that remained of her sister's -nest-egg, and that she had intended to take it with her to Boulogne. - -"Poor Lavinia!" she aspirated, the tears dropping from her eyes. "Every -farthing remaining of the quarter's money she left with me for -housekeeping." - -But now a thought came to Nancy. Placing the case on the floor near her, -intending to show it to her husband--she was sitting on a stool before -one of Lavinia's boxes--it suddenly occurred to her that it might be as -well to say nothing to him about it. He would be sure to appropriate the -money to his own private uses: and Nancy knew that she should need some -for hers. There would be her mourning to pay for; and---- - -The room-door was wide open, and at this point in her reflections Nancy -heard the captain enter the house with his latch-key, and march straight -upstairs. In hasty confusion, she thrust the little case into the -nearest hiding-place, which happened to be the front of her black dress -bodice. - -"Nancy, I have to go to England," cried the captain. "How hot you look! -Can't you manage to do that without stooping?" - -"To go to England!" repeated Nancy, lifting her flushed face. - -"Here's a letter from my brother; the postman gave it me as I was -crossing the Place Ronde. It's only a line or two," he added, tossing it -to her. "I must take this evening's boat." - -Nancy read the letter. Only a line or two, as he said, just telling the -captain to go over with all speed upon a pressing matter of business, -and that he could return before the week was ended. - -"Oh, but, Edwin, you can't go," began Nancy, in alarm. "I cannot stay -here by myself." - -"Not go! Why, I must go," he said very decisively. "How do I know what -it is that I am wanted for? Perhaps that property which we are always -expecting to fall in." - -"But I should be so lonely. I could not stay here alone." - -"Nonsense!" he sharply answered. "I shall not be away above one clear -day; two days at the furthest. This is Thursday, and I shall return by -Sunday's boat. You will only be alone to-morrow and Saturday." - -He turned away, thus putting an end to the discussion, and entered their -own room. As Nancy looked after him in despair, it suddenly struck her -how very thin and ill he had become; his face worn and grey. - -"He wants a change," she said to herself; "our trouble here has upset -him as much as it did me. I'll say no more; I must not be selfish. Poor -Lavinia used to warn me against selfishness." - -So Captain Fennel went off without further opposition, his wife -enjoining him to be sure to return on Sunday. The steamer was starting -that night at eight o'clock; it was a fine evening, and Nancy walked -down to the port with her husband and saw him on board. Nancy met an -acquaintance down there; no other than Charley Palliser. They strolled a -little in the wake of the departing steamer; Charley then saw her as far -as the Place Ronde, and there wished her good-night. - -And now an extraordinary thing happened. As Mrs. Fennel opened the door -with her latch-key, Flore having left, and was about to enter the dark -passage, the same curious and unaccountable terror seized her which had -been wont to attack Lavinia. Leaving the door wide open, she dashed up -the passage, felt for the match-box, and struck a light. Then, candle in -hand, she returned to shut the door; but her whole frame trembled with -fear. - -"Why, it's just what poor Lavinia felt!" she gasped. "What on earth -can it be? Why should it come to me? I will take care not to go out -to-morrow night or Saturday." - -And she held to her decision. Mrs. Hardy sent Charley Palliser to invite -her for either day, or both days; Mary Carimon sent Pauline with a note -to the same effect; but Nancy returned a refusal in both cases, with her -best thanks. - -The boat came in on Sunday night, but it did not bring Captain Fennel. -On the Sunday morning the post had brought Nancy a few lines from him, -saying he found the business on which he had been called to London was -of great importance, and he was obliged to remain another day or two. - -Nancy was frightfully put out: not only vexed, but angry. Edwin had no -business to leave her alone like that so soon after Lavinia's death. -She bemoaned her hard fate to several friends on coming out of church, -and Mrs. Smith carried her off to dinner. The major was not out that -morning--a twinge of gout in the right foot had kept him indoors. - -This involved Nancy's going home alone in the evening, for the major -could not walk with her. She did not like it. The same horror came over -her before opening the door. She entered somehow, and dashed into the -kitchen, hoping the stove was alight: a very silly hope, for Flore had -been gone since the afternoon. - -Nancy lighted the candle in the kitchen, and then fancied she saw some -one looking at her from the open kitchen-door. It looked like Lavinia. -It certainly _was_ Lavinia. Nancy stood spell-bound; then she gave a cry -of desperate horror and dropped the candlestick. - -How she picked it up she never knew; the light had not gone out. Nothing -was to be seen then. The apparition, if it had been one, had vanished. -She got up to bed somehow, and lay shivering under the bedclothes until -morning. - -Quite early, when Nancy was at breakfast, Madame Carimon came in. She -had already been to the fish-market, and came on to invite Nancy to her -house for the day, having heard that Mr. Fennel was still absent. With -a scared face and trembling lips, Nancy told her about the previous -night--the strange horror of entering which had begun to attack her, -the figure of Lavinia at the kitchen-door. - -Madame Carimon, listening gravely, took, or appeared to take, a sensible -view of it. "You have caught up this fear of entering the house, Nancy, -through remembering that it attacked poor Lavinia," she said. -"Impressionable minds--and yours is one of them--take fright just as -children catch measles. As to thinking you saw Lavinia----" - -"She had on the gown she wore the Sunday she was taken ill: her -silver-grey silk, you know," interrupted Nancy. "She looked at me with -a mournful, appealing gaze, just as if she wanted something." - -"Ay, you were just in the mood to fancy something of the kind," lightly -spoke Madame Carimon. "The fright of coming in had done that for you. -I dare say you had been talking of Lavinia at Major Smith's." - -"Well, so we had," confessed Nancy. - -"Just so; she was already on your mind, and therefore that and the -fright you were in caused you to fancy you saw her. Nancy, my dear, you -cannot imagine the foolish illusions our fancies play us." - -Easily persuaded, Mrs. Fennel agreed that it might have been so. She -strove to forget the matter, and went out there and then with Mary -Carimon. - -But this state of things was to continue. Captain Fennel did not return, -and Nancy grew frightened to death at being alone in the house after -dark. Flore was unable to stay longer than the time originally agreed -for, her old mother being dangerously ill. As dusk approached, Nancy -began to hate her destiny. Apart from nervousness, she was sociably -inclined, and yearned for company. Now and again the inclination to -accept an invitation was too strong to be resisted, or she went out -after dinner, uninvited, to this friend or that. But the pleasure was -counterbalanced by having to go in again at night; the horror clung to -her. - -If a servant attended her home, or any gentleman from the house where -she had been, she made them go indoors with her whilst she lighted her -candle; once she got Monsieur Gustave's errand-boy to do so. But it was -almost as bad with the lighted candle--the first feeling of being in -the lonely house after they had gone. She wrote letter after letter, -imploring her husband to return. Captain Fennel's replies were rich in -promises: he would be back the very instant business permitted; probably -"to-morrow, or the next day." But he did not come. - -One Sunday, when he had been gone about three weeks, and Nancy had been -spending the day in the Rue Pomme Cuite, Mary Carimon walked home with -her in the evening. Monsieur Jules had gone to see his cousin off by the -nine-o'clock train--Mademoiselle Priscille Carimon, who had come in to -spend the day with them. She lived at Drecques. - -"You will come in with me, Mary?" said Ann Fennel, as they gained the -door. - -"To be sure I will," replied Madame Carimon, laughing lightly, for none -knew about the fears better than she. - -Nancy took her hand as they went up the passage. She lighted the -candle at the slab, and they went into the salon. Madame Carimon sat -down for a few minutes, by way of reassuring her. Nancy took off her -bonnet and mantle. On the table was a small tray with the tea-things -upon it. Flore had left it there in readiness, not quite certain -whether her mistress would come in to tea or not. - -"I had such a curious dream last night," began Nancy; "those tea-things -put me in mind of it. Lavinia----" - -"For goodness' sake don't begin upon dreams to-night!" interposed Madame -Carimon. "You know they always frighten you." - -"Oh, but this was a pleasant dream, Mary. I thought that I and Lavinia -were seated at a little table, with two teacups between us full of tea. -The cups were very pretty; pale amber with gilt scrolls, and the china -so thin as to be transparent. I can see them now. And Lavinia said -something which made me smile; but I don't remember what it was. Ah, -Mary! if she were only back again with us!" - -"She is better off, you know," said Mary Carimon in tender tones. - -"All the same, it was a cruel fate that took her; I shall never think -otherwise. I wish I knew what it was she died of! Flore told me one day -that Monsieur Podevin quite laughed at the idea of its being a chill." - -"Well, Nancy, it was you who stopped it, you know." - -"Stopped what?" asked Nancy. - -"The investigation the doctors would have made after death. Both of them -were much put out at your forbidding it: for their own satisfaction they -wished to ascertain particulars. I may tell you now that I thought you -were wrong to interfere." - -"It was Captain Fennel," said Nancy calmly. - -"Captain Fennel!" echoed Mary Carimon. "Monsieur Dupuis told me that -Captain Fennel wished for it as much as he and Monsieur Podevin." - -Captain Fennel's wife shook her head. "They asked him about it before -they left, after she died. He came to me, and I said, Oh, let them do -what they would; it could not hurt her now she was dead. I was in such -terrible distress, Mary, that I hardly knew or cared what I said. Then -Edwin drew so dreadful a picture of what post-mortems are, and how -barbarously her poor neck and arms would be cut and slashed, that I grew -sick and frightened." - -"And so you stopped it--by reason of the picture he drew?" - -"Yes. I came running down here to Monsieur Dupuis--Monsieur Podevin had -gone--for Edwin said it must be my decision, not his, and his name had -better not be mentioned; and I begged and prayed Monsieur Dupuis not to -hold it. I think I startled him, good old man. I was almost out of my -mind; quite wild with agitation; and he promised me it should be as I -wished. That's how it all was, Mary." - -Mary Carimon's face wore a curious look. Then she rallied, speaking even -lightly. - -"Well, well; it could not have brought her back to life; and I repeat -that we must remember she is better off. And now, Nancy, I want you to -show me the pretty purse that Miss Perry has knitted for you, if you -have it at hand." - -Nancy rose, opened her workbox, which stood on the side-table, and -brought forth the purse. Of course Madame Carimon's motive had been to -change her thoughts. After admiring the purse, and talking of other -pleasant matters, Mary took her departure. - -And the moment the outer door had closed upon her that feeling of terror -seized upon Nancy. Catching up her mantle with one hand and the candle -with the other, she made for the staircase, leaving her bonnet and -gloves in the salon. The staircase struck cold to her, and she could -hear the wind whistling, for it was a windy night. As to the candle, it -seemed to burn with a pale flame and not to give half its usual light. - -In her nervous agitation, just as she gained the uppermost stair, she -dropped her mantle. Raising her head from stooping to pick it up, she -suddenly saw some figure before her at the end of the passage. It stood -beyond the door of her own room, close to that which had been her -sister's. - -It was Lavinia. She appeared to be habited in the silver-grey silk -already spoken of. Her gaze was fixed upon Nancy, with the same -imploring aspect of appeal, as if she wanted something; her pale face -was inexpressibly mournful. With a terrible cry, Nancy tore into her own -room, the mantle trailing after her. She shut the door and bolted it, -and buried her face in the counterpane in wild agony. - -And in that moment a revelation came to Ann Fennel. It was this -apparition which had been wont to haunt her husband in the house and -terrify him beyond control. Not a thief; not Flore--but Lavinia! - - -XV. - -On the Monday morning Flore found her mistress in so sick and suffering -and strange a state, that she sent for Madame Carimon. In vain Mary -Carimon, after hearing Nancy's tale, strove to convince her that what -she saw was fancy, the effect of diseased nerves. Nancy was more -obstinate than a mule. - -"What I saw was Lavinia," she shivered. "Lavinia's apparition. No good -to tell me it was not; I have seen it now twice. It was as clear and -evident to me, both times, as ever she herself was in life. That's what -Edwin used to see; I know it now; and he became unable to bear the -house. I seem to read it all as in a book, Mary. He got his brother to -send for him, and he is staying away because he dreads to come back -again. But you know I cannot stay here alone now." - -Madame Carimon wrote off at once to Captain Fennel, Nancy supplying -the address. She told him that his wife was ill; in a nervous state; -fancying she saw Lavinia in the house. Such a report, she added, should -if possible be kept from spreading to the town, and therefore she must -advise him to return without delay. - -The letter brought back Captain Fennel, Flore having meanwhile -remained entirely at the Petite Maison Rouge. Perhaps the captain did -not in secret like that little remark of its being well to keep it -from the public; he may have considered it suggestive, coming from -Mary Carimon. He believed she read him pretty correctly, and he hated -her accordingly. Any way, he deemed it well to be on the spot. Left -to herself, there was no telling what ridiculous things Nancy might be -saying or fancying. - -Edwin Fennel did not return alone. His brother's wife was with him. Mrs. -James, they called her, James being the brother's Christian name. Mrs. -James was not a lady in herself or in manner; but she was lively and -very good-natured, and these qualities were what the Petite Maison Rouge -wanted in it just now; and perhaps that was Captain Fennel's motive -in bringing her. Nancy was delighted. She almost forgot her fears -and fancies. Flore was agreeable also, for she was now at liberty to -return to ordinary arrangements. Thus there was a lull in the storm. -They walked out with Mrs. James on the pier, and took her to see the -different points of interest in the town; they even gave a little soiree -for her, and in return were invited to other houses. - -One day, when the two ladies were gossiping together, Nancy, in the -openness of her heart, related to Mrs. James the particulars of -Lavinia's unexpected and rather mysterious death, and of her appearing -in the house again after it. Captain Fennel disturbed them in the midst -of the story. His wife was taking his name in vain at the moment of his -entrance, saying how scared _he_ had been at the apparition. - -"Hold your peace, you foolish woman!" he thundered, looking as if -he meant to strike her. "Don't trouble Mrs. James's head with such -miserable rubbish as that." - -Mrs. James did not appear to mind it. She burst into a hearty laugh. She -never had seen a ghost, she said, and was sure she never should; there -were no such things. But she should like to hear all about poor Miss -Preen's death. - -"There was nothing else to hear," the captain growled. "She caught a -chill on the Sunday, coming out of the hot church after morning service. -It struck inwardly, bringing on inflammation, which the medical men -could not subdue." - -"But you know, Edwin, the church never is hot, and you know the doctors -decided it was not a chill. Monsieur Podevin especially denied it," -dissented Nancy, who possessed about as much insight as a goose, and a -little less tact. - -"Then what did she die of?" questioned Mrs. James. "Was she poisoned?" - -"Oh, how can you suggest so dreadful a thing!" shrieked Nancy. -"Poisoned! Who would be so wicked as to poison Lavinia? Every one loved -her." - -Which again amused the listening lady. "You have a quick imagination, -Mrs. Edwin," she laughed. "I was thinking of mushrooms." - -"And I of tinned meats and copper saucepans," supplemented Captain -Fennel. "However, there could be no suspicion even of that sort in -Lavinia's case, since she had touched nothing but what we all partook -of. She died of inflammation, Mrs. James." - -"Little doubt of it," acquiesced Mrs. James. "A friend of mine went, not -twelve months ago, to a funeral at Brompton Cemetery; the ground was -damp, and she caught a chill. In four days she was dead." - -"Women have no business at funerals," growled Edwin Fennel. "Why should -they parade their grief abroad? You see nothing of the kind in France." - -"In truth I think you are not far wrong," said Mrs. James. "It is a -fashion which has sprung up of late. A few years ago it was as much -unknown with us as it is with the French." - -"_They_ will be catching it up next, I suppose," retorted the captain, -as if the thing were a personal grievance to him. - -"Little doubt of it," laughed Mrs. James. - -After staying at Sainteville for a month, Mrs. James Fennel took her -departure for London. Captain Fennel proposed to escort her over; but -his wife went into so wild a state at the mere mention of it, that he -had to give it up. - -"I dare not stay in the house by myself, Edwin," she shuddered. "I -should go to the Vice-Consul and to other influential people here, and -tell them of my misery--that I am afraid of seeing Lavinia." - -And Captain Fennel believed she would be capable of doing it. So he -remained with her. - -That the spectre of the dead-and-gone Lavinia did at times appear to -them, or else their fancies conjured up the vision, was all too certain. -Three times during the visit of Mrs. James the captain had been betrayed -into one of his fits of terror: no need to ask what had caused it. -After her departure the same thing took place. Nancy had not again seen -anything, but she knew he had. - -"We shall not be able to stay in the house, Edwin," his wife said to him -one evening when they were sitting in the salon at dusk after Flore's -departure; nothing having led up to the remark. - -"I fancy we should be as well out of it," replied he. - -"Oh, Edwin, let us go! If we can! There will be all the rent to pay up -first." - -"All the what?" said he. - -"The rent," repeated Nancy; "up to the end of the term we took it for. -About three years longer, I think, Edwin. That would be sixty pounds." - -"And where do you suppose the sixty pounds would come from?" - -"I don't know. There's the impediment, you see," remarked Nancy blankly. -"We cannot leave without paying up." - -"Unless we made a moonlight flitting of it, my dear." - -"That I never will," she rejoined, with a firmness he could not mistake. -"You are only jesting, Edwin." - -"It would be no jesting matter to pay up that claim, and others; for -there are others. Our better plan, Nancy, will be to go off by the -London boat some night, and not let any one know where we are until I -can come back to pay. You may see it is the only thing to be done, and -you must bring your mind to it." - -"Never by me," said Nancy, strong in her innate rectitude. "As to hiding -ourselves anywhere, that can never be; I should not conceal my address -from Mary Carimon--I _could_ not conceal it from Colonel Selby." - -Captain Fennel ground his teeth. "Suppose I say that this shall be, that -we will go, and order you to obey me? What then?" - -"No, Edwin, I could not. I should go in to Monsieur Gustave Sauvage, -and say to him, 'We were thinking of running away, but I cannot do it; -please put me in prison until I can pay the debt.' And then----" - -"Are you an idiot?" asked Captain Fennel, staring at her. - -"And then, when I was in prison," went on Nancy, "I should write to tell -William Selby; and perhaps he would come over and release me. Please -don't talk in this kind of way again, Edwin. I should keep my word." - -Mr. Edwin Fennel could not have felt more astounded had his wife then -and there turned into a dromedary before his eyes. She had hitherto been -tractable as a child. But he had never tried her in a thing that touched -her honour, and he saw that the card which he had intended to play was -lost. - -Captain Fennel played another. He went away himself. - -Making the best he could of the house and its haunted state (though day -by day saw him looking more and more like a walking skeleton) throughout -the greater part of June, for the summer had come in, he despatched -his wife to Pontipette one market day--Saturday--to remain there until -the following Wednesday. Old Mrs. Hardy had gone to the homely but -comfortable hotel at Pontipette for a change, and she wrote to invite -Nancy to stay a short time with her. Charles Palliser was in England. -Captain Fennel proceeded to London by that same Saturday night's boat, -armed with a letter from his wife to Colonel Selby, requesting the -colonel to pay over to her husband her quarterly instalment instead of -sending it to herself. Captain Fennel had bidden her do this; and Nancy, -of strict probity in regard to other people's money, could not resist -signing over her own. - -"But you will be sure to bring it all back, won't you, Edwin? and to be -here by Wednesday, the day I return?" she said to him. - -"Why, of course I shall, my dear." - -"It will be a double portion now--thirty-five pounds." - -"And a good thing, too; we shall want it," he returned. - -"Indeed, yes; there's such a heap of things owing for," concluded Nancy. - -Thus the captain went over to England in great glee, carrying with him -the order for the money. But he was reckoning without his host. - -Upon presenting himself at the bank in the City on Monday morning, he -found Colonel Selby absent; not expected to return before the end of -that week, or the beginning of the next. This was a check for Captain -Fennel. He quite glared at the gentleman who thus informed him--Mr. -West, who sat in the colonel's room, and was his locum tenens for the -time being. - -"Business is transacted all the same, I conclude?" said he snappishly. - -"Why, certainly," replied Mr. West, marvelling at the absurdity of the -question. "What can I do for you?" - -Captain Fennel produced his wife's letter, requesting that her quarter's -money should be paid over to him, and handed in her receipt for the -same. Mr. West read them both, the letter twice, and then looked direct -through his silver-rimmed spectacles at the applicant. - -"I cannot do this," said he; "it is a private matter of Colonel -Selby's." - -"It is not more private than any other payment you may have to make," -retorted Captain Fennel. - -"Pardon me, it is. This really does not concern the bank at all. I -cannot pay it without Colonel Selby's authority: he has neither given it -nor mentioned it to me. Another thing: the payment, as I gather from the -wording of Mrs. Ann Fennel's letter, is not yet due. Upon that score, -apart from any other, I should decline to pay it." - -"It will be due in two or three days. Colonel Selby would not object to -forestall the time by that short period." - -"That would, of course, be for the colonel's own consideration." - -"I particularly wish to receive the money this morning." - -Mr. West shook his head in answer. "If you will leave Mrs. Fennel's -letter and receipt in my charge, sir, I will place them before the -colonel as soon as he returns. That is all I can do. Or perhaps you -would prefer to retain the latter," he added, handing back the receipt -over the desk. - -"Business men are the very devil to stick at straws," muttered Captain -Fennel under his breath. He saw it was no use trying to move the one -before him, and went out, saying he would call in a day or two. - -Now it happened that Colonel Selby, who was only staying at Brighton for -a rest (for he had been very unwell of late), took a run up to town that -same Monday morning to see his medical attendant. His visit paid, he -went on to the bank, surprising Mr. West there about one o'clock. After -some conference upon business matters, Mr. West spoke of Captain -Fennel's visit, and handed over the letter he had left. - -Colonel Selby drew in his lips as he read it. He did not like Mr. Edwin -Fennel; and he would most assuredly not pay Ann Fennel's money to him. -He returned the letter to Mr. West. - -"Should the man come here again, West, tell him, as you did this -morning, that he can see me on my return--which will probably be on -this day week," said the colonel. "No need to say I have been up here -to-day." - -And on the following day, Tuesday, Colonel Selby, being then at -Brighton, drew out a cheque for the quarter almost due and sent it by -post to Nancy at Sainteville. - -Thus checkmated in regard to the money, Captain Fennel did not return -home at the time he promised, even if he had had any intention of doing -so. When Nancy returned to Sainteville on the Wednesday from Pontipette, -he was not there. The first thing she saw waiting for her on the table -was Colonel Selby's letter containing the cheque for five-and-thirty -pounds. - -"How glad I am it has come to me so soon!" cried Nancy; "I can pay the -bills now. I suppose William Selby thinks it would not be legal to pay -it to Edwin." - -The week went on. Each time a boat came in, Nancy was promenading the -port, expecting to see her husband land from it. On the Sunday morning -Nancy received a letter from him, in which he told her he was waiting -to see Colonel Selby, to get the money paid to him. Nancy wrote back -hastily, saying it had been received by herself, and that she had paid -it nearly all away in settling the bills. She begged him to come back -by the next boat. Flore was staying in the house altogether, but at an -inconvenience. - -On the Monday evening Mrs. Fennel had another desperate fright. She -went to take tea with an elderly lady and her daughter, Mrs. and Miss -Lambert, bidding Flore to come for her at half-past nine o'clock. -Half-past nine came, but no Flore; ten o'clock came, and then Mrs. -Fennel set off alone, supposing Flore had misunderstood her and would -be found waiting for her at home. The moonlit streets were crowded with -promenaders returning from their summer evening walk upon the pier. - -Nancy rang the bell; but it was not answered. She had her latch-key in -her pocket, but preferred to be admitted, and she rang again. No one -came. "Flore must have dropped asleep in the kitchen," she petulantly -thought, and drew out her key. - -"Flore!" she called out, pushing the door back. "Flore, where are you?" - -Flore apparently was nowhere, very much to the dismay of Mrs. Fennel. -She would have to go in alone, all down the dark passage, and wake her -up. Leaving the door wide open, she advanced in the dark with cautious -steps, the old terror full upon her. - -The kitchen was dark also, so far as fire or candlelight went, but a -glimmer of moonlight shone in at the window. "Are you not here, Flore?" -shivered Nancy. But there was no response. - -Groping for the match-box on the mantel-shelf over the stove, and not at -once finding it, Nancy suddenly took up an impression that some one was -standing in the misty rays of the moon. Gazing attentively, it seemed to -assume the shadowy form of Lavinia. And with a shuddering cry Nancy -Fennel fell down upon the brick floor of the kitchen. - - -XVI. - -It was a lovely summer's day, and Madame Carimon's neat little slip of a -kitchen was bright and hot with the morning sun. Madame, herself, stood -before the paste-board, making a green-apricot tart. Of pies and tarts a -la mode Anglaise, Monsieur Jules was more fond than a schoolboy; and of -all tarts known to the civilized world, none can equal that of a green -apricot. - -Madame had put down the rolling-pin, and stood for the moment idle, -looking at Flore Pamart, and listening to something that Flore was -saying. Flore, whisking out of the Petite Maison Rouge a few minutes -before, ostensibly to do her morning's marketings, had whisked straight -off to the Rue Pomme Cuite, and was now seated at the corner of the -pastry-table, telling a story to Madame Carimon. - -"It was madame's own fault," she broke off in her tale to remark. -"Madame _will_ give me her orders in French, and half the time I can't -understand them. She had an engagement to take tea at Madame Smith's -in the Rue Lambeau, was what I thought she said to me, and that I must -present myself there at half-past nine to walk home with her. Well, -madame, I went accordingly, and found nobody at home there but the -bonne, Thomasine. Her master was dining out at the Sous-prefet's, and -her mistress had gone out with some more ladies to walk on the pier, as -it was so fine an evening. Naturally I thought my mistress was one of -the ladies, and sat there waiting for her and chatting with Thomasine. -Madame Smith came in at ten o'clock, and then she said that my lady had -not been there and that she had not expected her." - -"She must have gone to tea elsewhere," observed Madame Carimon. - -"Clearly, madame; as I afterwards found. It was to Madame Lambert's, in -the Rue Lothaire, that I ought to have gone. I could only go home, as -madame sees; and when I arrived there I found the house-door wide open. -Just as I entered, a frightful cry came from the kitchen, and there I -found her dropped down on the floor, half senseless with terror. Madame, -she avowed to me that she had seen Mademoiselle Lavinia standing near -her in the moonlight." - -Madame Carimon took up her rolling-pin slowly before she spoke. "I know -she has a fancy that she appears in the house." - -"Madame Carimon, I think she _is_ in the house," said Flore solemnly. -And for a minute or two Madame Carimon rolled her paste in silence. - -"Monsieur Fennel used to see her--I am sure he did--and now his wife -sees her," went on the woman. "I think that is the secret of his running -away so much: he can't bear the house and what is haunting it." - -"It is altogether a dreadful thing; I lie awake thinking of it," -bewailed Mary Carimon. - -"But it cannot be let go on like this," said Flore; "and that's what -has brought me running here this morning--to ask you, madame, whether -anything can be done. If she is left alone to see these sights, she'll -die of it. When she got up this morning she was shivering like a leaf in -the wind. Has madame noticed that she is wasting away? For the matter of -that, so was Monsieur Fennel." - -Madame Carimon, beginning to line her shallow dish with paste, nodded in -assent. "He ought to be here with her," she remarked. - -"Catch him," returned Flore, in a heat. "Pardon, madame, but I must avow -I trust not that gentleman. He is no good. He will never come back to -stay at the house so long as there is in it--what is there. He dare -not; and I would like to ask him why not. A man with the conscience at -ease could not be that sort of coward. Honest men do not fly away, all -scared, when they fancy they see a revenant." - -Deeming it might be unwise to pursue the topic from this point, Madame -Carimon said she would go and see Mrs. Fennel in the course of the day, -and Flore clattered off, her wooden shoes echoing on the narrow pavement -of the Rue Pomme Cuite. - -But, as Madame Carimon was crossing the Place Ronde in the afternoon to -pay her visit, she met Mrs. Fennel. Of course, Flore's communication was -not to be mentioned. - -"Ah," said Madame Carimon readily, "is it you? I was coming to ask -if you would like to take a walk on the pier with me. It is a lovely -afternoon, and not too hot." - -"Oh, I'll go," said Nancy. "I came out because it is so miserable at -home. When Flore went off to the fish-market after breakfast, I felt -more lonely than you would believe. Mary," dropping her voice, "I saw -Lavinia last night." - -"Now I won't listen to that," retorted Mary Carimon, as if she were -reprimanding a child. "Once give in to our nerves and fancies, there's -no end to the tricks they play us. I wish, Ann, your house were in a -more lively situation, where you might sit at the window and watch the -passers-by." - -"But it isn't," said Nancy sensibly. "It looks upon nothing but the -walls." - -Walking on, they sat down upon a bench that stood back from the port, -facing the harbour. Nearly opposite lay the English boat, busily loading -for London. The sight made Nancy sigh. - -"I wish it would bring Edwin the next time it comes in," she said in low -tones. - -"When do you expect him?" - -"I don't know _when_," said poor Nancy with emphasis. "Mary, I am -beginning to think he stays away because he is afraid of seeing -Lavinia." - -"Men are not afraid of those foolish things, Ann." - -"He is. Recollect those fits of terror he had. He used to hear her -following him up and downstairs; used to see her on the landings." - -Madame Carimon found no ready answer. She had witnessed one of those -fits of terror herself. - -"Last night," went on Mrs. Fennel, after a pause, "when Flore had left -me and I could only shiver in my bed, and not expect to sleep, I became -calm enough to ask myself _why_ Lavinia should come back again, and what -it is she wants. Can you think why, Mary?" - -"Not I," said Madame Carimon lightly. "I shall only believe she does -come when she shows herself to me." - -"And I happened on the thought that, possibly, she may be wanting us to -inquire into the true cause of her death. It might have been ascertained -at the time, but for my stopping the action of the doctors, you know." - -"Ann, my dear, you should exercise a little common sense. I would ask -you what end ascertaining it now would answer, to her, dead, or to you, -living?" - -"It might be seen that she could have been cured, had we only known what -the malady was." - -"But you did not know; the doctors did not know. It could only have been -discovered, even at your showing, after her death, not in time to save -her." - -"I wish Monsieur Dupuis had come more quickly on the Monday night!" -sighed Nancy. "I am always wishing it. You can picture what it was, -Mary--Lavinia lying in that dreadful agony and no doctor coming near -her. Edwin was gone so long--so long! He could not wake up Monsieur -Dupuis. I think now that the bell was out of order." - -"Why do you think that now? Captain Fennel must have known whether the -bell answered to his summons, or not." - -"Well," returned Nancy, "this morning when Flore returned with the fish, -she said I looked very ill. She had just seen Monsieur Dupuis in the -Place Ronde, and she ran out again and brought him in----" - -"Did you mention to him this fancy of seeing Lavinia?" hastily -interrupted Madame Carimon. - -"No, no; I don't talk of that to people. Only to you and Flore; -and--yes--I did tell Mrs. Smith. I let Monsieur Dupuis think I was ill -with grieving after Lavinia, and we talked a little about her. I said -how I wished he could have been here sooner on the Monday night, and -that my husband had rung several times before he could arouse him. -Monsieur Dupuis said that was a mistake; he had got up and come as soon -as he was called; he was not asleep at the time, and the bell had rung -only once." - -"What an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed Mary Carimon. "I know your -husband said he rang many times." - -"That's why I now think the bell must have been out of order; but I did -not say so to Monsieur Dupuis," returned Nancy. "He is a kind old man, -and it would grieve him: for of course we know doctors _ought_ to keep -their door-bells in order." - -Madame Carimon rose in silence, but full of thought, and they continued -their walk. It was low water in the harbour, but the sun was sparkling -and playing on the waves out at sea. On the pier they found Rose and -Anna Bosanquet; and in chatting with them Nancy's mood became more -cheerful. - -That same evening, on that same pier, Mary Carimon spoke a few -confidential words to her husband. They sat at the end of it, and the -beauty of the night, so warm and still, induced them to linger. The -bright moon sailed grandly in the heavens and glittered upon the -water that now filled the harbour, for the tide was in. Most of the -promenaders had turned down the pier again, after watching out the -steamer. What a fine passage she would make, and was making, cutting -there so smoothly through the crystal sea! - -Mary Carimon began in a low voice, though no one was near to listen and -the waves could not hear her. She spoke pretty fully of a haunting doubt -that lay upon her mind, as to whether Lavinia had died a natural death. - -"If we make the best of it," she concluded, "her dying in that strangely -sudden way was unusual; you know that, Jules; quite unaccountable. It -never _has_ been accounted for." - -Monsieur Jules, gazing on the gentle waves as they rose and fell in the -moonlight at the mouth of the harbour, answered nothing. - -"He had so much to wish her away for, that man: all the money would -become Nancy's. And I'm sure there was secret enmity between them--on -both sides. Don't you see, Jules, how suspicious it all looks?" - -The moonbeams, illumining Monsieur Jules Carimon's face, showed it to be -very impassive, betraying no indication that he as much as heard what -his wife was talking about. - -"I have not forgotten, I can never forget, Jules, the very singular -Fate-reading, or whatever you may please to call it, spoken by the -Astrologer Talcke last winter at Miss Bosanquet's soiree. You were not -in the room, you know, but I related it to you when we arrived home. -He certainly foretold Lavinia's death, as I, recalling the words, look -upon it now. He said there was some element of evil in their house, -threatening and terrible; he repeated it more than once. _In their -house_, Jules, and that it would end in darkness; which, as every one -understood, meant death: not for Mrs. Fennel; he took care to tell her -that; but for another. He said the cards were more fateful than he had -ever seen them. That evil in the house was Fennel." - -Still Monsieur Jules offered no comment. - -"And what could be the meaning of those dreams Lavinia had about him, in -which he always seemed to be preparing to inflict upon her some fearful -ill, and she knew she never could and never would escape from it?" ran -on Mary Carimon, her eager, suppressed tones bearing a gruesome sound -in the stillness of the night. "And what is the explanation of the fits -of terror which have shaken Fennel since the death, fancying he sees -Lavinia? Flore said to me this morning that she is sure Lavinia is in -the house." - -Glancing at her husband to see that he was at least listening, but -receiving no confirmation of it by word or motion, Mary Carimon -continued: - -"Those dreams came to warn her, Jules. To warn her to get out of the -house while she could. And she made arrangements to go, and in another -day or two would have been away in safety. But he was too quick for -her." - -Monsieur Jules Carimon turned now to face his wife. "Mon amie, tais -toi," said he with authority. "Such a topic is not convenable," he -added, still in French, though she had spoken in English. "It is -dangerous." - -"But, Jules, I believe it _to have been so_." - -"All the same, and whether or no, it is not your affair, Marie. Neither -must you make it so. Believe me, my wife, the only way to live peaceably -ourselves in the world is to let our neighbours' sins alone." - - -XVII. - -Captain Edwin Fennel was certainly in no hurry to return to Sainteville, -for he did not come. Nancy, ailing, weak, wretchedly uncomfortable, -wrote letter after letter to him, generally sending them over by some -friend or other who might be crossing, to be put in a London letter-box, -and so evade the foreign postage. Once or twice she had written to Mrs. -James, telling of her lonely life and that she wanted Edwin either to -take her out of the dark and desolate house, or else to come back to -it himself. Captain Fennel would answer now and again, promising to -come--she would be quite sure to see him on one of the first boats if -she looked out for their arrival. Nancy did look, but she had not yet -seen him. She was growing visibly thinner and weaker. Sainteville said -how ill Mrs. Fennel was looking. - -One evening at the end of July, when the London steamer was due about -ten o'clock, Nancy went to watch it in, as usual, Flore attending her. -The port was gay, crowded with promenaders. There had been a concert at -the Rooms, and the company was coming home from it. Mrs. Fennel had not -made one: latterly she had felt no spirit for amusement. Several friends -met her; she did not tell them she had come down to meet her husband, if -haply he should be on the expected boat; she had grown tired and half -ashamed of saying that; she let them think she was only out for a walk -that fine evening. There was a yellow glow still in the sky where the -sun had set; the north-west was clear and bright with its opal light. - -The time went on; the port became deserted, excepting a few passing -stragglers. Ten o'clock had struck, eleven would soon strike. Flore and -her mistress, tired of pacing about, sat down on one of the benches -facing the harbour. One of two young men, passing swiftly homewards from -the pier, found himself called to. - -"Charley! Charley Palliser!" - -Charles turned, and recognized Mrs. Fennel. Stepping across to her, he -shook hands. - -"What do you think can have become of the boat?" she asked. "It ought to -have been in nearly an hour ago." - -"Oh, it will be here shortly," he replied. "The boat often makes a slow -passage when there's no wind. What little wind we have had to-day has -been dead against it." - -"As I've just said to madame," put in Flore, always ready to take up -the conversation. "Mr. Charles knows there's no fear it has gone down, -though it may be a bit late." - -"Why, certainly not," laughed Charley. "Are you waiting here for it, -Mrs. Fennel?" - -"Ye--s," she answered, but with hesitation. - -"And as it's not even in sight yet, madame had much better go home and -not wait, for the air is getting chilly," again spoke Flore. - -"We can't see whether it's in sight or not," said her mistress. "It is -dark out at sea." - -"Shall I wait here with you, Mrs. Fennel?" asked Charley in his good -nature. - -"Oh no, no; no, thank you," she answered quickly. "If it does not come -in soon, we shall go home." - -He wished them good-night, and went onwards. - -"She is hoping the boat may bring that mysterious brute, Fennel," -remarked Charles to his companion. - -"Brute, you call him?" - -"He is no better than one, to leave his sick wife alone so long," -responded Charles in hearty tones. "She has picked up an idea, I hear, -that the house is haunted, and shakes in her shoes in it from morning -till night." - -The two watchers sat on, Flore grumbling. Not for herself, but for her -mistress. A sea-fog was rising, and Flore thought madame might take -cold. Mrs. Fennel wrapped her light fleecy shawl closer about her chest, -and protested she was quite hot. The shawl was well enough for a warm -summer's night, but not for a cold sea-fog. About half-past eleven there -suddenly loomed into view through the mist the lights of the steamer, -about to enter the harbour. - -"There she is!" exultingly cried Nancy, who had been shivering inwardly -for some time past, and doing her best not to shiver outwardly for fear -of Flore. "And now, Flore, you go home as quickly as you can and make a -fire in the salon to warm us. I'm sure he will need one--at sea in this -cold fog." - -"If he is come," mentally returned Flore in her derisive heart. She had -no faith in the return of Monsieur Fennel by any boat, a day or a night -one. But she needed no second prompting to hasten away; was too glad to -do it. - -Poor Nancy waited on. The steamer came very slowly up the port, or -she fancied so; one must be cautious in a fog; and it seemed to her a -long time swinging round and settling itself into its place. Then the -passengers came on shore one by one, Nancy standing close to look at -them. There were only about twenty in all, and Captain Fennel was not -one of them. With misty eyes and a rising in her throat and spiritless -footsteps, Nancy arrived at her home, the Petite Maison Rouge. Flore had -the fire burning in the salon; but Nancy was too thoroughly chilled for -any salon fire to warm her. - -The cold she caught that night stuck to her chest. For some days -afterwards she was very ill indeed. Monsieur Dupuis attended her, and -brought his son once or twice, Monsieur Henri. Nancy got up again, and -was, so to say, herself once more; but she did not get up her strength. - -She would lie on the sofa in the salon those August days, which were -very hot ones, too languid to get off it. Friends would call in to see -her; Major and Mrs. Smith, the Miss Bosanquets, the Lamberts, and so on. -Madame Carimon was often there. They would ask her why she did not "make -an effort" and sit up and occupy herself with a book or a bit of work, -or go out a little; and Nancy's answer was nearly always the same--she -would do all that when the weather was somewhat cooler. Charley Palliser -was quite a constant visitor. An English damsel, who was casting a -covetous eye to Charles, though she might have spared herself the pains, -took a fit of jealousy and said one might think sick Nancy Fennel was -his sweetheart, going there so often. Charley rarely went empty-handed -either. Now it would be half-a-dozen nectarines in their red-ripe -loveliness, now some choice peaches, then a bunch of hot-house grapes, -"purple and gushing," and again an amusing novel just out in England. - - * * * * * - -"Mary, she is surely dying!" - -The sad exclamation came from Stella Featherston. She and Madame -Carimon, going in to take tea at the Petite Maison Rouge, had been sent -by its mistress to her chamber above to take off their bonnets. The -words had broken from Stella the moment they were alone. - -"Sometimes I fear it myself," replied Madame Carimon. "She certainly -grows weaker instead of stronger." - -"Does any doctor attend her?" - -"Monsieur Dupuis; a man of long experience, kind and clever. I was -talking to him the other day, and he as good as said his skill and care -seemed to avail nothing: were wasted on her." - -"Is it consumption?" - -"I think not. She caught a dreadful cold about a month ago through being -out in a night fog, thinly clad; and there's no doubt it left mischief -behind; but it seems to me that she is wasting away with inward fever." - -"I should get George to run over to see her, if I were you, Mary," -remarked Stella. "French doctors are very clever, I believe, especially -as surgeons; but for an uncertain case like this they don't come up to -the English. And George knows her constitution." - -They went down to the salon, Mary Carimon laughing a little at the -remark. Stella Featherston had not been long enough in France to part -with her native prejudices. The family with whom she lived in Paris had -journeyed to Sainteville for a month for what they called "les eaux," -and Stella accompanied them. They were in lodgings on the port. - -Mrs. Fennel seemed more like her old self that evening than she had been -for some time past. The unexpected presence of her companion of early -days changed the tone of her mind and raised her spirits. Stella exerted -all her mirth, talked of their doings in the past, told of Buttermead's -doings in the present. Nancy was quite gay. - -"Do you ever sing now, Stella?" she suddenly asked. - -"Why, no," laughed Stella, "unless I am quite alone. Who would care to -hear old ditties sung without music?" - -"I should. Oh, Stella, sing me a few!" urged the invalid, her tone quite -imploring. "It would bring the dear old days back to me." - -Stella Featherston had a most melodious voice, but she did not play. -It was not unusual in those days for girls to sing without any -accompaniment, as Stella had for the most part done. - -"Have you forgotten your Scotch songs, Stella?" asked Mary Carimon. - -"Not I; I like them best of all," replied Miss Featherston. And without -more ado she broke into "Ye banks and braes." - -It was followed by "The Banks of Allan Water," and others. Flore stole -to the parlour-door, and thought she had never heard so sweet a singer. -Last of all, Stella began a quaint song that was more of a chant than -anything else, low and subdued: - - "Woe's me, for my heart is breakin', - I think on my brither sma', - And on my sister greetin', - When I cam' from home awa'. - And O, how my mither sobbit, - As she took from me her hand, - When I left the door of our old house - To come to this stranger land. - - "There's nae place like our ain home, - O, I would that I were there! - There's nae home like our ain home - To be met wi' onywhere. - And O, that I were back again - To our farm and fields sae green, - And heard the tongues of our ain folk, - And was what I hae been!" - -A feeling of despair ran through the whole words; and the tears were -running down Ann Fennel's hectic cheeks as the melody died away in a -plaintive silence. - -"It is what I shall never see again, Stella," she murmured--"the green -fields of _our_ home; or hear the tongues of all the dear ones there. -In my dreams, sometimes, I am at Selby Court, light-hearted and happy, -as I was before I left it for this 'stranger land.' Woe's _me_, also, -Stella!" - - * * * * * - -And now I come into the story--I, Johnny Ludlow. For what I have told of -it hitherto has not been from any personal knowledge of mine, but from -diaries, and from what Mary Carimon related to me, and from Featherston. -It may be regarded as singular that I should have been, so to say, -present at its ending, but that I _was_ there is as true as anything -I ever wrote. The story itself is true in all its chief facts; I have -already said that; and it is true that I saw the close of it. - - -XVIII. - -To say that George Featherston, Doctor-in-ordinary at Buttermead, felt -as if he were standing on his head instead of his heels, would not in -the least express his mental condition as he stood in his surgery that -September afternoon and read a letter, just delivered, from his sister, -Madame Carimon. - -"Wants me to go to Sainteville to see Ann Preen; thinks she will die -if I refuse, for the French doctors can do nothing for her!" commented -Featherston, staring at the letter in intense perplexity, and then -looking off it to stare at me. - -I wonder whether anything in this world happens by chance? In the days -and years that have gone by since, I sometimes ask myself whether -_that_ did: that I should be at that particular moment in Featherston's -surgery. Squire Todhetley was staying with Sir John Whitney -for partridge shooting. He had taken me with him, Tod being in -Gloucestershire; and on this Friday afternoon I had run in to say -"How-d'ye-do" to Featherston. - -"_Sainteville!_" repeated he, quite unable to collect his senses. "Why, -I must cross the water to get _there_!" - -I laughed. "Did you think Sainteville would cross to you, sir?" - -"Bless me! just listen to this," he went on, reading parts of the letter -aloud for my benefit. "'It is a dreadful story, George; I dare not enter -into details here. But I may tell you this much: that she is dying -of fright as much as of fever--or whatever it may be that ails her -physically. I am sure it is not consumption, though some of the people -here think it is. It is fright and superstition. She lives in the belief -that the house is haunted: that Lavinia's ghost walks in it.'" - -"Now what on earth can Mary mean by that?" demanded the doctor, looking -off to ask me. "Ann Preen's wits must have left her. And Mary's too, to -repeat so nonsensical a thing." - -Turning to the next page of the letter, Featherston read on. - -"'To see her dying by inches before my eyes, and not make any attempt -to, save her is what I cannot reconcile myself to, George. I should -have it on my conscience afterwards. I think there is this one chance -for her: that you, who have attended her before and must know her -constitution, would see her now. You might be able to suggest some -remedy or mode of treatment which would restore her. It might even be -that the sight of a home face, of her old home doctor, would do for her -what the strange doctors here cannot do. No one knows better than you -how marvellously in illness the mind influences the body.' - -"True enough," broke off Featherston. "But it seems to me there must be -something mysterious about the sickness." He read on again. - -"'Stella, who is here, was the first to suggest your seeing her, but -it was already exercising my thoughts. Do come, George! the sooner the -better. I and Jules will be delighted to have you with us.'" - -Featherston slowly folded up the letter. "What do you think of all this, -Johnny Ludlow? Curious, is it not?" - -"Very. Especially that hint about the house being haunted by the -dead-and-gone Miss Preen." - -"I have never heard clearly what it was Lavinia Preen died of," observed -Featherston, leaving, doctor-like, the supernatural for the practical. -"Except that she was seized with some sort of illness one day and died -the next." - -"But that's no reason why her ghost should walk. Is it?" - -"Nancy's imagination," spoke Featherston slightingly. "She was always -foolish and fanciful." - -"Shall you go to Sainteville, Mr. Featherston?" - -He gave his head a slow, dubious shake, but did not speak. - -"Don't I wish such a chance were offered to me!" - -Featherston sat down on a high stool, which stood before the physic -shelves, to revolve the momentous question. And by the time he took over -it, he seemed to find it a difficult task. - -"One hardly likes to refuse the request, put as Mary writes it," -remarked he presently. "Yet I don't see how I can go all the way over -there; or how I could leave my patients here. What a temper some of them -would be in!" - -"They wouldn't die of it. It would be a rare holiday for you. Set you up -in health for a year to come." - -"I've not had a holiday since that time at Pumpwater," he rejoined -dreamily; "when I went over for a day or two to see poor John Whitney. -You remember it, Johnny; you were there." - -"Ay, I remember it." - -"Not that this is a question of a holiday for me or no holiday, and I -wonder you should put it so, Johnny Ludlow; it turns upon Ann Preen. Ann -Fennel, that's to say. If I thought I _could_ do her any good, and those -French doctors can't, why, I suppose I ought to make an effort to go." - -"To be sure. Make one also to take me with you!" - -"I dare say!" laughed Featherston. "What would the Squire say to that?" - -"Bluster a bit, and then see it was the very thing for me, and ask what -the cost would be. Mr. Featherston, I shall be ready to start when you -are. Please let me go!" - -Of course I said this half in jest. But it turned out to be earnest. -Whether Featherston feared he might get lost if he crossed the sea -alone, I can't say; but he said I might put the question to the Squire -if I liked, and he would see him later and second it. - -Featherston did another thing. He carried Mary Carimon's letter that -evening to Selby Court. Colonel Selby was staying with his brother for -a week's shooting. Mr. Selby, a nervous valetudinarian, would not have -gone out with a gun if bribed to it, but he invited his friends to do -so. They had just finished dinner when Featherston arrived; the two -brothers, and a short, dark, younger man with a rather keen but -good-natured face and kindly dark eyes. He was introduced as Mr. David -Preen, and turned out to be a cousin, more or less removed, of all the -Preens and all the Selbys you have ever heard of, dead or living. - -Featherston imparted his news to them, and showed his sister's letter. -It was pronounced to be a very curious letter, and was read over more -than once. Colonel Selby next told them what he knew and what he -thought of Edwin Fennel: how he had persistently schemed to get the -quarterly money of the two ladies into his own covetous hands, and what -a shady sort of individual he was believed to be. Mr. Selby, nervous at -the best of times, let alone the worst, became painfully impressed: he -seemed to fear poor Nancy was altogether in a hornet's nest, and gave an -impulsive opinion that some one of the family ought to go over with -Featherston to look into things. - -"Lavinia can't have been murdered, can she?" cried he, his thoughts -altogether confused; "murdered by that man for her share of the money? -Why else should her ghost come back?" - -"Don't make us laugh, Paul," said the colonel to his brother. "Ghosts -are all moonshine. There are no such things." - -"I can tell you that there _are_, William," returned the elder. "Though -mercifully the power to see them is accorded to very few mortals on -earth. Can you go with Mr. Featherston to look into this strange -business, William?" - -"No," replied the colonel, "I could not possibly spare the time. Neither -should I care to do it. Any inquiry of that kind would be quite out of -my line." - -"I will go," quietly spoke David Preen. - -"Do so, David," said Mr. Selby eagerly. "It shall cost you nothing, you -know." By which little speech, Featherston gathered that Mr. David Preen -was not more overdone with riches than were many of the other Preens. - -"Look into it well, David. See the doctor who attended Lavinia; see all -and every one able to throw any light upon her death," urged Mr. Selby. -"As to Ann, she was lamentably, foolishly blamable to marry as she did, -but she must not be left at the villain's mercy now things have come to -this pass." - -To which Mr. David Preen nodded an emphatic assent. - -The Squire gave in at last. Not to my pleading--he accused me of having -lost my head only to think of it--but to Featherston. And when the -following week was wearing away, the exigencies of Featherston's -patients not releasing him sooner, we started for Sainteville; he, I, -and David Preen. Getting in at ten at night after a boisterous passage, -Featherston took up his quarters at Monsieur Carimon's, we ours at the -Hotel des Princes. - -She looked very ill. Ill and changed. I had seen Ann Preen at Buttermead -when she lived there, but the Ann Preen (or Fennel) I saw now was not -much like her. The once bright face was drawn and fallen in, and very -nearly as long and grey as Featherston's. Apart from that, a timid, -shrinking look sat upon it, as though she feared some terror lay very -near to her. - -The sick have to be studied, especially when suffering from whims -and fancies. So they invented a little fable to Mrs. Fennel--that -Featherston and David Preen were taking an excursion together for their -recreation, and the doctor had extended it as far as Sainteville to see -his sister Mary; never allowing her to think that it was to see _her_. I -was with them, but I went for nobody--and in truth that's all I was in -the matter. - -It was the forenoon of the day after we arrived. David Preen had gone -in first, her kinsman and distant cousin, to the Petite Maison Rouge, -paving the way, as it were, for Featherston. We went in presently. Mrs. -Fennel sat in a large armchair by the salon fire, wrapped in a grey -shawl; she was always cold now, she told us; David Preen sat on the sofa -opposite, talking pleasantly of home news. Featherston joined him on the -sofa, and I sat down near the table. - -Oh, she was glad to see us! Glad to see us all. Ours were home faces, -you see. She held my hands in hers, and the tears ran down her face, -betraying her state of weakness. - -"You have not been very well of late, Mary tells me," Featherston said -to her in a break of the conversation. "What has been the matter?" - -"I--it came on from a bad cold I caught," she answered with some -hesitation. "And there was all the trouble about Lavinia's death. I -could not get over the grief." - -"Well, I must say you don't look very robust," returned Featherston, in -a half-joking tone. "I think I had better take you in hand whilst I am -here, and set you up." - -"I do not think you can set me up; I do not suppose any one can," she -replied, shaking back her curls, which fell on each side of her face in -ringlets, as of old. - -Featherston smiled cheerily. "I'll try," said he. "Some of my patients -say the same when I am first called in to them; but they change their -tone after I have brought back their roses. So will you; never fear. -I'll come in this afternoon and have a professional chat with you." - -That settled, they went on with Buttermead again; David Preen giving -scraps and revelations of the Preen and Selby families; Featherston -telling choice items of the rural public in general. Mrs. Fennel's -spirits went up to animation. - -"Shall you be able to do anything for her, sir?" I asked the doctor as -we came away and went through the entry to the Place Ronde. - -"I cannot tell," he answered gravely. "She has a look on her face that -I do not like to see there." - -Betrayed into confidence, I suppose, by the presence of the old friend -of her girlhood, Ann Fennel related everything to Mr. Featherston that -afternoon, as they sat on the sofa side by side, her hand occasionally -held soothingly in his own. He assured her plainly that what she was -chiefly suffering from was a disorder of the nerves, and that she must -state to him explicitly the circumstances which brought it on before he -could decide how to treat her for it. - -Nancy obeyed him. She yearned to get well, though a latent impression -lay within her that she should not do so. She told him the particulars -of Lavinia's unexpected death just when on the point of leaving -Sainteville; and she went on to declare, glancing over her shoulders -with frightened eyes, that she (Lavinia) had several times since then -appeared in the house. - -"What did Lavinia die of?" inquired the doctor at this juncture. - -"We could not tell," answered Mrs. Fennel. "It puzzled us. At first -Monsieur Dupuis thought it must be inflammation brought on by a chill; -but Monsieur Podevin quite put that opinion aside, saying it was -nothing of the sort. He is a younger and more energetic practitioner -than Monsieur Dupuis." - -"Was it never suggested that she might, in one way or another, have -taken something which poisoned her?" - -"Why, yes, it was; I believe Monsieur Dupuis did think so--I am sure -Monsieur Podevin did. But it was impossible it could have been the case, -you see, because Lavinia touched nothing either of the days that we did -not also partake of." - -"There ought to have been an examination after death. You objected to -that, I fancy," continued Featherston, who had talked a little with -Madame Carimon. - -"True--I did; and I have been sorry for it since," sighed Ann Fennel. -"It was through what my husband said to me that I objected. Edwin -thought it would be distasteful to me. He did not like the idea of it -either. Being dead, he held that she should be left in reverence." - -Featherston coughed. She was evidently innocent as any lamb of suspicion -against _him_. - -"And now," went on Mr. Featherston, "just tell me what you mean by -saying you see your sister about the house." - -"We do see her," said Nancy. - -"Nonsense! You don't. It is all fancy. When the nerves are unstrung, as -yours are, they play us all sorts of tricks. Why, I knew a man once who -took up a notion that he walked upon his head, and he came to me to be -cured!" - -"But it is seeing Lavinia's apparition, and the constant fear of seeing -it which lies upon me, that has brought on this nervousness," pleaded -Nancy. "It is to my husband, when he is here, that she chiefly appears; -nothing but that is keeping him away. I have seen her only three or four -times." - -She spoke quietly and simply, evidently grounded in the belief. Mr. -Featherston wondered how he was to deal with this: and perhaps he was -not himself so much of a sceptic in the supernatural as he thought fit -to pretend. Nancy continued: - -"It was to my husband she appeared first. Exactly a week after her -death. No; a week after the evening she was first taken ill. He was -coming upstairs to bed--I had gone on--when he suddenly fancied that -some one was following him, though only he and I were in the house. -Turning quickly round, he saw Lavinia. That was the first time; and -I assure you I thought he would have died of it. Never before had I -witnessed such mortal terror in man." - -"Did he tell you he had seen her?" - -"No; never. I could not imagine what brought on these curious attacks of -fright, for he had others. He put it upon his health. It was only when -I saw Lavinia myself after he went to England that I knew. I knew then -what it must have been." - -Mr. Featherston was silent. - -"She always appears in the same dress," continued Nancy; "a silver-grey -silk that she wore at church that Sunday. It was the last gown she ever -put on: we took it off her when she was first seized with the pain. And -in her face there is always a sad, beseeching aspect, as if she wanted -something and were imploring us to get it for her. _Indeed_ we see her, -Mr. Featherston." - -"Ah, well," he said, perceiving it was not from this quarter that light -could be thrown on the suspicious darkness of the past, "let us talk of -yourself. You are to obey my orders in all respects, Mistress Nancy. We -will soon have you flourishing again." - -Brave words. Perhaps the doctor half believed in them himself. But he -and they received a check all too soon. - -That same evening, after David Preen had left--for he went in to spend -an hour at the little red house to gossip about the folks at home--Nancy -was taken with a fit of shivering. Flore hastily mixed her a glass -of hot wine-and-water, and then went upstairs to light a fire in the -bedroom, thinking her mistress would be the better for it. Nancy, who -could hear Flore moving about overhead, suddenly remembered something -that she wanted brought down. Rising from her chair, she went to the -door of the salon, intending to call out. A sort of side light, dim and -indistinct, fell upon her as she stood in the recess at the foot of the -stairs from the lamp in the salon and from the stove in the kitchen, for -both doors were open. - -"Flore," she was beginning, "will you bring down my----" - -And there Ann Fennel's words ended. With a wild cry, which reached the -ears of Flore and nearly startled her into fits, Mrs. Fennel collapsed. -The servant came dashing downstairs, expecting to hear that the ghost -had appeared again. - -It was not that. Her mistress was looking wild and puzzled; and when -she recovered herself sufficiently to speak, declared that she had been -startled by some animal. Either a cat or a rabbit, she could not tell -which, the glimpse she caught of it was so brief and slight; it had run -against her legs as she was calling out. - -Flore did not know what to make of this. She looked about, but neither -cat nor rabbit was to be seen; and she told her mistress it could have -been nothing but fancy. Mrs. Fennel thought she knew better. - -"Why, I felt it and saw it," she said. "It came right against me and ran -over my feet. It seemed to be making for the passage, as if it wanted to -get out by the front-door." - - * * * * * - -We were gathered together in the salon of the Petite Maison Rouge the -following morning, partly by accident. Ann Fennel, exceedingly weak and -nervous, lay in bed. Featherston and Monsieur Dupuis were both upstairs. -She put down her illness to the fright, which she talked of to them -freely. They did not assure her it was only "nerves"--to what purpose? I -waited in the salon with David Preen, and just as the doctors came down -Madame Carimon came in. - -David Preen seized upon the opportunity. Fearing that one so favourable -might not again occur, unless formally planned, he opened the ball. -Drawing his chair to the table, next to that of Madame Carimon, the -two doctors sitting opposite, David Preen avowed, with straightforward -candour, that he, with some other relatives, held a sort of doubt as to -whether it might not have been something Miss Lavinia Preen took which -caused her death; and he begged Monsieur Dupuis to say if any such doubt -had crossed his own mind at the time. - -The fair-faced little medecin shook his head at this appeal, as much -as to say he thought that the subject was a puzzling one. Naturally -the doubt had crossed him, and very strongly, he answered; but the -difficulty in assuming that view of the matter lay in her having -partaken solely of the food which the rest of the household had partaken -of; that and nothing else. His confrere, Monsieur Podevin, held a very -conclusive opinion--that she had died of poison. - -David Preen drew towards him a writing-case which lay on the table, -took a sheet of paper from it, and a pencil from his pocket. "Let us go -over the facts quietly," said he; "it may be we shall arrive at some -decision." - -So they went over the facts, the chief speakers being Madame Carimon -and Flore, who was called in. David Preen dotted down from time to -time something which I suppose particularly impressed him. - -Miss Preen was in perfectly good health up to that Sunday--the first -after Easter. On the following Tuesday she was about to quit Sainteville -for Boulogne, her home at the Petite Maison Rouge having become -intolerable to her through the residence in it of Captain Fennel. - -"Pardon me if I state here something which is not positively in the line -of facts; rather, perhaps, in that of imagination," said Madame Carimon, -looking up. "Lavinia had gradually acquired a most painful dread of -Captain Fennel. She had dreams which she could only believe came to warn -her against him, in which he appeared to be threatening her with some -evil that she could not escape from. Once or twice--and this I cannot -in any way account for--she saw him in the house when he was not in it, -not even at Sainteville----" - -"What! saw his apparition?" cried Featherston. "When the man was living! -Come, come, Mary, that is going too far!" - -"Quelle drole d'idee!" exclaimed the little doctor. - -"He appeared to her twice, she told me," continued Mary Carimon. "She -had been spending the evening out each time; had come into the house, -this house, closing the street-door behind her. When she lighted a -candle at the slab, she saw him standing just inside the door, gazing -at her with the same dreadful aspect that she saw afterwards in her -dreams. You may laugh, George; Monsieur Dupuis, I think you are already -laughing; but I fully believe that she saw what she said she did, and -dreamt what she did dream." - -"But it could not have been the man's apparition when he was not dead; -and it could not have been the man himself when he was not at -Sainteville," contended Featherston. - -"And I believe that it all meant one of those mysterious warnings which -are vouchsafed us from our spiritual guardians in the unseen world," -added Madame Carimon, independently pursuing her argument. "And that it -came to Lavinia to warn her to escape from this evil house." - -"And she did not do it," remarked David Preen. "She was not quick -enough. Well, let us go on." - -"As Lavinia came out of church, Charles Palliser ran after her to ask -her to go home to dine with him and his aunt," resumed Madame Carimon. -"If she had only accepted it! The dinner here was a very simple one, -and they all partook of it, including Flore----" - -"And it was Flore who cooked and served it?" interrupted David Preen, -looking at her. - -"Mais oui, monsieur. The tart excepted; that was frangipane, and did -come from the pastrycook," added Flore, plunging into English. "Then I -had my own dinner, and I had of every dish; and I drank of the wine. -Miss Lavinia would give me a glass of wine on the Sunday, and she poured -it out for me herself that day from the bottle of Bordeaux on their own -table. Nothing was the matter with any of all that. The one thing I did -not have of was the liqueur." - -"What liqueur was that?" - -"It was chartreuse, I believe," said Flore. "While I was busy removing -the dinner articles from the salon, monsieur was busy at his cupboard -outside there, where he kept his bottles. He came into the kitchen just -as I had sat down to eat, and asked me for three liqueur glasses, which -I gave to him on a plate. I heard him pour the liqueur into them, and he -carried them to the ladies." - -Mr. David Preen wrote something down here. - -"After that the captain went out to walk, saying he would see the -English boat enter; and when I had finished washing up I carried the -tea-tray to the salon-table and went home. Miss Lavinia was quite well -then; she sat in her belle robe of grey silk talking with her sister. -Then, when I was giving my boy Dion his collation, a tartine and a -cooked apple, I was fetched back here, and found the poor lady fighting -with pain for her life." - -"Did you wash those liqueur glasses?" asked Mr. Featherston. - -"But yes, sir. I had taken them away when I carried in the tea-things, -and washed them at once, and put them on the shelf in their places." - -"You see," observed Monsieur Dupuis, "the ill-fated lady appears to have -taken nothing that the others did not take also. I applied my remedies -when I was called to her, and the following day she had, as I believed, -recovered from the attack; nothing but the exhaustion left by the agony -was remaining. But that night she was again seized, and I was again -fetched to her. The attack was even more violent than the first one. I -made a request for another doctor, and Monsieur Podevin was brought. He -at once set aside my suggestion of inflammation from a chill, and said -it looked to him more like a case of poison." - -"She had had nothing but slops all day, messieurs, which I made and -carried to her," put in Flore; "and when I left, at night, she was, as -Monsieur le Medecin put it, 'all well to look at.'" - -"Flore did not make the arrowroot which she took later," said Mary -Carimon, taking up the narrative. "When Lavinia went up to bed, -towards nine o'clock, Mrs. Fennel made her a cup of arrowroot in the -kitchen----" - -"And a cup for herself at the same time, as I was informed, madame," -spoke the little doctor. - -"Oh yes, I know that, Monsieur Dupuis. Mrs. Fennel brought her sister's -arrowroot, when it was ready, into this room, asking her husband whether -she might venture to put a little brandy into it. He sent her to ask -the question of Lavinia, bidding her leave the arrowroot on the table -here. She came down for it, saying Lavinia declined the brandy, carried -it up to her and saw her take it. Mrs. Fennel wished her good-night and -came down for her own portion, which she had left in the kitchen. Before -eleven o'clock, when they were going to bed, cries were heard in -Lavinia's room; she was seized with the second attack, and--and died in -it." - -"This second attack was so violent, so unmanageable," said Monsieur -Dupuis, as Mary Carimon's voice faltered into silence, "that I feel -convinced I could not have saved her had I been present when it came on. -I hear that Captain Fennel says he rang several times at my door before -he could arouse me. Such was not the case. I am a very light sleeper, -waking, from habit, at the slightest sound. But in this case I had not -had time to fall asleep when I fancied I heard the bell sound very -faintly. I thought I must be mistaken, as the bell is a loud bell, and -rings easily; and people who ring me up at night generally ring pretty -sharply. I lay listening, and some time afterwards, not immediately, -it did ring. I opened my window, saw Captain Fennel outside, and was -dressed and with him in two minutes." - -"That sounds as if he did not want you to go to her too quickly, -monsieur," observed Mr. Featherston, which went, as the French have it, -without saying. "And I have heard of another suspicious fact: that he -put his wife up to stop the medical examination after death." - -"It amounts to this," spoke David Preen, "according to our judgment, if -anything wrong was administered to her, it was given in the glass of -liqueur on the Sunday afternoon, and in the cup of arrowroot on the -Monday evening. They were the only things affording an opportunity of -being tampered with; and in each case the pain came on about two hours -afterwards." - -Grave suspicion, as I am sure they all felt it to be. But not enough, as -Featherston remarked, to accuse a man of murder. There was no proof to -be brought forward, especially now that months had elapsed. - -"What became of the cup which had contained the arrowroot?" inquired -David Preen, looking at Flore. "Was it left in the bedroom?" - -"That cup, sir, I found in a bowl of water in the kitchen, and also the -other one which had been used. The two were together in the wooden bowl. -I supposed Madame Fennel had put them there; but she said she had not." - -"Ah!" exclaimed David Preen, drawing a deep breath. - -He had come over to look into this suspicious matter; but, as it seemed, -nothing could be done. To stir in it, and fail, would be worse than -letting it alone. - -"Look you," said David Preen, as he put up his note-book. "If it be true -that Lavinia cannot rest now she's dead, but shows herself here in the -house, I regard it as a pretty sure proof that she was sent out of the -world unjustly. But----" - -"Then you hold the belief that spirits revisit the earth, monsieur," -interrupted Monsieur Dupuis, "and that revenants are to be seen?" - -"I do, sir," replied David. "We Preens see them. But I cannot stir -in this matter, I was about to say, and the man must be left to his -conscience." - -And so the conference broke up. - -The thing which lay chiefly on hand now was to try to bring health back -to Ann Fennel. It was thought well to take her out of the house for a -short time, as she had such fancies about it; so Featherston gave up his -room at Madame Carimon's, and Ann was invited to move into it, whilst he -joined us at the hotel. I thought her very ill, as we all did. But after -her removal there, she recovered her spirits wonderfully, and went out -for short walks and laughed and chatted: and when Featherston and David -Preen took the boat back to return home, she went to the port to see -them steam off. - -"Will it be all right with her?" was the last question Mary Carimon -whispered to her brother. - -"I'm afraid _not_," he answered. "A little time will show one way or the -other. Depends somewhat, perhaps, upon how that husband of hers allows -things to go on. I have done what I can, Mary; I could not do more." - -Does the reader notice that I did not include myself in those who -steamed off? For I did not go. Good, genial little Jules Carimon, who -was pleased to say he had always liked me much at school, invited me -to make a stay at his house, if I did not mind putting up with a small -bedroom in the mansarde. I did not mind it at all; it was large enough -for me. Nancy was delighted. We had quite a gay time of it; and I made -the acquaintance of Major and Mrs. Smith, the Misses Bosanquet and -Charley Palliser, who was shortly to quit Sainteville. Charley's -impression of Mrs. Fennel was that she would quit it before he did, -but in a different manner. - -One fine afternoon, when we were coming off the pier, Nancy was walking -between me and Mary Carimon, for she needed the support of two arms if -she went far--yes, she was as weak as that--some one called out that the -London boat was coming in. Turning round, we saw her gliding smoothly up -the harbour. No one in these Anglo-French towns willingly misses _that_ -sight, and we drew up on the quay to watch the passengers land. There -were only eight or ten of them. - -Suddenly Nancy gave a great cry, which bore a sound both of fear and of -gladness--"Oh, there's Edwin!"--and the next moment began to shake her -pocket-handkerchief frantically. - -A thin, grey, weasel of a man, whose face I did not like, came stalking -up the ladder. Yes, it was the ex-captain, Edwin Fennel. - -"He has not come for her sake; he has come to grab the quarter's money," -spoke Mary, quite savagely, in my ear. No doubt. It would be due the end -of September, which was at hand. - -The captain was elaborately polite; quite effusive in his greeting to -us. Nancy left us and took his arm. At the turning where we had to -branch off to the Rue Pomme Cuite, she halted to say good-bye. - -"But you are coming back to us, are you not?" cried Madame Carimon to -her. - -"Oh, I could not let Edwin go home alone," said she. "Nobody's there but -Flore, you know." - -So she went back there and then to the Petite Maison Rouge, and never -came out of it again. I think he was kind to her, that man. He had -sometimes a scared look upon his face, and I guessed he had been seeing -sights. The man would have given his head to be off again; to remain in -that haunted house must have been to him a most intolerable penance; but -he had some regard (policy dictating it) for public opinion, and could -not well run away from his wife in her failing health. - -It was curious how quickly Nancy declined. From the very afternoon she -entered the house it seemed to begin. He had grabbed the money, as Mary -Carimon called it, and brought her nice and nourishing things; but -nothing availed. And a fine way he must have been in, to see that; for -with his wife's death the money would go away from him for evermore. - -Monsieur Dupuis, sometimes Monsieur Henry Dupuis, saw her daily; and -Captain Fennel hastily called in another doctor who had the reputation -of being the best in the town, next to Monsieur Podevin; one Monsieur -Lamirand. Mary Carimon spent half her time there; I went in most days. -It could not be said that she had any special complaint, but she was too -weak to live. - -In less than three weeks it was all over. The end, when it came, was -quite sudden. For a day or two she had seemed so much better that we -told her she had taken a turn at last. On the Thursday evening, quite -late--it was between eight and nine o'clock--Madame Carimon asked me to -run there with some jelly which she had made, and which was only then -ready. When I arrived, Flore said she was sure her mistress would like -me to go up to her room; she was alone, monsieur having stepped out. - -Nancy, wrapped in a warm dressing-gown, sat by the fire in an easy-chair -and a great shawl. Her fair curls were all put back under a small lace -cap, which was tied at the chin with grey ribbon; her pretty blue eyes -were bright. I told her what I had come for, and took the chair in front -of her. - -"You look so well this evening, Nancy," I said heartily--for I had -learnt to call her so at Madame Carimon's, as they did. "We shall have -you getting well now all one way." - -"It is the spurt of the candle before going out," she quietly answered. -"I have not the least pain left anywhere--but it is only that." - -"You should not say or think so." - -"But I know it; I cannot mistake my own feelings. Fancy any one, reduced -as I am, getting well again!" - -I am a bad one to keep up "make-believes." Truth to say, I felt as sure -of it as she did. - -"And it will not be very long first. Johnny," she went on, in a -half-whisper, "I saw Lavinia to-day." - -I looked at her, but made no reply. - -"I have never seen her since I came back here. Edwin has, though; I am -sure of it. This afternoon at dusk I woke up out of a doze, for getting -up to sit here quite exhausts me, and I was moving forward to touch the -hand-bell on the table there, to let Flore know I was ready for my tea, -when I saw Lavinia. She was standing over there, just in the firelight. -I thought she seemed to be holding out her hand to me, as if inviting me -to go to her, and on her face there was the sweetest smile of welcome; -sweeter than could be seen on any face in life. All the sad, mournful, -beseeching look had left it. She stood there for about a minute, and -then vanished." - -"Were you very much frightened?" - -"I had not a thought of fear, Johnny. It was the contrary. She looked -radiantly happy; and it somehow imparted happiness to me. I think--I -think," added Nancy impressively, though with some hesitation, "that she -came to let me know I am going to her. I believe I have seen her for the -last time. The house has, also, I fancy; she and I will shortly go out -of it together." - -What could I answer to that? - -"And so it is over at last," she murmured, more to herself than to me. -"Very nearly over. The distress and the doubt, the terror and the pain. -_I_ brought it all on; you know that, Johnny Ludlow. I feel sure now -that she has pardoned me. I humbly hope that God has." - -She caught up her breath with a long-drawn sigh. - -"And you will give my dear love to all the old friends in England, -Johnny, beginning with Mr. Featherston; he has been very kind to me; you -will see them again, but I shall not. Not in this life. But we shall be -together in the Life which has no ending." - - * * * * * - -At twelve o'clock that night Nancy Fennel died. At least, it was as near -twelve as could be told. Just after that hour Flore went into the room, -preparatory to sitting up with her, and found her dead--just expired, -apparently--with a sweet smile on her face, and one hand stretched out -as if in greeting. Perhaps Lavinia had come to greet her. - -We followed her to the grave on Saturday. Captain Fennel walked next -the coffin--and I wondered how he liked it. I was close behind him with -Monsieur Carimon. Charley Palliser came next with little Monsieur le -Docteur Dupuis and Monsieur Gustave Sauvage. And we left Nancy in the -cemetery, side by side with her sister. - -Captain Edwin Fennel disappeared. On the Sunday, when we English were -looking for him in church, he did not come--his grief not allowing him, -said some of the ladies. But an English clerk in the broker's office, -hearing this, told another tale. Fennel had gone off by the boat which -left the port for London the previous night at midnight. - -And he did not come back again. He had left sundry debts behind him, -including that owing to Madame Veuve Sauvage. Monsieur Carimon, later, -undertook the payment of these at the request of Colonel Selby. It was -understood that Captain Edwin Fennel had emigrated to South America. If -he had any conscience at all, it was to be hoped he carried it with him. -He did not carry the money. The poor little income which he had schemed -for, and perhaps worse, went back to the Selbys. - -And that is the story. It is a curious history, and painful in more ways -than one. But I repeat that it is true. - - - - -WATCHING ON ST. MARK'S EVE. - - -Easter-Day that year was nearly as late as it could be--the twenty-third -of April. That brought St. Mark's Day (the twenty-fifth) on the Tuesday; -and Easter Monday was St. Mark's Eve. - -There is a superstitious belief in our county, and in some others--more -thought of in our old grannies' days than in these--that if you go to -the churchyard on St. Mark's Eve and watch the gate, the shadows, or -phantoms, of those fated to die that year, and destined there to be -buried, will be seen to enter it. - -Easter Monday is a great holiday with us; the greatest in all the year. -Christmas-Day and Good Friday are looked upon more in a religious light; -but on Easter Monday servants and labourers think themselves at liberty -to take their swing. The first day of the wake is nothing to it. - -Now Squire Todhetley gave in to these holidays: they did not come often, -he said. Our servants in the country are not a bit like yours in town; -yours want a day's holiday once a month, oftener sometimes, and strike -if they don't get it; ours have one or two in a year. On Easter Monday -the work was got over by mid-day; there was no cooking, and the -household could roam abroad at will. No ill had ever come of it; none -would have come of it this time, but for St. Mark's Eve falling on the -day. - -Tod and I got home from school on the Thursday. It was a despicable old -school, taking no heed of Passion Week. Other fellows from other schools -could have a fortnight at Easter; we but a week. Tod entered on a -remonstrance with the pater this time; he had been planning it as we -drove home, and thought he'd put it in a strongish point of view. - -"It is sinful, you know, sir; awfully so. Passion Week _is_ Passion -Week. We have no right to pass it at school at our desks." - -"Well, Joe, I don't quite see that," returned the pater, twisting his -lip. "Discipline and lessons are more in accordance with the season -of Passion Week than kicking up your heels at large in all sorts of -mischief; and that's what you'd be at, you know, if you were at home. -What's the matter with Johnny." - -"He has been ill for three days, with a cold or something," said Tod. -"Tell it for yourself, Johnny." - -I had no more to tell than that. For three or four days I had felt ill, -feverish; yesterday (Wednesday) had done no lessons. Mrs. Todhetley -thought it was an attack of influenza. She sent me to bed, and called in -the doctor, Mr. Duffham. - -I was better the next day--Good Friday. Old Duff--as Tod and I called -him for short--came in while they were at church, and said I might get -up. It was slow work, I told him, lying in bed for one's holidays. He -was a wiry little man, with black hair; good in the main, but pompous, -and always carried a gold-headed cane. - -"Not to go out, you know," he said. "You must promise that, Johnny." - -I promised readily. I only wanted to be downstairs with the rest. They -returned home from church, saying they had promised to go over and take -tea with the Sterlings; Mrs. Todhetley looked grave at seeing me, and -thought the doctor was wrong. At which I put on a gay air, like a fellow -suddenly cured. - -But I could not eat any dinner. They had salt fish and cold boiled beef -at two o'clock--our usual way of fasting on Good Friday. Not a morsel -could I swallow, and Hannah brought me some mutton-broth. - -"Do you mind our leaving you, Johnny?" Mrs. Todhetley said to me in her -kind way--which Tod never believed in. "If you do--if you think you -shall feel lonely, I'll stay at home." - -I answered that I should feel very jolly, not lonely at all; and so they -started, going over in the large carriage, drawn by Bob and Blister. Mr. -and Mrs. Todhetley, with Lena, in front, Tod and Hugh behind. Standing -at the window to watch the start, I saw Roger Monk looking on from the -side of the house. - -He was a small, white-faced chap of twenty or so, with a queer look in -his eyes, and black sprouting whiskers. Looking full at the eyes, when -you could get the chance, which was not very often, for they rarely -looked at you, there was nothing wrong to be seen with them, and yet -they gave a sinister cast to the face. Perhaps it was that they were too -near together. Roger Monk was not one of our regular men; for the matter -of that, he was above the condition; but was temporarily filling the -head-gardener's place, who was ill with rheumatism. Seeing me, he walked -up to the window, and I opened it to speak to him. "Are you here still, -Monk?" - -"And likely to be, Mr. Ludlow, if it depends upon Jenkins's coming on -again," was the answer. "Fine cattle, those that the governor has just -driven off." - -He meant Bob and Blister, and they were fine; but I did not like the -tone, or the word "governor," as applied to Mr. Todhetley. "I can't keep -the window up," I said; "I'm not well." - -"All right, sir; shut it. As for me, I must be about my work. -There's enough to do with the gardens, one way or another; and the -responsibility lies on my shoulders." - -"You must not work to-day, Monk. Squire Todhetley never allows it on -Good Friday." - -He laughed pleasantly; as much as to say, what Squire Todhetley allowed, -or did not allow, was no concern of his; and went briskly away across -the lawn. And not once, during the short interview, had his eyes met -mine. - -Wasn't it dull that afternoon! I took old Duffham's physic, and drank -the tea Hannah brought me, and was hot, and restless, and sick. Never a -soul to talk to; never a book to read--my eyes and head ached too much -for that; never a voice to be heard. Most of the servants were out; -all of them, for what I knew, except Hannah; and I was fit to die of -weariness. At dusk I went up to the nursery. Hannah was not there. -The fire was raked--if you understand what that means, though it is -generally applied only to kitchen fires in our county--which proved -that she was off somewhere on a prolonged expedition. Even old Hannah's -absence was a disappointment. I threw myself down on the faded sofa at -the far end of the room, and, I suppose, went to sleep. - -For when I became alive again to outward things, Hannah was seated in -one chair at the fire, cracking up the coal; Molly, the cook with the -sharp tongue and red-brown eyes, in another. It was dark and late; my -head ached awfully, and I wished them and their clatter somewhere. They -were talking of St. Mark's Eve, and its popular superstition. Molly was -telling a tale of the past, the beginning of which I had not heard. - -"I can't believe it," exclaimed Hannah; "I can't believe that the -shadows come." - -"Did ye ever watch for 'em, woman?" asked Molly, who had been born in -the North. - -"No," acknowledged Hannah. - -"Then how can ye speak of what ye don't know? It is as true as that you -and me be a-sitting here. Two foolish, sickly girls they was, both of -'em sweet upon the same young man. Leastways, he was sweet upon both of -them, the deceiver, which comes to the same thing. My sister Becky was -five-and-twenty that same year; she had a constant pain and a cough, -which some said was windpipe and some said was liver. The other was -Mary Clarkson, who was subject to swimmings in the head and frightful -dartings. Any way, they'd got no health to brag on, either of 'em, and -they were just eat up with jealousy, the one of the other. Tom Town, -he knew this; and he played 'em off again' each other nicely, little -thinking what his own punishment was to be." - -Hannah gently put the poker inside the bars to raise the coal, and some -more light came out. Molly went on. - -"Now, Hannah, you mustn't think bad of them two young women. They did -not wish one another dead--far from it; but each thought the other -couldn't live. In natural course, if the one went off, poor thing, Tom -Town, he would be left undivided for the other." - -"Was Tom Town handsome?" interrupted Hannah. - -"Well, middling for that. He was under-sized, not up to their shoulders, -with big bushy red whiskers; but he had a taking way with him. He was in -a shop for himself, and doing well, so that more young women nor the two -I am telling of would have said Yes to his asking. Becky, she thought -Mary Clarkson couldn't live the year out; Mary, she told a friend that -she was sure Becky wouldn't. And what should they do but go to watch the -graveyard on St. Mark's Eve, to see the other's shadow pass!" - -"Together?" - -"No; but they met there. Awk'ard, wasn't it? Calling up their wits, each -of 'em, they pretended to have come out promiskous, just on the spree, -not expecting to see nobody's shadow in particular. As they _had_ come, -they stopped; standing back again' the hedge near the graveyard, holding -on to each other's arms for company, and making belief not to be scared. -Hannah, woman, I don't care to tell this. I've never told it many -times." - -Molly's face had a hard, solemn look, in the fire's blaze, and Hannah -suddenly drew her chair close to her. I could have laughed out loud. - -"Just as the clock struck--ten, I think it was," went on Molly, in a -half-whisper, "there was a faint rustle heard, like a flutter in the -air, and somebody came along the road. At first the women's eyes were -dazed, and they didn't see distinct, but as the gate opened to let him -in, he turned his face, and they saw it was Tom Town. Both the girls -thought it was _himself_, Hannah; and they held their breath and kept -quite still, hoping he'd not notice them, for they'd have felt ashamed -to be caught watching there." - -"And it was not himself?" asked Hannah, catching up her breath. - -Molly gave her head a shake. "No more than it was you or me: it was his -shadow. He walked on up the path, looking neither to the right nor left, -and they lost sight of him. I was with mother when they came home. Mary -Clarkson, she came in with Beck, and they said they had seen Tom Town, -and supposed he had gone out watching, too. Mother advised them to hold -their tongues: it didn't look well, she said, for them two, only sickly -young girls, to have run out to the graveyard alone. A short while -after, Tom Town, in talking of that night, mother having artfully led to -it, said he had gone up to bed at nine with a splitting headache, and -forgot all about its being St. Mark's Eve. When mother heard that, she -turned the colour o' chalk, and looked round at me." - -"And Tom Town died?" - -"He died that blessed year; the very day that folks was eating their -Michaelmas gooses. A rapid decline took him off." - -"It's very strange," said Hannah, musingly. "People believe here that -the shadows appear, and folks used to go watching, as it's said. I don't -think many go now. Did the two young women die?" - -"Not they. Becky's married, and got half-a-dozen children; and Mary -Clarkson, she went off to America. Shouldn't you like to watch?" - -"Well, I should," acknowledged Hannah; "I would, too, if I thought I -should see anything. I've said more than once in my life that I should -just like to go out on St. Mark's Eve, and see whether there is anything -in it or not. My mother went, I know." - -"If you'll go, I'll go." - -Hannah made no answer to this at first. She sat looking at the fire with -a cross face. It had always a cross look when she was deep in thought. -"The mistress would think me such a fool, Molly, if she came to know of -it." - -"If! How could she come to know of it? Next Monday will be the Easter -holidays, and we mayn't never have the opportunity again. I shouldn't -wonder but the lane's full o' watchers. St. Mark's Eve don't often come -on a Easter Monday." - -There's no time to go on with what they said. A good half-hour the two -sat there, laying their plans: when once Hannah had decided to go in -for the expedition, she made no more bones over it. The nursery-windows -faced the front, and when the carriage was heard driving in, they both -decamped downstairs--Hannah to the children, Molly to her kitchen. I -found Tod, and told him the news: Hannah and Molly were going to watch -in the churchyard for the shadows on St. Mark's Eve. - -"We'll have some fun over this, Johnny," said he, when he had done -laughing. "You and I will be on to them." - -Monday came; and, upon my word, it seemed as if things turned out on -purpose. Mr. Todhetley went off to Worcester with Dwarf Giles, on some -business connected with the Quarter Sessions, and was not expected -home until midnight, as he stayed to dine at Worcester. Mrs. Todhetley -had one of her excruciating face-aches, and she went to bed when the -children did--seven o'clock. Hannah had said in the morning that she and -Molly were going to spend an hour or two with Goody Picker after the -children were in bed; upon which Mrs. Todhetley told her to get them to -bed early. It was something rare for Hannah to take any holiday; she -generally said she did not want it. Goody Picker's husband used to be a -gamekeeper--not ours. Since his death she lived how she could, on her -vegetables, or by letting her odd room; Roger Monk had it now. Sometimes -she had her grandchild with her; and the parents, well-to-do shopkeepers -at Alcester, paid her well. Goody Picker was thought well of at our -house, and came up occasionally to have tea in the nursery with Hannah. - -I was well by Monday; nothing but a bit of a cough left; and Tod and I -looked forward to the night's fun. Not a word had we heard since; but we -had seen the two women-servants whispering together whenever they got -the chance; and so we knew they were going. What Tod meant to do, he -wouldn't tell me; I think he hardly knew himself. The big turnips were -all gone, or he might have scooped one out for a death's head, and stuck -it on the gate-post, with a candle in it. - -The night came. A clear night, with a miserable moon. Miserable for our -sport, because it was so bright. - -"A pitch-dark night would have had some sense in it, you know, Johnny," -Tod remarked to me, as we stood at the door, looking out. "The moon -should hide her face on St. Mark's Eve." - -Just as he spoke, the clock struck nine. Time to be going. There was -nobody to let or hinder us. Mrs. Todhetley was in bed groaning with -toothache; old Thomas and Phoebe, neither of whom had cared to take -holiday, were at supper in the kitchen. She was a young girl lately had -in to help the housemaid. - -"You go on, Johnny; I'll follow presently. Take your time; they won't go -on the watch for this half-hour yet." - -"But, Tod, what is it that you are going to do?" - -"Never you mind. If you hear a great noise, and see a light blaze up, -don't you be scared." - -"I scared, Tod! That's good." - -"All right, Johnny. Take care not to be seen. It might spoil sport." - -The church was about half-a-mile from our house, whether you crossed the -fields to it or took the highway. It stood back from the road, in its -big churchyard. A narrow lane, between two dwarf hedges, led up from the -road to the gate; it was hardly wide enough for carriages; they wound -round the open road further on. A cross-path, shut in by two stiles, led -right across the lane near to the churchyard gate. Stories went that a -poor fellow who had hung himself about twenty years ago was buried by -torchlight under that very crossing, with never a parson to say a prayer -over him. - -We guessed where the women would stand--at one of these crossing stiles, -with the gate and the churchyard in full view. As Tod said, it stood -to reason that shadows and the watchers for them would not choose the -broader road, where all was open, and not so much as a tree grew for -shelter. - -I stole along cautiously, taking the roadway and keeping under shade of -the hedge, and got there all right. Not a creature was about. The old -grey church, built of stone, the many-shaped graves in the churchyard, -stood white and cold in the moonlight. I went behind the cross-stile at -the side furthest from our house, and leaned over it, looking up and -down the lane. That the women would be on the opposite side was certain, -because the churchyard gate could not be seen so well from this. - -The old clock did not tell the quarters, only struck the hour; time went -on, and I began to wonder how long I was to wait. It must be turned -half-past nine; getting nearer to a quarter to ten; and still nobody -came. Where were the watchers? And where was Tod? The shadows of the -trees, of the hedges, of the graves, fell in distinct lines on the -grass; and I don't mind confessing that it felt uncommonly lonely. - -"Hou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou-ou!" burst forth over my head with a sudden and -unearthly sound. I started back in a fright for one moment, and called -myself an idiot the next, for it was only an owl. It had come flying -forth from the old belfry, and went rushing on with its great wings, -crying still, but changing its note. "Tu-whit; tu-whoo." - -And while I watched the owl, other sounds, as of whispering, made -themselves manifest, heralding the approach of the women from the -opposite field, making for the stile in front of me, through the little -copse. Drawing behind the low hedge, to sit down on the stump of a tree, -I pushed my head forward, and took a look at them through the lower bars -of the stile. They were standing at the other, in their light shawls -and new Easter straw-bonnets; Molly's trimmed with green, Hannah's with -primrose. The moonlight fell full on their faces--mine was in the shade. -But they might see me, and I drew back again. - -Presently they began to gabble; in low tones at first, which increased, -perhaps unconsciously to themselves, to higher ones. They said how -lonely it was, especially with "them grave-marks" in view close by; and -they speculated upon whether any shadows would appear to them. My sense -of loneliness had vanished. To have two practical women, each of them a -good five-and-thirty, for neighbours, took it off. But I wondered what -had become of Tod. - -Another owl! or perhaps the last one coming back again. It was not so -startling a noise as before, and created no alarm. I thought it a good -opportunity to steal another look, and propelled my head forward an -inch at a time. Their two faces were turned upwards, watching the owl's -flight towards the belfry. - -But to my intense astonishment there was a _third_ face. A face behind -them peeping out from the close folds of a mantle, and almost resting -on their shoulders. At the first moment I thought of Tod; but soon the -features became familiar to me in the bright light, and I knew them for -Phoebe's. Phoebe, whom I had left in the kitchen, supping quietly! -That she had stolen up unseen and unheard while they talked, was -apparent. - -A wild screech! Two wild screeches. Phoebe had put her hands on the -startled women, and given vent to a dismal groan. _She_ laughed: but the -others went into a desperate passion. First at having been frightened, -next at having been followed. When matters came to be investigated -later, it turned out that Phoebe had overheard a conversation between -Molly and Hannah, which betrayed what they were about to do, and had -come on purpose to startle them. - -A row ensued. Bitter words on both sides; mutual abusings. The elder -servants ordered Phoebe home; she refused to go, and gave them some -sauce. She intended to stay and see what there was to be seen, she said; -for all she could tell, _their_ shadows might pass, and a good thing if -they did; let alone that she'd not dare to go back by herself at that -hour and meet the ghosts. Hannah and Molly cut the matter short by -leaving the stile to her; they went round, and took up their places by -the churchyard gate. - -It seems very stupid to be writing of this, I dare say; it must read -like an old ghost-story out of a fable-book; but every word is true, as -the people that lived round us then could tell you. - -There we waited; Hannah and Molly gathered close against the hedge by -the churchyard gate; Phoebe, wrapped in her shawl, leaning on the top -of the stile; I on the old tree stump, feeling inclined to go to sleep. -It seemed a long time, and the night grew cold. Evidently there were no -watchers for St. Mark's shadows abroad that night, except ourselves. -Without warning, the old clock boomed out the strokes of the hour. Ten. - -Did you ever have the opportunity of noticing how long it takes for a -sound like this to die quite away on the calm night-air? I seemed to -hear it still, floating off in the distance, when I became aware that -some figure was advancing up the lane towards us with a rather swift -step. It's Tod this time, I thought, and naturally looked out; and I -don't mind telling that I caught hold of the bars of the stile for -companionship, in my shock of terror. - -I had never seen the dead walking; but I do believe I thought I saw -it then. It looked like a corpse in its winding-sheet; whether man or -woman, none could tell. An ashey-white, still, ghastly face, enveloped -around with bands of white linen, was turned full to the moonlight, that -played upon the rigid features. The whole person, from the crown of the -head to the soles of the feet, was enshrouded in a white garment. All -thoughts of Tod went out of me; and I'm not sure but my hair rose up on -end as the thing came on. You may laugh at me, all of you, but just you -go and try it. - -My fear went for nothing, however; it didn't damage me. Of all the -awful cries ever heard, shrill at first, changing to something like the -barking of a dog afterwards, those were the worst that arose opposite. -They came from Phoebe. The girl had stood petrified, with straining -eyes and laboured breath, like one who has not the power to fly, while -the thing advanced. Only when it stopped close and looked at her did the -pent-up cries come forth. Then she turned to fly, and the white figure -leaped the stile, and went after her into the copse. What immediately -followed I cannot remember--never could remember it; but it seemed -that not more than a minute had elapsed when I and Molly and Hannah -were standing over Phoebe, lying in convulsions on the ground, and the -creature nowhere to be seen. The cries had been heard in the road, and -some people passing came running up. They lifted the girl in their arms, -and bore her homewards. - -My senses were coming to me, showing plainly enough that it was no -"shadow," but some ill-starred individual dressed up to personate one. -Poor Phoebe! I could hear her cries still, though the group was -already out of the copse and crossing the open field beyond. Somebody -touched me on the shoulder. - -"Tod! Did you do it?" - -"Do what?" asked Tod, who was out of breath with running. "What was all -that row?" - -I told him. Somebody had made himself into a ghost, with a tied-up -whitened face, just as the dead have, and came up the Green Lane in a -sheet; and Phoebe was being carried home in convulsions. - -"You are a fool, Johnny," was his wrathful answer. "I am not one to risk -a thing of that sort, not even for those two old women we came out to -frighten. Look here." - -He went to the edge of the copse near the road, and showed me some -things--the old pistol from the stable, and gunpowder lights that went -off with a crash yards high. It's not of much use going into it now. Tod -had meant, standing at a safe distance, to set a light to the explosive -articles, and fire off his pistol at the same time. - -"It would have been so good to see the women scutter off in their -fright, Johnny; and it couldn't have hurt them. They might have looked -upon it as the blue-light from below." - -"What made you so late?" - -"Late!" returned Tod, savagely; "I am late, and the fun's spoilt. That -confounded old Duff and his cane came in to see you, Johnny, just as I -was starting; there was nobody else, and I couldn't leave him. I said -you were in bed and asleep, but it didn't send him away. Down he sat, -telling a tale of how hard-worked he'd been all day, and asking for -brandy-and-water. The dickens take him!" - -"And, Tod, it was really not you?" - -"If you repeat that again, Johnny, I'll strike you. I swear it was not -me. There! I never told you a lie yet." - -He never had; and from that moment of strong denial I know that Tod had -no more to do with the matter than I had. - -"I wonder who it could have been?" - -"I'll find that out, as sure as my name's Todhetley," he said, catching -up his pistols and lights. - -We ran all the way home, looking out in vain for the ghost on our way, -and got in almost as soon as the rest. What a hullabaloo it was! They -put a mattress on the kitchen floor, and laid Phoebe on it. Mr. -Duffham was upon the scene in no time; the Squire had returned earlier -than was thought for, and Mrs. Todhetley came down with her face -smothered in a woollen handkerchief. - -As to any concealment now, it was useless to think of it. None was -attempted, and Molly and Hannah had to confess that they went out to -watch for the shadows. The Squire blustered at them a little, but Mrs. -Todhetley said the keenest thing, in her mild way: - -"At your age, Hannah!" - -"I have known a person rendered an idiot for life with a less fright -than this," said old Duff, turning round to speak. "It was the following -her that did the mischief." - -Nothing could be done that night as to investigation; but with the -morning the Squire entered upon it in hot anger. "Couldn't the fool have -been contented with what he'd already done, without going over the stile -after her? If I spend a fifty-pound note, I'll unearth him. It looks to -me uncommonly like a trick you two boys would play," he added, turning -sharply upon me and Tod. - -And the suspicion made us all the more eager to find out the real fox. -But not a clue could we discover. Nobody had known of the proposed -expedition except Goody Picker; and she, as everybody testified, was -true to the backbone. As the day went on, and nothing came of it, Tod -had one of his stamping fits. - -"If one could find out whether it was man or woman! If one could divine -how they got at the knowledge!" stamped Tod. "The pater does not look -sure about us yet." - -"I wonder if it could have been Roger Monk?" I said, speaking out a -thought that had been dimly creeping up in my mind by starts all day. - -"Roger Monk!" repeated Tod, "why pitch upon him?" - -"Only that it's just possible he might have got it out of Goody Picker." - -Away went Tod, in his straightforward fashion, to look for Roger Monk. -He was in the hot-house, doing something to his plants. - -"Monk, did you play that trick last night?" - -"What trick, sir?" asked Monk, twitching a good-for-nothing leaf off a -budding geranium. - -"What trick! As if there were more tricks than one played! I mean -dressing yourself up like a dead man, and frightening Phoebe." - -"I have too much to do with my work, Mr. Todhetley, to find time to play -tricks. I took no holiday at all yesterday, day or night, but was about -my business till I went to bed. They were saying out here this morning -that the Squire thought _you_ had done it." - -"Don't you be insolent, Monk. That won't answer with me." - -"Well, sir, it is not pleasant to be accused point-blank of a crime, as -you've just accused me. I know nothing at all about the matter. 'Twasn't -me. I had no grudge against Phoebe, that I should harm her." - -Tod was satisfied; I was not. He never once looked in either of our -faces as he was speaking. We leaped the wire-fence and went across to -Goody Picker's, bursting into her kitchen without ceremony. - -"I say, Mrs. Picker, we can't find out anything about that business last -night," began Tod. - -"And you never will, gentlemen, as is my opinion," returned Mrs. Picker, -getting up in a bustle and dusting two wooden chairs. "Whoever did that, -have took himself off for a bit; never doubt it. 'Twas some one o' them -village lads." - -"We have been wondering whether it was Roger Monk." - -"Lawk-a-mercy!" cried she, dropping a basin on the brick floor. And if -ever I saw a woman change colour, she did. - -"What's the matter now?" - -"Why, you sent me into a tremble, gentlemen, saying that," she answered, -stooping to pick up the broken crockery. "A young man lodging in my -place, do such a villain's trick! I'd not like to think it; I shouldn't -rest in my bed. The two servants having started right out from here for -the churchyard have cowed-down my heart bad enough, without more ill -news." - -"What time did Monk come in last night?" questioned Tod. "Do you -remember?" - -"He come in after Mrs. Hannah and the other had gone," she replied, -taking a moment's pause. "Close upon it; I'd hardly shut my door on them -when I had to open it to him." - -"Did he go out again?" - -"Not he, sir. He eat his supper, telling me in a grumbling tone about -the extra work he'd had to do in the greenhouses and places, because the -other man had took holiday best part o' the day. And then he went up to -bed. Right tired he seemed." - -We left her fitting the pieces of the basin together, and went home. "It -wasn't Monk," said Tod. "But now--where to look for the right man, -Johnny?" - -Look as we might, we did not find him. Phoebe was better in a day or -two, but the convulsive fits stuck to her, coming on at all sorts of -unexpected times. Old Duff thought it might end in insanity. - -And that's what came of Watching for the Shadows on St. Mark's Eve! - - - - -SANKER'S VISIT. - - -His name was Sanker, and he was related to Mrs. Todhetley. Not expecting -to go home for the holidays--for his people lived in some far-off -district of Wales, and did not afford him the journey--Tod invited him -to spend them with us at Dyke Manor: which was uncommonly generous, for -he disliked Sanker beyond everything. Having plenty of money himself, -Tod could not bear that a connection of his should be known as nearly -the poorest and meanest in the school, and resented it awfully. But he -could not be ill-natured, for all his prejudices, and he asked Sanker to -go home with us. - -"It's slow there," he said; "not much going on in summer besides -haymaking; but it may be an improvement on this. So, if you'd like to -come, I'll write and tell them." - -"Thank you," said Sanker; "I should like it very much." - -Things had been queer at school as the term drew to its close. Petty -pilferings were taking place; articles and money alike disappeared. Tod -lost half-a-sovereign; one of the masters some silver; Bill Whitney put -sevenpence halfpenny and a set of enamelled studs into his desk one day, -never to see either again; and Snepp, who had been home to his sister's -marriage, lost a piece of wedding-cake out of his box the night he came -back. There was a thief in the school, and no clue to him. One might -mentally accuse this fellow, another that; but not a shadow of proof was -there against any. Altogether we were not sorry to get away. - -But the curious thing was, that soon after we got home pilferings began -there. Ned Banker was well received; and Tod, regarding himself in the -capacity of host, grew more cordial with him than he had been at school. -It was a sort of noblesse oblige feeling. Sanker was sixteen; stout -and round; not tall; with pale eyes and a dull face. He was to be a -clergyman; funds at his home permitting. His father lived at some mines -in Wales. Tod wondered in what capacity. - -"Mr. Sanker was a gentleman born and bred," explained Mrs. Todhetley. -"He never had much money; but what little it was he lost, speculating -in this very mine. After that, when he had nothing in the world left -to live upon, and a wife and several young children to keep, he was -thankful to take a situation as over-looker at a small yearly salary." - -We had been home about a week when the first thing was missed. At one -side of the house, in a sort of nook, was a square room, its glass-doors -opening on the gravel-path that skirted the hedge of the vegetable -garden. Squire Todhetley kept his farming accounts there and wrote -his letters. A barometer and two county maps, Worcestershire and -Warwickshire, on its walls, a square of matting on its floor, an upright -bureau, a table, some chairs; and there you have the picture of the -room. - -One afternoon--mind! we did not know this for a week after, but it is -as well to tell of it as it occurred--he was sitting at the table in -this room, his account-books, kept in the bureau, open before him; his -inkstand and cash-box at hand. Lying near the cash-box was a five-pound -note, open; the Squire had put it out for Dwarf Giles to get changed at -Alcester. He was writing an order for some things that Giles would have -to bring back, when Rimmell, who acted as working bailiff on the estate, -came to the glass-doors, open to the warm June air, saying he had -received an offer for the wheat that had spurted. The Squire stepped -outside on the gravel-path while he talked with Rimmell, and then -strolled round with him to the fold-yard. He was away--that is, out of -sight of the room--about three minutes, and when he got back the note -was gone. - -He could not believe his own eyes. It was a calm day; no wind stirring. -He lifted the things on the table; he lifted the matting on the floor; -he shook his loose coat; all in vain. Standing at the door, he shouted -aloud; he walked along the path to the front of the house, and shouted -there; but was not answered. So far as could be seen, no person whatever -was about who could have come round to the room during his short -absence. - -Striding back to the room, he went through it, and up the passage to -the hall, his boots creaking. Molly was in the kitchen, singing over -her work; Phoebe and Hannah were heard talking upstairs; and Mrs. -Todhetley stood in the store-room, doing something to the last year's -pots of jam. She said, on being questioned, that no one had passed to -the passage leading to the Squire's room. - -It happened at that moment, that I, coming home from the Dyke, ran into -the hall, full butt against the Squire. - -"Johnny," said he, "where are you all? What are you up to?" - -I had been at the Dyke all the afternoon with Tod and Hugh; they were -there still. Not Sanker: he was outside, on the lawn, reading. This I -told the pater, and he said no more. Later, when we came to know what -had happened, he mentioned to us that, at this time, no idea of robbery -had entered his head; he thought one of us might have hidden the money -in sport. - -So much an impossibility did it appear of the note's having been lifted -by human hands, that the Squire went back to his room in a maze. He -could only think that it must have attached itself to his clothes, and -dropped off them in the fold-yard. What had become of it, goodness knew; -whether it had fluttered into the pond, or the hens had scratched it to -pieces, or the turkeys gobbled it up; he searched fruitlessly. - -That was on a Thursday. On the following Thursday, when Tod was lying on -the lawn bench on his back, playing with his tame magpie, and teasing -Hugh and Lena, the pater's voice was heard calling to him in a sharp, -quick tone, as if something was the matter. Tod got up and went round by -the gravel-path to whence the sound came, and I followed. The Squire was -standing at the window of the room, half in, half out. - -"I don't want you, Johnny. Stay, though," he added, after a moment, "you -may as well be told--why not?" - -He sat down in his place at the table. Tod stood just inside the door, -paying more attention to the magpie, which he had brought on his arm, -than to his father: I leaned against the bureau. There was a minute's -silence, waiting for the Squire to speak. - -"Put that wretched bird down," he said; and we knew something had put -him out, for he rarely spoke with sharpness to Tod. - -Tod sent the magpie off, and came in. The first day we got home from -school, Tod had rescued the magpie from Goody Picker's grandson; he -caught him pulling the feathers out of its tail; gave him sixpence for -it, and brought it home. A poor, miserable, half-starved thing, that -somebody had taught to say continually, "Now then, Peter." Tod meant to -feed it into condition; but the pater had not taken kindly to the bird; -he said it would be better dead than alive. - -"What was that I heard you boys talking of the other day, about some -petty pilferings in your school?" he asked, abruptly. And we gave him -the history. - -"Well, as it seems to me, the same thing is going on here," he -continued, looking at us both. "Johnny, sit down; I can't talk while you -sway about like that." - -"The same thing going on here, sir?" - -"I say that it seems so," said the pater, thrusting both his hands deep -into his trousers' pockets, and rattling the silver in them. "Last -Thursday, this day week, a bank-note lay on my table here. I just went -round to the yard with Rimmell, and when I got back the note was gone." - -"Where did it go to?" asked Tod, practically. - -"That is just the question--where? I concluded that it must have stuck -to my coat in some unaccountable way, and got lost out-of-doors. I -don't conclude so now." - -Tod seemed to take the news in his usual careless fashion, and kept -privately telegraphing signs to the magpie, sitting now on the old -tree-stump opposite. - -"Yes, sir. Well?" - -"I think now, Joe, that somebody came in at these open doors, and _took_ -the note," said the pater, impressively. "And I want to find out who it -was." - -"Now then, Peter!" cried the bird, hopping down on the gravel; at which -Tod laughed. The Squire got up in a rage, and shut the doors with a -bang. - -"If you can't be serious for a few moments, you had better say so. I can -tell you this is likely to turn out no laughing business." - -Tod turned his back to the glass-doors, and left the magpie to its -devices. - -"Whoever it was, contrived to slip round here from the front, during my -temporary absence; possibly without ill intention: the sight of the note -lying open might have proved too strong a temptation for him." - -"Him!" put in Tod, critically. "It might have been a woman." - -"You might be a jackass: and often are one," said the pater. And it -struck us both, from the affable retort, that his suspicions were -pointing to some particular person of the male gender. - -"This morning, after breakfast, I was here, writing a letter," he went -on. "While sealing it, Thomas called me away in a hurry, and I was -absent the best part of an hour. When I got back, my ring had -disappeared." - -"Your ring, sir!" cried Tod. - -"Yes, my ring, sir," mocked the pater; for he thought we were taking -up the matter lightly, and it nettled him. "I left it on the seal, -expecting to find it there when I returned. Not so. The ring had gone, -and the letter lay on the ground. We have got a thief about the house, -boys--a thief--within or without. Just the same sort of thief, as it -seems to me, that you had at school." - -Tod suddenly leaned forward, his elbow on his knee, his whole interest -aroused. Some unpleasant doubt had struck him, as was evident by the -flush upon his face. - -"Of course, anybody that might be about, back or front, could find -their way down here if they pleased," he slowly said. "Tramps get in -sometimes." - -"Rarely, without being noticed. Who did you boys see about the place -that afternoon--tramp or gentleman? Come! You were at the house, Johnny: -you bolted into it, head foremost, saying you had come from the Dyke." - -"I never saw a soul but Sanker: he was on the bench on the lawn, -reading. I said so at the time, sir." - -"Ah! yes; Sanker was there reading," quietly assented the Squire. "What -were you hastening home for, Johnny?" - -As if that mattered, or could have had anything to do with it! He had a -knack of asking unpleasant questions; and I looked at Tod. - -"Hugh got his blouse torn, and Johnny came in to get another," -acknowledged Tod, readily. The fact was, Hugh's clothes that afternoon -had come to uncommon grief. Hannah had made one of her usual rows over -it, and afterwards shown the things to Mrs. Todhetley. - -"Well, and now for to-day," resumed the pater. "Where have you all -been?" - -Where had we not? In the three-cornered paddock; with Monk in the -pine-house; away in the rick-yard; once to the hay-field; at the -rabbit-hutches; round at the stables; oh, everywhere. - -"You two, and Sanker?" - -"Not Sanker," I said. Sanker stayed on the lawn with his book. We had -all been on the lawn for the last half-hour: he, us, Hugh, Lena, and the -magpie. But not a suspicious character of any sort had we seen about the -place. - -"Sanker's fond of reading on the lawn," remarked Mr. Todhetley, in a -careless tone. But he got no answer: we had been struck into silence. - -He took one hand out of his pocket, and drummed on the table, not -looking at either of us. Tod had laid hold of a piece of blotting-paper -and was pulling it to pieces. I wondered what they were thinking of: I -know what I was. - -"At any rate, the first thing is to find the ring; _that_ only went -this morning," said the Squire, as he left us. Tod sat on where he was, -dropping the bits of paper. - -"I say, Tod, do you think it _could_ be----?" - -"Hold your tongue, Johnny!" he shouted. "No, I don't think it. The -bank-note--light, flimsy thing--must have been lost in the yard, and the -ring will turn up. It's somewhere on the floor here." - -In five minutes the news had spread. Mr. Todhetley had told his wife, -and summoned the servants to the search. Both losses were made known; -consternation fell on the household; the women-servants searched the -room; old Thomas bent his back double over the frame outside the -glass-doors. But there was no ring. - -"This is just like the mysterious losses we had at school," exclaimed -Sanker, as a lot of us were standing in the hall. - -"Yes, _it is_," said the Squire. - -"Perhaps, sir, your ring is in a corner of some odd pocket?" went on -Sanker. - -"Perhaps it may be," answered the Squire, rather emphatically; "but not -in mine." - -Happening to look at Mrs. Todhetley, I saw her face had turned to a -white fright. Whether the remark of Sanker or the peculiarity of the -Squire's manner brought to her mind the strange coincidence of the -losses, here and at school, certain it was the doubt had dawned upon -her. Later, when I and Tod were hunting in the room on our own account, -she came to us with her terror-stricken face. - -"Joseph, I see what you are thinking," she said; "but it can't be; it -can't be. If the Sankers are poor, they are honest. I wish you knew his -father and mother." - -"I have not accused any one, Mrs. Todhetley." - -"No; neither has your father; but you suspect." - -"Perhaps we had better not talk of it," said Tod. - -"Joseph, I think we must talk of it, and see what can be done. If--if he -should have done such a thing, of course he cannot stay here." - -"But we don't know that he has, therefore he ought not to be accused of -it." - -"Oh! Joseph, don't you see the pain? None of you can feel this as I do. -He is my relative." - -I felt so sorry for her. With the trouble in her pale, mild eyes, and -the quivering of her thin, meek lips. It was quite evident that _she_ -feared the worst: and Tod threw away concealment with his step-mother. - -"We must not accuse him; we must not let it be known that we suspect -him," he said; "the matter here can be hushed up--got over--but were -suspicion once directed to him on the score of the school losses, the -disgrace would never be lived down, now or later. It would cling to him -through life." - -Mrs. Todhetley clasped her slender and rather bony fingers, from which -the wedding-ring looked always ready to drop off. "Joseph," she said, -"you assume confidently that he has done it; I see that. Perhaps you -know he has? Perhaps you have some proof that you are concealing?" - -"No, on my honour. But for my father's laying stress on the curious -coincidence of the disappearances at school I should not have thought of -Sanker. 'Losses there; losses here,' he said----" - -"Now then, Peter!" mocked the bird, from his perch on the old tree. - -"Be quiet!" shouted Tod. "And then the Squire went on adroitly to the -fact, without putting it into words, that nobody else seems to have been -within hail of this room either time." - -"He has had so few advantages; he is kept so short of money," murmured -poor Mrs. Todhetley, seeking to find an excuse for him. "I would almost -rather have found my boy Hugh--when he shall be old enough--guilty of -such a thing, than Edward Sanker." - -"I'd a great deal rather it had been me," I exclaimed. "I shouldn't have -felt half so uncomfortable. And we are not _sure_. Can't we keep him -here, after all? It will be an awful thing to turn him out--a thief." - -"He is not going to be turned out, a thief. Don't put in your oar, -Johnny. The pater intends to hush it up. Why! had he suspected any other -living mortal about the place, except Sanker, he'd have accused them -outright, and sent for old Jones in hot haste." - -Mrs. Todhetley, holding her hand to her troubled face, looked at Tod as -he spoke. "I am not sure, Joseph--I don't quite know whether to hush it -up entirely will be for the best. If he---- Oh!" - -The exclamation came out with a shriek. We turned at it, having been -standing together at the table, our backs to the window. There stood -Sanker. How long he had been there was uncertain; quite long enough to -hear and comprehend. His face was livid with passion, his voice hoarse -with it. - -"Is it possible that _I_ am accused of taking the bank-note and the -ring?--of having been the thief at school? I thank you, Joseph -Todhetley." - -Mrs. Todhetley, always for peace, ran before him, and took his hands. -Her gentle words were drowned--Tod's were overpowered. When quiet -fellows like Sanker do get into a rage, it's something bad to witness. - -"Look here, old fellow," said Tod, in a breath of silence; "we don't -accuse you, and don't wish to accuse you. The things going here, as they -did at school, is an unfortunate coincidence; you can't shut your eyes -to it; but as to----" - -"Why are _you_ not accused?--why's Ludlow not accused?--you were both at -school, as well as I; and you are both here," raved Sanker, panting like -a wild animal. "You have money, both of you; you don't want helping on -in life; I have only my good name. And that you would take from me!" - -"Edward, Edward! we did not wish to accuse you; we said we would not -accuse you," cried poor Mrs. Todhetley in her simplicity. But his voice -broke in. - -"No; you only suspected me. You assumed my guilt, and would not be -honest enough to accuse me, lest I refuted it. Not another hour will I -stay in this house. Come with me." - -"Don't be foolish, Sanker! If we are wrong----" - -"Be silent!" he cried, turning savagely on Tod. "I'm not strong; no -match for you, or I would pound you to atoms! Let me go my own way now. -You go yours." - -Half dragging, half leading Mrs. Todhetley with him, the angry light in -his eyes frightening her, he went to his bedroom. Taking off his jacket; -turning his pockets inside out; emptying the contents of his trunk on -the floor, he scattered the articles, one by one, with the view of -showing that he had nothing concealed belonging to other people. Mrs. -Todhetley, great in quiet emergencies, had her senses hopelessly scared -away in this; she could only cry, and implore of him to be reasonable. -He flung back his things, and in five minutes was gone. Dragging his -box down the stairs by its stout cord, he managed to hoist it on his -shoulders, and they saw him go fiercely off across the lawn. - -I met him in the plantation, beyond the Dyke. Mrs. Todhetley, awfully -distressed, sent me flying away to find the pater; she mistakenly -thought he might be at Rimmell's, who lived in a cottage beyond it. -Running home through the trees, I came upon Sanker. He was sitting on -his box, crying; great big sobs bursting from him. Of course he could -not carry _that_ far. Down I sat by him, and put my hand on his. - -"Don't, Sanker! don't, old fellow! Come back and have it cleared up. I -dare say they are all wrong together." - -His angry mood had changed. Those fierce whirlwinds of passion are -generally followed by depression. He did not seem to care an atom for -his sobs, or for my seeing them. - -"It's the cruelest wrong I ever had dealt to me, Johnny. Why should they -pitch upon _me_? What have they seen in me that they should set me down -as a thief?--and such a thief! Why, the very thought of it, if they send -her word, will kill my mother." - -"You didn't do it, Sanker. I----" - -He got up, and raised his hand solemnly to the blue sky, just as a man -might have done. - -"I swear I did not. I swear I never laid finger on a thing in your -house, or at school, that was not mine. God hears me say it." - -"And now you'll come back with me, Ned. The box will take no harm here -till we send for it." - -"Go back with you! that I never will. Fare you well, Johnny: I'll wish -it to _you_." - -"But where are you going?" - -"That's my business. Look here; I was more generous than some of you -have been. All along, I felt as _sure_ who it was, cribbing those -things at school, as though I had seen it done; but I never told. I just -whispered to the fellow, when we were parting: 'Don't you go in for the -same game next half, or I shall have you dropped upon;' and I don't -think he will." - -"Who--which was it?" I cried, eagerly. - -"No: give him a chance. It was neither you nor me, and that's enough to -know." - -Hoisting the box up on to the projecting edge of a tree, he got it on -his shoulders again. Certain of his innocence then, I was in an agony -to get him back. - -"It's of no use, Johnny. Good-bye." - -"Sanker! Ned! The Squire will be fit to smother us all, when he finds -you are off; Mrs. Todhetley is in dreadful grief. Such an unpleasant -thing has never before happened with us." - -"Good-bye," was all he repeated, marching resolutely off, with the black -box held safe by the cord. - -Fit to smother us? I thought the pater would have done it, when he came -home late in the afternoon; laying the blame of Sanker's going, first on -Mrs. Todhetley, then on Tod, then on me. - -"What is to be done?" he asked, looking at us all helplessly. "I -wouldn't have had it come out for the world. Think of his parents--of -his own prospects." - -"He never did it, sir," I said, speaking up; "he swore it to me." - -The pater gave a sniff. "Swearing does not go for much in such cases, -I'm afraid, Johnny." - -It was so hopeless, the making them understand Sanker's solemn truth as -he did swear it, that I held my tongue. I told Tod; also, what he had -said about the fellow he suspected at school; but Tod only curled his -lip, and quietly reminded me that I should never be anything but a muff. - -Three or four days passed on. We could not learn where Sanker went to, -or what had become of him; nothing about him except the fact that he had -left his box at Goody Picker's cottage, asking her to take charge of it -until it was sent for. Mrs. Todhetley would not write to Wales, or to -the school, for fear of making mischief. I know this: it was altogether -a disagreeable remembrance, whichever way we looked at it, but I was the -only one who believed in his innocence. - -On the Monday another loss occurred; not one of value in itself, but -uncommonly significant. Since the explosion, Mrs. Todhetley had moved -about the house restlessly, more like a fish out of water than a -reasonable woman, following the Squire to his room, and staying there to -talk with him, as she never had before. It was always in her head to -do something to mend matters; but, what, she could not tell; hence her -talkings with the pater. As each day passed, bringing no news of Sanker, -she grew more anxious and fidgety. While he was in his room on the -Monday morning, she came in with her work. It was the unpicking some -blue ribbons from a white body of Lena's. There had been a child's party -at the Stirlings' (they were always giving them), and Lena had a new -frock for it. The dressmaker had put a glistening glass thing, as big as -a pea, in the bows that tied up the sleeves. They looked like diamonds. -The pater made a fuss after we got home, saying it was inconsistent at -the best; she was too young for real diamonds, and he would not have -her wear mock rubbish. Well, Mrs. Todhetley had the frock in her hand, -taking these bows off, when she came to the Squire on the Monday -morning, chattering and lamenting. I saw and heard her. On going away -she accidentally left one of them on the table. The Squire went about as -usual, dodging in and out of the room at intervals like a dog in a fair. -I sat on the low seat, on the other side of the hedge, in the vegetable -garden, making a fishing-line and flinging stones at the magpie whenever -he came up to his perch on the old tree's stump. All was still; nothing -to be heard but his occasional croak, "Now then, Peter!" Presently I -caught a soft low whistle behind me. Looking through the hedge, I saw -Roger Monk coming out of the room with stealthy steps, and going off -towards his greenhouses. I thought nothing of it; it was his ordinary -way of walking; but he must have come up to the room very quietly. - -"Johnny," came the Squire's voice by-and-by, and I ran round: he had -seen me sitting there. - -"Johnny, have you a mind for a walk to----" - -He had got thus far when Mrs. Todhetley came in by the inner door, and -began looking on the table. Nothing in the world was on it except the -inkstand, the _Worcester Herald_, and the papers before the Squire. - -"I must have left one of the blue knots here," she said. - -"You did; I saw it," said the Squire; and he took up his papers one by -one, and shook the newspaper. - -Well, the blue shoulder-knot was gone. Just as we had searched for the -ring, we searched for that: under the matting, and above the matting, -and everywhere; I and those two. A grim look came over the Squire's -face. - -"The thief is amongst us still. He has taken that glittering paste thing -for a diamond. This clears Sanker." - -Mrs. Todhetley burst into glad sobs. I had never seen her so excited; -you might have thought her an hysterical girl. She would do all -sorts of things at once; the least of which was, starting in a -post-chaise-and-four for Wales. - -"Do nothing," said the Squire, with authority. "I had news of Sanker -this morning, and he's back at school. He wrote me a letter." - -"Oh, why did you not show it me?" asked Mrs. Todhetley, through her -tears. - -"Because it's a trifle abusive; actionable, a lawyer might say," he -answered, stopping a laugh. "Ah! ha! a big diamond! I'm as glad of this -as if anybody had left me a thousand pounds," continued the good old -pater. "I've not had that boy out of my head since, night or day. We'll -have him back to finish his holidays--eh, Johnny?" - -Whether I went along on my head or my tail, doing the Squire's errand, I -didn't exactly know. To my mind the thief stood disclosed--Roger Monk. -But I did not much like to betray him to the Squire. As a compromise -between duty and disinclination, I told Tod. He went straight off to the -Squire, and Roger Monk was ordered to the room. - -He did not take the accusation as Sanker took it--noisily. About -as cool and hardy as any fellow could be, stood he; white, angry -retaliation shining from his sullen face. And, for once, he looked full -at the Squire as he spoke. - -"This is the second time I have been accused wrongfully by you or yours, -sir. You must prove your words. A bank-note, a ring, a false diamond -(taken to be a true one), in a blue ribbon; and I have stolen them. -If you don't either prove your charge to be true, or withdraw the -imputation, the law shall make you, Mr. Todhetley. I am down in the -world, obliged to take a common situation for a while; but that's no -reason why I should be browbeat and put upon." - -Somehow, the words, or the manner, told upon the Squire. He was not -feeling sure of his grounds. Until then he had never cast a thought of -ill on Roger Monk. - -"What were you doing here, Monk? What made you come up stealthily, and -creep stealthily away again?" demanded Tod, who had assumed the guilt -out and out. - -"As to what I was doing here, I came to ask a question about my work," -coolly returned Monk. "I walked slowly, not stealthily; the day's hot." - -"You had better turn out your pockets, Monk," said the Squire. - -He did so at once, just as Sanker had done unbidden, biting his lips to -get some colour into them. Lots of odds and ends of things were there; -string, nails, a tobacco-pipe, halfpence, and such like; but no blue -bow. I don't think the Squire knew whether to let him off as innocent, -or to give him into custody as guilty. At any rate, he seemed to be in -hesitation, when who should appear on the scene but Goody Picker. The -turned-out pockets, Monk's aspect, and the few words she caught, told -the tale. - -"If you please, Squire--if you please, young masters," she began, -dropping a curtsy to us in succession; "the mistress told me to come -round here. Stepping up this morning about a job o' work I'm doing--for -Mrs. Hannah, I heard of the losses that have took place, apperiently -thefts. So I up and spoke; and Hannah took me to the mistress; and the -mistress, who had got her gownd off a-changing of it, listened to what I -had to say, and telled me to come round at once to Mr. Todhetley. (Don't -you be frighted, Monk.) Sir, young gentlemen, I think it might have been -the magpie." - -"Think who might have been the magpie?" asked the Squire, puzzled. - -"What stole the things. Sir, that there pie, bought only t'other day -from my gran'son by young Mr. Todhetley, was turned out o' my son -Peter's home at Alcester for thieving. He took this, and he took that; -he have been at it for weeks, ever since they'd had him. They thought -it was the servant, and sent her away. (A dirty young drab she was, so -'twere no loss.) Not her, though; it were that beast of a magpie. A -whole nest of goods he had got hid away in the brewhouse: but for having -a brewing on, he might never ha' been found out. The woman was drawing -off her second mash when she see him hop in with a new shirt wristban' -and drop it into the old iron pot." - -Tod, who believed the story to be utterly unreasonable--got up, -perhaps, by Mother Picker to screen the real thief--resented the -imputation on his magpie. The bird came hopping up to us, "Now, then, -Peter." - -"That's rather too good, Mrs. Picker, that is. I have heard of -lodging-house cats effecting wonders in the way of domestic -disappearances, but not of magpies. Look at him, poor old fellow! He -can't speak to defend himself." - -"Yes, look at him, sir," repeated Mother Picker; "and a fine objec' of a -half-fed animal he is, to look at! My opinion is, he have got something -wrong o' the inside of him, or else it's his sins that troubles his -skin, for the more he's give to eat the thinner he gets. No feathers, no -flesh; nothing but a big beak, and them bright eyes, and the deuce's own -tongue for impedence. Which is begging pard'n for speaking up free," -concluded Mother Picker, as Mrs. Todhetley came in, fastening her -waistband. - -A little searching, not a tithe of what had been before again and -again, and the creature's nest was discovered. In a cavity of the old -tree-stump, so conveniently opposite, lay the articles: the bank-note, -the ring, the blue bow, and some other things, most of which had not -been missed. One was a bank receipt, that the house had been hunted for -high and low. - -"Now, then, Peter!" cried the magpie, hopping about on the gravel as -he watched the raid on his treasures. - -"He must be killed to-day, Joe," said Mr. Todhetley; "he has made -mischief enough. I never took kindly to him. Monk, I am sorry for the -mistake I was led into; but we suspected others before you--ay, and -accused them." - -"Don't mention it, sir," replied Monk, his eye catching mine. And if -ever I saw revenge written in a face, it was in his as he turned away. - - - - -ROGER MONK. - - -I'd never seen such a scene before; I have not seen one since. Perhaps, -in fact, the same thing had never happened. - -What had done it nobody could imagine. It was as if the place had been -smoked out with some deleterious stuff; some destructive or poisoning -gases, fatal to vegetable life. - -On the previous day but one, Tuesday, there had been a party at the -Manor. Squire and Mrs. Todhetley did not go in for much of that kind of -thing, but some girls from London were staying with the Jacobsons, and -we all went over to a dance there on the Friday. After supper some of -them got talking to Mrs. Todhetley, asking in a laughing sort of way why -_she_ did not give them one? she shook her head, and answered that we -were quiet people. Upon that Tod spoke up, and said he had no doubt the -Squire would give one if asked; would like to do it. Had Mrs. Todhetley -gone heartily into the proposal at once, Tod would have thrown cold -water on it. That was his obstinacy. The girls attacked the Squire, and -the thing was settled; the dance being fixed for the following Tuesday. - -I know Mrs. Todhetley thought it an awful trouble; the Squire openly -said it was when we got home; and he grumbled all day on Saturday. You -see, our servants were not used to fashionable parties; neither in -truth were their masters. However, if it had to be done at all, it was -to be done well. The laundry was cleared out for dancing; the old square -ironing-stove taken away, and a few pictures were done round with -wreaths of green and hung on the yellow-washed walls. The supper-table -was laid in the dining-room; leaving the drawing-room free for -reception. - -It was the Squire thought of having the plants brought into the hall. -He never could say afterwards it was anybody but him. His grumbling -was got over by the Tuesday morning, and he was as eager as any of us. -He went about in his open nankeen coat and straw hat, puffing and -blowing, and saying he hoped we should relish it--_he_ wouldn't dance -in the dog-days. - -"I should like to see you dance in any days now, sir," cried Tod. - -"You impudent rascals! You must laugh, too, must you, Johnny! I can tell -you young fellows what--you'll neither of you dance a country dance as -we'd used to do it. You should have seen us at the wake. Once when we -militia chaps were at the Ram, at Gloucester, for a week's training, we -gave a ball there, and footed it till daylight. 'We bucks at the Ram;' -that's what we called ourselves: but most of us are dead and gone now. -Look here, boys," continued the pater after a pause, "I'll have the -choice plants brought into the hall. If we knock up a few sconces for -candles on the walls, their colours will show out well." - -He went out to talk to Roger Monk about it. Mrs. Todhetley was in the -kitchen over the creams and jellies and things, fit to faint with heat. -Jenkins, the head-gardener was back then, but he was stiff yet, not -likely to be of permanent good; so Roger Monk was kept on as chief. -Under the pater's direction the sets of green steps were brought in and -put on either side of the hall, as many sets as there was space for; and -the plants were arranged upon them. - -I'd tell you the different sorts but that you might think it tedious. -They were choice and beautiful. Mr. Todhetley took pride in his flowers, -and spared no expense. Geraniums of all colours, tulips, brilliant -roses, the white lily and the purple iris; and the rarer flowers, with -hard names that nobody can spell. It was like a lovely garden, rising -tier upon tier; a grove of perfume that the guests would pass through. -They managed the wax-lights well; and the colours, pink, white, violet, -green, orange, purple, scarlet, blue, shone out as the old east window -in Worcester Cathedral used to do when it sparkled in the morning sun. - -It went off first-rate. Some of the supper sweet dishes fell out of -shape with the heat; but they were just as good to eat. In London, -the thing you call "society" is made up of form and coldness, and -artificialism; with us county people it is honest openness. There, any -failure on the table is looked away from, not supposed to be seen; at -the supper at Squire Todhetley's the tumble-down dishes were introduced -as a topic of regret. "And to think it should be so, after all the pains -I bestowed on them!" added Mrs. Todhetley, not hesitating to say that -she had been the confectioner and pastry-cook. - -But it is not of the party I have to tell you. It was jolly; and -everyone said what a prime ball-room the laundry made. I dare say if we -had been London fashionables we should have called it the "library," and -made believe we'd had the books taken out. - -Getting ready for company is delightful; but putting things to rights -the next day is rather another thing. The plants were carried back -to their places again in the greenhouse--a large, long, commodious -greenhouse--and appeared none the worse for their show. The old folks, -whose dancing-days were over, had spent half the night in the cool hall, -admiring these beautiful plants; and the pater told this to Roger Monk -as he stood with him in the greenhouse after they were put back. I was -there, too. - -"I'm glad they were admired, sir," said Monk in answer. "I've taken -pains with them, and I think they do the Manor credit." - -"Well, truth to say, Monk, it's a better and brighter collection than -Jenkins ever got. But you must not tell him I say so. I do take a pride -in my greenhouse; my father did before me. I remember your mother -spending a day here once, Johnny, before you were born, and she said of -all the collections in the two counties of Warwick and Worcester, ours -was the finest. It came up to Lord Coventry's; not as large, of course, -but the plants in the same prime condition." - -"Yes, sir: I've seen the conservatories at Croome," returned Monk, who -generally went in for large names. - -"The late Lord Coventry--Yes! Here! Who's calling?" - -Tod's voice outside, shouting for the Squire, caused the break. He had -got Mr. Duffham with him; who wanted to ask about some parish business; -and they came to the greenhouse. - -So that made another admirer. Old Duff turned himself and his cane -about, saying the colours looked brighter by daylight than waxlight; and -he had not thought it possible the night before that they could do it. -He stole a piece of geranium to put in his button-hole. - -"By the way, Monk, when are you going over to Evesham about those seeds -and things?" asked the Squire, as he was departing with old Duff. - -"I can go when you like, sir." - -"Go to-morrow, then. Start with the cool of the morning. Jenkins can do -what has to be done, for once. You had better take the light cart." - -"Very well, sir," answered Monk. But he had never once looked in the -Squire's face as he answered. - -The next morning was Thursday. Tod and I were up betimes to go fishing. -There was a capital stream--but I've not time for that now. It was -striking six as we went out of the house, and the first thing I saw was -Jenkins coming along, his face as white as a sheet. He was a big man -once, of middle height, but thin and stooping since his last bout of -rheumatism; grey whiskers, blue eyes, and close upon fifty. - -"I say, Tod, look at old Jenkins! He must be ill again." - -Not ill but frightened. His lips were of a bluey grey, like one whom -some great terror has scared. Tod stared as he came nearer, for they -were trembling as well as blue. - -"What's up, Jenkins?" - -"I don't know what, Mr. Joe. The devil has been at work." - -"Whereabouts?" asked Tod. - -"Come and see, sir." - -He turned back towards the greenhouse, but not another word would he -say, only pointed to it. Leaving the fishing-rods on the path, we set -off to run. - -Never had I seen such a scene before; as I told you at the beginning. -The windows were shut, every crevice where a breath of air might enter -seemed to be hermetically closed; a smell as of some sulphurous acid -pervaded the air; and the whole show of plants had turned to ruin. - -A wreck complete. Colour was gone; leaves and stems were gone; the sweet -perfume was gone; nothing remained, so to say, but the pots. It was as -if some burning blast had passed through the greenhouse, withering to -death every plant that stood in it, and the ripening grapes above. - -"What on earth can have done this?" cried Tod to Jenkins, when he was -able to speak. - -"Well, Mr. Joseph, I say nothing _could_ have done it but the----" - -"Don't talk rubbish about the devil, Jenkins. He does not work in quite -so practical a way. Open the windows." - -"I was on by half-past five, sir, not coming here at first, but----" - -"Where's Monk this morning?" again interrupted Tod, who had turned -imperative. - -"The Squire sent him over to Evesham for the seeds. I heard him go by in -the light cart." - -"Sent him when?" - -"Yesterday, I suppose; that is, told him to go. Monk came to me last -evening and said I must be on early. He started betimes; it was long -afore five when I heard the cart go by. I should know the rattle of that -there light cart anywhere, Mr. Joe." - -"Never mind the cart. What has done _this_?" - -That was the question. What had done it? Some blasting poison must have -been set to burn in the greenhouse. Such substances might be common -enough, but we knew nothing of them. We examined the place pretty -carefully, but not a trace of any proof was discovered. - -"What's this?" cried out Jenkins, presently. - -Some earthenware pot-stands were stacked on the ground at the far end of -the greenhouse--Mrs. Todhetley always called them saucers--Jenkins had -been taking two or three of the top ones off, and came upon one that -contained a small portion of some soft, white, damp substance, smelling -just like the smell that pervaded the greenhouse--a suffocating smell -that choked you. Some sulphuric acid was in the tool-house; Tod fetched -the bottle, poured a little on the stuff, and set it alight. - -Instantly a white smoke arose, and a smell that sent us off. Jenkins, -looking at it as if it were alive and going to bite him, carried it at -arm's length out to the nearest bed, and heaped mould upon it. - -"That has done it, Mr. Joseph. But I should like to know what the white -stuff is. It's some subtle poison." - -We took the stack of pot-stands off one by one. Six or eight of them -were perfectly clean, as if just wiped out. Jenkins gave his opinion -again. - -"Them clean saucers have all had the stuff burning in 'em this night, -and they've done their work well. Somebody, which it must be the villain -himself, has been in and cleaned 'em out, overlooking one of 'em. I can -be upon my word the stands were all dusty enough last Tuesday, when the -greenhouse was emptied for the ball, for I stacked 'em myself one upon -another." - -Tod took up his perch on the edge of the shut-in brick stove, and -surveyed the wreck. There was not a bit of green life remaining, not a -semblance of it. When he had done looking he stared at me, then at -Jenkins; it was his way when puzzled or perplexed. - -"Have you seen anybody about here this morning, Jenkins?" - -"Not a soul," responded Jenkins, ruefully. "I was about the beds and -places at first, and when I came up here and opened the door, the smoke -and smell knocked me back'ards. When I see the plants--leastways what -was the plants--with their leaves and blossoms and stems all black and -blasted, I says to myself, 'The devil must have been in here;' and I was -on my way to tell the master so when you two young gents met me." - -"But it's time some of them were about," cried Tod. "Where's Drew? Is he -not come?" - -"Drew be hanged for a lazy vagabond!" retorted old Jenkins. "He never -comes on much afore seven, he doesn't. Monk threatened last week to get -his wages stopped for him. I did stop 'em once, afore I was ill." - -Drew was the under-gardener, an active young fellow of nineteen. There -was a boy as well, but it happened that he was away just now. Almost as -Jenkins spoke, Drew came in view, leaping along furiously towards the -vegetable garden, as though he knew he was late. - -"Halloa, Drew!" - -He recognized Tod's voice, turned, and came into the greenhouse. His -look of amazement would have made a picture. - -"Sakes alive! Jenkins, what have done this?" - -"Do you know anything about it, Drew?" asked Tod. - -"Me, sir?" answered Drew, turning his wide-open eyes on Tod, in surprise -at the question. "I don't as much as know what it _is_." - -"Mr. Joe, I think the master ought to be told of this," said Jenkins. -"As well get it over." - -He meant the explosion of wrath that was sure to come when the Squire -saw the ravages. Tod never stirred. Who was to tell him? It was like the -mice proposing to bell the cat: nobody offered to do it. - -"You go, Johnny," said Tod, by-and-by. "Perhaps he's getting up now." - -I went. I always did what he ordered me, and heard Mrs. Todhetley in her -dressing-room. She had her white petticoats on, doing her hair. When I -told her, she just backed into a chair and turned as white as Jenkins. - -"What's that, Johnny?" roared out the Squire from his bed. I hadn't -noticed that the door between the rooms was open. - -"Something is wrong in the greenhouse, sir." - -"Something wrong in the greenhouse! What d'ye mean, lad?" - -"He says the plants are spoiled, and the grapes," interrupted Mrs. -Todhetley, to help me. - -"Plants and grapes spoiled! You must be out of your senses, Johnny, to -say such a thing. What has spoiled them?" - -"It looks like some--blight," I answered, pitching upon the word. -"Everything's dead and blackened." - -Downstairs I rushed for fear he should ask more. And down came the pater -after me, hardly anything on, so to say; not shaved, and his nankeen -coat flying behind him. - -I let him go on to get the burst over. When I reached them, they were -talking about the key. It was customary for the head-gardener to lock -the greenhouse at night. For the past month or so there had been, as may -be said, two head-gardeners, and the key had been left on the ledge at -the back of the greenhouse, that whichever of them came on first in the -morning might get in. - -The Squire stormed at this--with that scene before his eyes he was ready -to storm at everything. Pretty gardeners, they were! leaving the key -where any tramp, hiding about the premises for a night's lodging, might -get into the greenhouse and steal what he chose! As good leave the key -in the door, as hang it up outside it! The world had nothing but fools -in it, as he believed. - -Jenkins answered with deprecation. The key was not likely to be found -by anybody but those that knew where to look for it. It always had a -flower-pot turned down upon it; and so he had found it that morning. - -"If all the tramps within ten miles got into the greenhouse, sir, they'd -not do this," affirmed Tod. - -"Hold your tongue," said the Squire; "what do you know about tramps? -I've known them to do the wickedest things conceivable. My beautiful -plants! And look at the grapes! I've never had a finer crop of grapes -than this was, Jenkins," concluded the pater, in a culminating access -of rage. "If I find this has arisen through any neglect of yours and -Monk's, I'll--I'll hang you both." - -The morning went on; breakfast was over, and the news of the strange -calamity spread. Old Jones, the constable, had been sent for by the -Squire. He stared, and exclaimed, and made his comments; but he was not -any the nearer hitting upon the guilty man. - -About ten, Roger Monk got home from Evesham. We heard the spring-cart go -round to the stables, and presently he appeared in the gardens, looking -at objects on either side of the path, as was his usual wont. Then he -caught sight of us, standing in and about the greenhouse, and came on -faster. Jenkins was telling the story of his discovery to Mr. Duffham. -He had told it a good fifty times since early morning to as many -different listeners. - -They made way for Monk to come in, nobody saying a word. The pater stood -inside, and Monk, touching his hat, was about to report to him of his -journey, when the strange aspect of affairs seemed to strike him dumb. -He looked round with a sort of startled gaze at the walls, at the glass -and grapes above, at the destroyed plants, and then turned savagely on -Jenkins, speaking hoarsely. - -"What have you been up to here?" - -"_Me_ been up to! That's good, that is! What had _you_, been up to -afore you went off? You had the first chance. Come, Mr. Monk." - -The semi-accusation was spoken by Jenkins on the spur of the moment, in -his anger at the other's words. Monk was in a degree Jenkins's protege, -and it had not previously occurred to him that _he_ could be in any way -to blame. - -"What do you know of this wicked business, Monk?" asked the Squire. - -"What should I know of it, sir? I have only just come in from Evesham. -The things were all right last night." - -"How did you leave the greenhouse last night?" - -"Exactly as I always leave it, sir. There was nothing the matter with it -then. Drew--I saw him outside, didn't I? Step here, Drew. You were with -me when I locked up the greenhouse last night. Did you see anything -wrong with it?" - -"It were right enough then," answered Drew. - -Monk turned himself about, lifting his hands in dismay, as one blackened -object after another came under view. "I never saw such a thing!" he -cried piteously. "There has been something wrong at work here; or -else----" - -Monk came to a sudden pause. "Or else what?" asked the Squire. - -"Or else, moving the plants into the hall on Tuesday has killed them." - -"Moving the plants wouldn't kill them. What are you thinking of, Monk?" - -"_Moving_ them would not kill them, sir, or hurt them either," returned -Monk, with a stress on the first word; "but it might have been the -remote cause of it." - -"I don't understand you!" - -"I saw some result of the sort once, sir. It was at a gentleman's place -at Chiswick. All the choice plants were taken indoors to improvise a -kind of conservatory for a night fete. They were carried back the next -day, seemingly none the worse, and on the morrow were found withered." - -"Like these?" - -"No, sir, not so bad as these. They didn't die; they revived after a -time. A great fuss was made over it; the gentleman thought it must be -wilful damage, and offered twenty pounds reward for the discovery of the -offenders. At last it was found they had been poisoned by the candles." - -"Poisoned by the candles!" - -"A new sort of candle, very beautiful to look at, but with a great -quantity of arsenic in it," continued Monk. "A scientific man gave it as -his opinion that the poison thrown out from the candles had been fatal -to the plants. Perhaps something of the same kind has done the mischief -here, sir. Plants are such delicate things!" - -"And what has been fatal to the grapes? _They_ were not taken into the -house." - -The question came from the surgeon, Mr. Duffham. He had stood all the -while against the end of the far steps, looking fixedly at Monk over the -top of his cane. Monk put his eyes on the grapes above, and kept them -there while he answered. - -"True, sir; the grapes, as you say, didn't go in. Perhaps the poison -brought back by the plants may have acted on them." - -"Now, I tell you what, Monk, I think that's all nonsense," cried the -Squire, testily. - -"Well, sir, I don't see any other way of accounting for this state of -things." - -"The greenhouse was filled with some suffocating, smelling, blasting -stuff that knocked me back'ards," put in Jenkins. "Every crack and -crevice was stopped where a breath of air could have got in. I wish it -had been you to find it; you'd not have liked to be smothered alive, I -know." - -"I wish it had been," said Monk. "If there was any such thing here, and -not your fancy, I'll be bound I'd have traced it out." - -"Oh, would you! Did you do anything to them there pot-stands?" continued -Jenkins, pointing to them. - -"No." - -"Oh! Didn't clean 'em out?" - -"I wiped a few out on Wednesday morning before we brought back the -plants. Somebody--Drew, I suppose--had stacked them in the wrong place. -In putting them right, I began to wipe them. I didn't do them all; I was -called away." - -"'Twas me stacked 'em," said Jenkins. "Well--them stands are what had -held the poison; I found a'most one-half of 'em filled with it." - -Monk cast a rapid glance around. "What was the poison?" he asked. - -Jenkins grunted, but gave no other reply. The fact was, he had been so -abused by the Squire for having put away the trace of the "stuff," that -it was a sore subject. - -"Did you come on here, Monk, before you started for Evesham this -morning?" questioned the Squire. - -"I didn't come near the gardens, sir. I had told Jenkins last night to -be on early," replied Monk, bending over a blackened row of plants while -he spoke. "I went the back way to the stables through the lane, had -harnessed the horse to the cart, and was away before five." - -We quitted the greenhouse. The pater went out with Mr. Duffham, Tod and -I followed. I, looking quietly on, had been struck with the contrast of -manner between old Duff and Monk--he peering at Monk with his searching -gaze, never once taking it off him; and Monk meeting nobody's eyes, but -shifting his own anywhere rather than meet them. - -"About this queer arsenic tale Monk tells?" began the Squire. "Is there -anything in it? Will it hold water?" - -"Moonshine!" said old Duff, with emphasis. - -The tone was curious, and we all looked at him. He had got his lips -drawn in, and the top of his cane pressing them. - -"Where did you take Monk from, Squire? Get a good character with him?" - -"Jenkins brought him here. As to character, he had never been in any -situation before. Why? Do you suspect him?" - -"Um-m-m!" said the doctor, prolonging the sound as though in doubt. "If -I do suspect him, he has caused me to. I never saw such a shifty manner -in all my life. Why, he never once looked at any of us! His eyes are -false, and his tones are false!" - -"His tones? Do you mean his words?" - -"I mean the tone his words are spoken in. To an apt ear, the sound of -a man's voice, or woman's either, can be read off like a book; a man's -voice is honest or dishonest according to his nature; and you can't -make a mistake about it. Monk's has a false ring in it, if ever I heard -one. Now, master Johnny, what are you looking so eager about?" - -"I think Monk's voice false, too, Mr. Duffham; I have thought himself -false all along. Tod knows I have." - -"I know that you are just a muff, Johnny, going in for prejudices -against people unreasonably," said Tod, putting me down as usual. - -Old Duff pushed my straw hat up, and passed his fingers over the top of -my forehead. "Johnny, my boy," he said, "you have a strong and good -indication here for reading the world. _Trust to it._" - -"I couldn't trust Monk. I never have trusted him. That was one reason -why I suspected him of stealing the things the magpie took." - -"Well, you were wrong there," said Tod. - -"Yes. But I'm nearly sure I was right in the thing before." - -"What thing?" demanded old Duff, sharply. - -"Well, I thought it was Monk that frightened Phoebe." - -"Oh," said Mr. Duffham. "Dressed himself up in a sheet, and whitened his -face, and went up the lane when the women were watching for the shadows -on St. Mark's Eve! What else do you suspect, Johnny?" - -"Nothing else, sir; except that I fancied Mother Picker knew of it. When -Tod and I went to ask her whether Monk was out that night, she looked -frightened to death, and broke a basin." - -"Did she say he was out?" - -"She said he was not out; but I thought she said it more eagerly than -truthfully." - -"Squire, when you are in doubt as to people's morals, let this boy read -them for you," said old Duff, in his quaint way. The Squire, thinking of -his plants, looked as perplexed as could be. - -"It is such a thing, you know, Duffham, to have one's whole hothouse -destroyed in a night. It's no better than arson." - -"And the incendiary who did it would have no scruple in attacking the -barns next; therefore, he must be bowled out." - -The pater looked rueful. He could bluster and threaten, but he could -not _do_ much; he never knew how to set about it. In all emergencies he -would send for Jones--the greatest old woman going. - -"You don't seriously think it could have been Monk, Duffham?" - -"I think there's strong suspicion that it was. Look here:" and the -doctor began to tell off points with his cane and fingers. "_Somebody_ -goes into the greenhouse to set the stuff alight in the pot-stands--for -that's how it was done. Monk and Jenkins alone knew where the key was; -Jenkins, a trusty man, years in the employ, comes on at six and finds -the state of things. Where's Monk? Gone off by previous order to Evesham -at five. Why should it happen the very morning he was away? What was to -prevent his stealing into the greenhouse after dark last night putting -his deleterious stuff to work, leaving it to burn, and stealing in -again at four this morning to put all traces away? He thought he cleaned -out all the tale-telling earthen saucers, but he overlooks one, as -is usually the case. When he comes back, finding the wreck and the -commotion consequent upon it, he relates a glib tale of other plants -destroyed by arsenic from candles, and he never looks honestly into a -single face as he tells it!" - -The Squire drew a deep breath. "And you say Monk did all this?" - -"Nonsense, Squire. I say he might have done it. I say, moreover, that -it looks very like it. Putting Monk aside, your scent would be wholly -at fault." - -"What is to be done?" - -"I'll go and see Mother Picker; she can tell what time he went in last -night, and what time he came out this morning," cried Tod, who was just -as hasty as the pater. But old Duff caught him as he was vaulting off. - -"_I_ had better see Mother Picker. Will you let me act in this matter, -Squire, and see what can be made of it?" - -"Do, Duffham. Take Jones to help you?" - -"Jones be shot," returned Duff in a passion. "If I wanted any -one--which I _don't_--I'd take Johnny. He is worth fifty Joneses. -_Say nothing_--nothing at all. Do you understand?" - -He went off down a side path, and crossed Jenkins, who was at work now. -Monk stayed in the greenhouse. - -"This is a sad calamity, Jenkins." - -"It's the worst _I_ ever met with, sir," cried Jenkins, touching his -hat. "And what have done it is the odd thing. Monk, he talks of the -candles poisoning of 'em; but I don't know." - -"Well, there's not a much surer poison than arsenic, Jenkins," said the -doctor, candidly. "I hope it will be cleared up. Monk, too, has taken so -much pains with the plants. He is a clever young man in his vocation. -Where did you hear of him?" - -Jenkins's answer was a long one. Curtailed, it stated that he had heard -of Monk "promiskeous." He had thought him a gentleman till he asked if -he, Jenkins, could help him to a place as ornamental gardener. He had -rather took to the young man, and recommended the Squire to employ him -"temporay," for he, Jenkins, was just then falling sick with rheumatism. - -Mr. Duffham nodded approvingly. "Didn't think it necessary to ask for -references?" - -"Monk said he could give me a cart-load a'most of them, sir, if I'd -wanted to see 'em." - -"Just so! Good-day, Jenkins, I can't stay gossiping my morning away." - -He went straight to Mrs. Picker's, and caught her taking her luncheon -off the kitchen-table--bread-and-cheese, and perry. - -"It's a little cask o' last year's my son have made me a present of, -sir; if you'd be pleased to drink a cup, Dr. Duff'm," said she, -hospitably. - -She drew a half-pint cup full; bright, sparkling, full-bodied perry, -never better made in Gloucestershire. Mr. Duffham smacked his lips, and -wished some of the champagne at gentlemen's tables was half as good. He -talked, and she talked; and, it may be, he took her a little off her -guard. Evidently, she was not cognizant of the mishap to the greenhouse. - -A nice young man that lodger of hers? Well, yes, he was; steady and -well-conducted. Talked quite like a gentleman, but wasn't uppish 'cause -o' that, and seemed satisfied with all she did for him. He was gone off -to Evesham after seeds and other things. Squire Todhetley put great -confidence in him. - -"Ay," said Mr. Duffham, "to be sure. One does put confidence in steady -young men, you know, Goody. He was off by four o'clock, wasn't he?" - -Earlier nor that, Goody Picker thought. Monk were one o' them who liked -to take time by the forelock, and get his extra work forrard when he -were put on to any. - -"Nothing like putting the shoulder to the wheel. This _is_ perry! The -next time I call to see your son Peter, at Alcester, I shall ask him if -he can't get some for me. As to Monk--you might have had young fellows -here who'd have idled their days away, and paid no rent, Goody. Monk was -at his work late last night, too, I fancy?" - -Goody fancied he had been; leastways he went out after supper, and were -gone an hour or so. What with the fires, and what with the opening and -shutting o' the winders to keep the hot-houses at proper temperture, an -head-gardener didn't sit on a bed o' idle roses, as Dr. Duff'm knew. - -Mr. Duffham was beginning to make pretty sure of winning his game. His -manner suddenly changed. Pushing the empty cup from him, he leaned -forward, and laid hold of Mrs. Picker by the two wrists. Between the -perry and the doctor's sociability and Monk's merits, her eyes had begun -to sparkle. - -"Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Picker. I have come here to ask you a question, -_and you must answer me_. But you have nothing to fear on your own -score, provided you tell me the truth honestly. Young men will do -foolish things, however industrious they may be. Why did Monk play that -prank on Easter Monday?" - -The sparkle in the eyes faded with fright. She would have got away, but -could not, and so put on an air of wonder. - -"On Easter Monday! What were it he did on Easter Monday?" - -"When he put himself and his face into white, and went to the churchyard -by moonlight to represent the dead, you know, Mrs. Picker." - -She gave a shrill scream, got one of her hands loose and flung it up to -her face. - -"Come, Goody, you had better answer me quietly than be taken to confess -before Squire Todhetley. I dare say you were not to blame." - -Afore Squire Todhetley! O-o-o-o-o-h! Did they know it at the Manor? - -"Well," said Mr. Duffham, "you see I know it, and I have come straight -from there. Now then, my good woman, I have not much time." - -Goody Picker's will was good to hold out longer, but she surrendered a -coup de main, as so many of us have to do when superior power is brought -to bear. Monk overheered it, was the substance of her answer. On coming -in from work that there same blessed evening--and look at him now! at -his work on a Easter Monday till past dark!--he overheered the two -servants, Molly and Hannah, talking of what they was going out to watch -for--the shadows in the churchyard. He let 'em go, never showing hisself -till they'd left the house. Then he got the sheets from his bed, and put -the flour on his face, and went on there to frighten 'em; all in fun. -He never thought of hurting the women; he never knowed as the young -girl, Phoebe, was to be there. Nobody could be more sorry for it nor -he was; but he'd never meant to do harm more nor a babby unborn. - -Mr. Duffham released the hands. Looking back in reflection, he had -little doubt it was as she said--that Monk had done it out of pure -sport, not intending ill. - -"He might have confessed: it would have been more honest. And you! why -did you deny that it was Monk?" - -Mrs. Picker at first could only stare in reply. Confess to it? Him? -What, and run the risk o' being put into ancuffs by that there Jones -with his fat legs? And she! a poor old widder? If Monk went and said he -didn't do it, she couldn't go and say he _did_. Doctor Duff'm might see -as there were no choice left for _her_. Never should she forget the -fright when the two young gents come in with their querries the next -day; her fingers was took with the palsy and dropped the pudd'n basin, -as she'd had fifteen year. Monk, poor fellow, couldn't sleep for a peck -o' nights after, thinking o' Phoebe. - -"There; that's enough," said Mr. Duffham. "Who is Monk? Where does he -come from?" - -From the moon, for all Mrs. Picker knew. A civiler young man she'd not -wish to have lodging with her; paid reg'lar as the Saturdays come round; -but he never told her nothing about hisself. - -"Which is his room? The one at the back, I suppose." - -Without saying with your leave, or by your leave, as Mrs. Picker phrased -it in telling the story a long while afterwards, Mr. Duffham penetrated -at once into the lodger's room. There he took the liberty of making a -slight examination, good Mrs. Picker standing by with round eyes and -open mouth. And what he discovered caused him to stride off at once to -the pater. - -Roger Monk was not Monk at all, but somebody else. He had been -implicated in some crime (whether guilty or not remained yet a -question), and to avoid exposure had come away into this quiet locality -under a false name. In short, during the time he had been working as -gardener at Dyke Manor and living at Mother Picker's, he was in hiding. -As the son of a well-known and most respectable landscape and ornamental -nursery-man, he had become thoroughly conversant with the requisite -duties. - -"They are fools, at the best, these fellows," remarked Duffham, as he -finished his narrative. "A letter written to him by some friend betrayed -to me all this. Now why should not Monk have destroyed that letter, -instead of keeping it in his room, Squire?" - -The Squire did not answer. All he could do just now was to wipe his hot -face and try to get over his amazement. Monk not a gardener or servant -at all, but an educated man! Only living there to hide from the police; -and calling himself by any name that came uppermost--which happened to -be Monk! - -"I must say there's a certain credit due to him for his patient -industry, and the perfection to which he has brought your grounds," said -Mr. Duffham. - -"And for blighting all my hot-house plants at a blow--is there credit -due to him for that?" roared out the Squire. "I'll have him tried for -it, as sure as my name's Todhetley." - -It was easier said than done. For when Mr. Jones, receiving his private -orders from the pater, went, staff in hand, to arrest Monk, that -gentleman had already departed. - -"He come into the house just as Dr. Duff'm left it," explained Mrs. -Picker. "Saying he had got to take a short journey, he put his things -into his port-manty, and went off carrying of it, leaving me a week's -rent on the table." - -"Go and catch him, Jones," sternly commanded the Squire, when the -constable came back with the above news. - -"Yes, your worship," replied Jones. But how he was to do it, taking the -gouty legs into consideration, was quite a different thing. - -The men were sent off various ways. And came back again, not having -come up with Monk. Squire Todhetley went into a rage, abused old Jones, -and told him he was no longer worth his salt. But the strangest thing -occurred in the evening. - -The pater walked over to the Court after tea, carrying the grievance -of his destroyed plants to the Sterlings. In coming up Dyke Lane as -he returned at night, where it was always darker than in other places -because the trees hid the moonlight, somebody seemed to walk right out -of the hedge upon him. - -It was Roger Monk. He raised his hat to the Squire as a gentleman -does--did not touch it as a gardener--and began pleading for clemency. - -"Clemency, after destroying a whole hot-houseful of rare plants!" cried -the Squire. - -"I never did it, sir," returned Monk, passionately. "On my word as -a man--I will not to you say as a gentleman--if the plants were not -injured by the candles, as I fully believe, I know not how they could -have been injured." - -The pater was staggered. At heart he was the best man living. Suppose -Monk _was_ innocent? - -"Look here, Monk. You know your name is----" - -"Hush, sir!" interposed Monk, hastily, as if to prevent the hedges -hearing the true name. "It is of that I have waited to speak to you; -to beseech your clemency. I have no need to crave it in the matter of -plants which I never harmed. I want to ask you to be silent, sir; not -to proclaim to the world that I am other than what I appeared to be. A -short while longer and I should have been able to prove my innocence; -things are working round. But if you set the hue-and-cry upon me----" - -"Were you innocent?" interposed the Squire. - -"I was; I swear it to you. Oh, Mr. Todhetley, think for a moment! I am -not so very much older than your son; he is not more innocent than I -was; but it might happen that he--I crave your pardon, sir, but it -_might_--that he should become the companion of dissipated young -men, and get mixed up unwittingly in a disgraceful affair, whose -circumstances were so complicated that he could only fly for a time and -hide himself. What would you say if the people with whom he took refuge, -whether as servant or else, were to deliver him up to justice, and he -stood before the world an accused felon? Sir, it is my case. Keep my -secret; keep my secret, Mr. Todhetley." - -"And couldn't you prove your innocence?" cried the Squire, as he -followed out the train of ideas suggested. - -"Not at present--that I see. And when once a man has stood at a criminal -bar, it is a ban on him for life, although it may be afterwards shown he -stood there wrongly." - -"True," said the Squire, softening. - -Well--for there's no space to go on at length--the upshot was that Monk -went away with a promise; and the Squire came home to the Manor and told -Duffham, who was waiting there, that they must both be silent. Only -those two knew of the discovery; they had kept the particulars and -Monk's real name to themselves. Duff gave his head a toss, and told the -pater he was softer than old Jones. - -"How came _you_ to suspect him, Johnny?" he continued, turning on me in -his sharp way. - -"I think just for the same things that you did, Mr. Duffham--because -neither his face nor his voice is _true_." - -And--remembering his look of revenge when accused in mistake for the -magpie--I suspected him still. - - - - -THE EBONY BOX. - - -I. - -In one or two of the papers already written for you, I have spoken of -"Lawyer Cockermuth," as he was usually styled by his fellow-townspeople -at Worcester. I am now going to tell of something that happened in his -family; that actually did happen, and is no invention of mine. - -Lawyer Cockermuth's house stood in the Foregate Street. He had practised -in it for a good many years; he had never married, and his sister lived -with him. She had been christened Betty; it was a more common name in -those days than it is in these. There was a younger brother named -Charles. They were tall, wiry men with long arms and legs. John, the -lawyer, had a smiling, homely face; Charles was handsome, but given to -be choleric. - -Charles had served in the militia once, and had been ever since called -Captain Cockermuth. When only twenty-one he married a young lady with -a good bit of money; he had also a small income of his own; so he -abandoned the law, to which he had been bred, and lived as a gentleman -in a pretty little house on the outskirts of Worcester. His wife died -in the course of a few years, leaving him with one child, a son, named -Philip. The interest of Mrs. Charles Cockermuth's money would be -enjoyed by her husband until his death, and then would go to Philip. - -When Philip left school he was articled to his uncle, Lawyer Cockermuth, -and took up his abode with him. Captain Cockermuth (who was of a -restless disposition, and fond of roving), gave up his house then and -went travelling about. Philip Cockermuth was a very nice steady young -fellow, and his father was liberal to him in the way of pocket-money, -allowing him a guinea a-week. Every Monday morning Lawyer Cockermuth -handed (for his brother) to Philip a guinea in gold; the coin being in -use then. Philip spent most of this in books, but he saved some of it; -and by the time he was of age he had sixty golden guineas put aside in a -small round black box of carved ebony. "What are you going to do with -it, Philip?" asked Miss Cockermuth, as he brought it down from his room -to show her. "I don't know what yet, Aunt Betty," said Philip, laughing. -"I call it my nest-egg." - -He carried the little black box (the sixty guineas quite filled it), -back to his chamber and put it back into one of the pigeon-holes of the -old-fashioned bureau which stood in the room, where he always kept it, -and left it there, the bureau locked as usual. After that time, Philip -put his spare money, now increased by a salary, into the Old Bank; and -it chanced that he did not again look at the ebony box of gold, never -supposing but that it was safe in its hiding-place. On the occasion of -his marriage some years later, he laughingly remarked to Aunt Betty that -he must now take his box of guineas into use; and he went up to fetch -it. The box was not there. - -Consternation ensued. The family flocked upstairs; the lawyer, Miss -Betty, and the captain--who had come to Worcester for the wedding, -and was staying in the house--one and all put their hands into the -deep, dark pigeon-holes, but failed to find the box. The captain, a -hot-tempered man, flew into a passion and swore over it; Miss Betty shed -tears; Lawyer Cockermuth, always cool and genial, shrugged his shoulders -and absolutely joked. None of them could form the slightest notion as to -how the box had gone or who was likely to have taken it, and it had to -be given up as a bad job. - -Philip was married the next day, and left his uncle's house for good, -having taken one out Barbourne way. Captain Cockermuth felt very sore -about the loss of the box, he strode about Worcester talking of it, and -swearing that he would send the thief to Botany Bay if he could find -him. - -A few years more yet, and poor Philip became ill. Ill of the disorder -which had carried off his mother--decline. When Captain Cockermuth heard -that his son was lying sick, he being (as usual) on his travels, he -hastened to Worcester and took up his abode at his brother's--always his -home on these visits. The disease was making very quick progress indeed; -it was what is called "rapid decline." The captain called in all the -famed doctors of the town--if they had not been called before: but there -was no hope. - -The day before Philip died, his father spoke to him about the box of -guineas. It had always seemed to the captain that Philip must have, or -ought to have, _some_ notion of how it went. And he put the question to -him again, solemnly, for the last time. - -"Father," said the dying man--who retained all his faculties and his -speech to the very end--"I declare to you that I have none. I have never -been able to set up any idea at all upon the loss, or attach suspicion -to a soul, living or dead. The two maids were honest; they would not -have touched it; the clerks had no opportunity of going upstairs. I had -always kept the key safely, and you know that we found the lock of the -bureau had not been tampered with." - -Poor Philip died. His widow and four children went to live at a pretty -cottage on Malvern Link--upon a hundred pounds a-year, supplied to her -by her father-in-law. Mr. Cockermuth added the best part of another -hundred. These matters settled, Captain Cockermuth set off on his -rovings again, considering himself hardly used by Fate at having his -limited income docked of nearly half its value. And yet some more years -passed on. - -This much has been by way of introduction to what has to come. It was -best to give it. - -Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson, our neighbours at Dyke Manor, had a whole colony -of nephews, what with brothers' sons and sisters' sons; of nieces also; -batches of them would come over in relays to stay at Elm Farm, which had -no children of its own. Samson Dene was the favourite nephew of all; his -mother was sister to Mr. Jacobson, his father was dead. Samson Reginald -Dene he was christened, but most people called him "Sam." He had been -articled to the gentleman who took to his father's practice; a lawyer in -a village in Oxfordshire. Later, he had gone to a firm in London for a -year, had passed, and then came down to his uncle at Elm Farm, asking -what he was to do next. For, upon his brother-in-law's death, Mr. -Jacobson had taken upon himself the expenses of Sam, the eldest son. - -"Want to know what you are to do now, eh?" cried old Jacobson, who -was smoking his evening pipe by the wide fire of the dark-wainscoted, -handsome dining-parlour, one evening in February. He was a tall, portly -man with a fresh-coloured, healthy face; and not, I dare say, far off -sixty years old. "What would you like to do?--what is your own opinion -upon it, Sam?" - -"I should like to set up in practice for myself, uncle." - -"Oh, indeed! In what quarter of the globe, pray?" - -"In Worcester. I have always wished to practise at Worcester. It is the -assize town: I don't care for pettifogging places: one can't get on in -them." - -"You'd like to emerge all at once into a full-blown lawyer there? That's -your notion, is it, Sam?" - -Sam made no answer. He knew by the tone his notion was being laughed at. - -"No, my lad. When you have been in some good office for another year or -two maybe, then you might think about setting-up. The office can be in -Worcester if you like." - -"I am hard upon twenty-three, Uncle Jacobson. I have as much knowledge -of law as I need." - -"And as much steadiness also, perhaps?" said old Jacobson. - -Sam turned as red as the table-cover. He was a frank-looking, slender -young fellow of middle height, with fine wavy hair almost a gold colour -and worn of a decent length. The present fashion--to be cropped as if -you were a prison-bird and to pretend to like it so--was not favoured -by gentlemen in those days. - -"You may have been acquiring a knowledge of law in London, Sam; I hope -you have; but you've been kicking up your heels over it. What about -those sums of money you've more than once got out of your mother?" - -Sam's face was a deeper red than the cloth now. "Did she tell you of it, -uncle?" he gasped. - -"No, she didn't; she cares too much for her graceless son to betray him. -I chanced to hear of it, though." - -"One has to spend so much in London," murmured Sam, in lame apology. - -"I dare say! In my past days, sir, a young man had to cut his coat -according to his cloth. We didn't rush into all kinds of random games -and then go to our fathers or mothers to help us out of them. Which is -what you've been doing, my gentleman." - -"Does aunt know?" burst out Sam in a fright, as a step was heard on the -stairs. - -"I've not told her," said Mr. Jacobson, listening--"she is gone on into -the kitchen. How much is it that you've left owing in London, Sam?" - -Sam nearly choked. He did not perceive this was just a random shot: he -was wondering whether magic had been at work. - -"Left owing in London?" stammered he. - -"That's what I asked. How much? And I mean to know. 'Twon't be of any -use your fencing about the bush. Come! tell it in a lump." - -"Fifty pounds would cover it all, sir," said Sam, driven by desperation -into the avowal. - -"I want the truth, Sam." - -"That is the truth, uncle, I put it all down in a list before leaving -London; it comes to just under fifty pounds." - -"How could you be so wicked as to contract it?" - -"There has not been much wickedness about it," said Sam, miserably, -"indeed there hasn't. One gets drawn into expenses unconsciously in the -most extraordinary manner up in London. Uncle Jacobson, you may believe -me or not, when I say that until I added it up, I did not think it -amounted to twenty pounds in all." - -"And then you found it to be fifty! How do you propose to pay this?" - -"I intend to send it up by instalments, as I can." - -"Instead of doing which, you'll get into deeper debt at Worcester. If -it's Worcester you go to." - -"I hope not, uncle. I shall do my best to keep out of debt. I mean to be -steady." - -Mr. Jacobson filled a fresh pipe, and lighted it with a spill from the -mantelpiece. He did not doubt the young fellow's intentions; he only -doubted his resolution. - -"You shall go into some lawyer's office in Worcester for two years, Sam, -when we shall see how things turn out," said he presently. "And, look -here, I'll pay these debts of yours myself, provided you promise me not -to get into trouble again. There, no more"--interrupting Sam's grateful -looks--"your aunt's coming in." - -Sam opened the door for Mrs. Jacobson. A little pleasant-faced woman in -a white net cap, with small flat silver curls under it. She carried a -small basket lined with blue silk, in which lay her knitting. - -"I've been looking to your room, my dear, to see that all's comfortable -for you," she said to Sam, as she sat down by the table and the candles. -"That new housemaid of ours is not altogether to be trusted. I suppose -you've been telling your uncle all about the wonders of London?" - -"And something else, too," put in old Jacobson gruffly. "He wanted to -set up in practice for himself at Worcester: off-hand, red-hot!" - -"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Jacobson. - -"That's what the boy wanted, nothing less. No. Another year or two's -work in some good house, to acquire stability and experience, and then -he may talk about setting up. It will be all for the best, Sam; trust -me." - -"Well, uncle, perhaps it will." It was of no use for him to say perhaps -it won't: he could not help himself. But it was a disappointment. - -Mr. Jacobson walked over to Dyke Manor the next day, to consult the -Squire as to the best lawyer to place Sam with, himself suggesting their -old friend Cockermuth. He described all Sam's wild ways (it was how he -put it) in that dreadful place, London, and the money he had got out of -amidst its snares. The Squire took up the matter with his usual hearty -sympathy, and quite agreed that no practitioner in the law could be so -good for Sam as John Cockermuth. - -John Cockermuth proved to be agreeable. He was getting to be an elderly -man then, but was active as ever, saving when a fit of the gout took -him. He received young Dene in his usual cheery manner, upon the day -appointed for his entrance, and assigned him his place in the office -next to Mr. Parslet. Parslet had been there more than twenty years; he -was, so to say, at the top and tail of all the work that went on in it, -but he was not a qualified solicitor. Samson Dene was qualified, and -could therefore represent Mr. Cockermuth before the magistrates and what -not: of which the old lawyer expected to find the benefit. - -"Where are you going to live?" he questioned of Sam that first morning. - -"I don't know yet, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson are about the town now, I -believe, looking for lodgings for me. Of course they couldn't let _me_ -look; they'd think I should be taken in," added Sam. - -"Taken in and done for," laughed the lawyer. "I should not wonder but -Mr. Parslet could accommodate you. Can you, Parslet?" - -Mr. Parslet looked up from his desk, his thin cheeks flushing. He was -small and slight, with weak brown hair, and had a patient, sad sort of -look in his face and in his meek, dark eyes. - -James Parslet was one of those men who are said to spoil their own -lives. Left alone early, he was looked after by a bachelor uncle, a -minor canon of the cathedral, who perhaps tried to do his duty by him in -a mild sort of manner. But young Parslet liked to go his own ways, and -they were not very good ways. He did not stay at any calling he was put -to, trying first one and then another; either the people got tired of -him, or he of them. Money (when he got any) burnt a hole in his pocket, -and his coats grew shabby and his boots dirty. "Poor Jamie Parslet! how -he has spoilt his life" cried the town, shaking its pitying head at him: -and thus things went on till he grew to be nearly thirty years of age. -Then, to the public astonishment, Jamie pulled up. He got taken on by -Lawyer Cockermuth as copying clerk at twenty shillings a-week, married, -and became as steady as Old Time. He had been nothing but steady from -that day to this, had forty shillings a-week now, instead of twenty, -and was ever a meek, subdued man, as if he carried about with him a -perpetual repentance for the past, regret for the life that might have -been. He lived in Edgar Street, which is close to the cathedral, as -every one knows, Edgar Tower being at the top of it. An old gentleman -attached to the cathedral had now lodged in his house for ten years, -occupying the drawing-room floor; he had recently died, and hence Lawyer -Cockermuth's suggestion. - -Mr. Parslet looked up. "I should be happy to, sir," he said; "if our -rooms suited Mr. Dene. Perhaps he would like to look at them?" - -"I will," said Sam. "If my uncle and aunt do not fix on any for me." - -Is there any subtle mesmeric power, I wonder, that influences things -unconsciously? Curious to say, at this very moment Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson -were looking at these identical rooms. They had driven into Worcester -with Sam very early indeed, so as to have a long day before them, and -when breakfast was over at the inn, took the opportunity, which they -very rarely got, of slipping into the cathedral to hear the beautiful -ten-o'clock service. Coming out the cloister way when it was over, and -so down Edgar Street, Mrs. Jacobson espied a card in a window with -"Lodgings" on it. "I wonder if they would suit Sam?" she cried to her -husband. "Edgar Street is a nice, wide, open street, and quiet. Suppose -we look at them?" - -A young servant-maid, called by her mistress "Sally," answered the -knock. Mrs. Parslet, a capable, bustling woman of ready speech and good -manners, came out of the parlour, and took the visitors to the floor -above. They liked the rooms and they liked Mrs. Parslet; they also liked -the moderate rent asked, for respectable country people in those days -did not live by shaving one another; and when it came out that the -house's master had been clerk to Lawyer Cockermuth for twenty years, -they settled the matter off-hand, without the ceremony of consulting -Sam. Mrs. Jacobson looked upon Sam as a boy still. Mr. Jacobson might -have done the same but for the debts made in London. - -And all this, you will say, has been yet more explanation; but I could -not help it. The real thing begins now, with Sam Dene's sojourn in Mr. -Cockermuth's office, and his residence in Edgar Street. - -The first Sunday of his stay there, Sam went out to attend the morning -service in the cathedral, congratulating himself that that grand edifice -stood so conveniently near, and looking, it must be confessed, a bit of -a dandy, for he had put a little bunch of spring violets into his coat, -and "button-holes" were quite out of the common way then. The service -began with the Litany, the earlier service of prayers being held at -eight o'clock. Sam Dene has not yet forgotten that day, for it is no -imaginary person I am telling you of, and never will forget it. The -Reverend Allen Wheeler chanted, and the prebendary in residence (Somers -Cocks) preached. While wondering when the sermon (a very good one) would -be over, and thinking it rather prosy, after the custom of young men, -Sam's roving gaze was drawn to a young lady sitting in the long seat -opposite to him on the other side of the choir, whose whole attention -appeared to be given to the preacher, to whom her head was turned. It is -a nice face, thought Sam; such a sweet expression in it. It really was a -nice face, rather pretty, gentle and thoughtful, a patient look in the -dark brown eyes. She had on a well-worn dark silk, and a straw bonnet; -all very quiet and plain; but she looked very much of a lady. Wonder if -she sits there always? thought Sam. - -Service over, he went home, and was about to turn the handle of the door -to enter (looking another way) when he found it turned for him by some -one who was behind and had stretched out a hand to do it. Turning -quickly, he saw the same young lady. - -"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Sam, all at sea; "did you wish to come in -here?" - -"If you please," she answered--and her voice was sweet and her manner -modest. - -"Oh," repeated Sam, rather taken aback at the answer. "You did not want -me, did you?" - -"Thank you, it is my home," she said. - -"Your home?" stammered Sam, for he had not seen the ghost of any one in -the house yet, saving his landlord and landlady and Sally. "Here?" - -"Yes. I am Maria Parslet." - -He stood back to let her enter; a slender, gentle girl of middle height; -she looked about eighteen, Sam thought (she was that and two years on to -it), and he wondered where she had been hidden. He had to go out again, -for he was invited to dine at Lawyer Cockermuth's, so he saw no more of -the young lady that day; but she kept dancing about in his memory. And -somehow she so fixed herself in it, and as the time went on so grew -in it, and at last so filled it, that Sam may well hold that day as a -marked day--the one that introduced him to Maria Parslet. But that is -anticipating. - -On the Monday morning all his ears and eyes were alert, listening and -looking for Maria. He did not see her; he did not hear a sound of her. -By degrees he got to learn that the young lady was resident teacher in a -lady's school hard by; and that she was often allowed to spend the whole -day at home on Sundays. One Sunday evening he ingeniously got himself -invited to take tea in Mrs. Parslet's parlour, and thus became -acquainted with Maria; but his opportunities for meeting her were rare. - -There's not much to tell of the first twelvemonth. It passed in due -course. Sam Dene was fairly steady. He made a few debts, as some young -men, left to themselves, can't help making--at least, they'd tell you -they can't. Sundry friends of Sam's in Worcester knew of this, and -somehow it reached Mr. Cockermuth's ears, who gave Sam a word of advice -privately. - -This was just as the first year expired. According to agreement, Sam had -another year to stay. He entered upon it with inward gloom. On adding up -his scores, which he deemed it as well to do after his master's lecture, -he again found that they amounted to far more than he had thought for, -and how he should contrive to pay them out of his own resources he knew -no more than the man in the moon. In short, he could not do it; he was -in a fix; and lived in perpetual dread of its coming to the ears of his -uncle Jacobson. - - * * * * * - -The spring assize, taking place early in March, was just over; the -judges had left the town for Stafford, and Worcester was settling down -again to quietness. Miss Cockermuth gave herself and her two handmaidens -a week's rest--assize time being always a busy and bustling period -at the lawyer's, no end of chance company looking in--and then the -house began its spring cleaning, a grand institution with our good -grandmothers, often lasting a couple of weeks. This time, at the -lawyer's house, it was to be a double bustle; for visitors were being -prepared for. - -It had pleased Captain Cockermuth to write word that he should be at -home for Easter; upon which, the lawyer and his sister decided to invite -Philip's widow and her children also to spend it with them; they knew -Charles would be pleased. Easter-Day was very early indeed that year, -falling at the end of March. - -To make clearer what's coming, the house had better have a word or two -of description. You entered from the street into a wide passage; no -steps. On the left was the parlour and general sitting-room, in which -all meals were usually taken. It was a long, low room, its two rather -narrow windows looking upon the street, the back of the room being a -little dark. Opposite the door was the fireplace. On the other side the -passage, facing the parlour-door, was the door that opened to the two -rooms (one front, one back) used as the lawyer's offices. The kitchens -and staircase were at the back of the passage, a garden lying beyond; -and there was a handsome drawing-room on the first floor, not much used. - -The house, I say, was in a commotion with the spring cleaning, -and the other preparations. To accommodate so many visitors -required contrivance: a bedroom for the captain, a bedroom for his -daughter-in-law, two bedrooms for the children. Mistress and maids -held momentous consultations together. - -"We have decided to put the three little girls in Philip's old room, -John," said Miss Betty to her brother, as they sat in the parlour after -dinner on the Monday evening of the week preceding Passion Week; "and -little Philip can have the small room off mine. We shall have to get in -a child's bed, though; I can't put the three little girls in one bed; -they might get fighting. John, I do wish you'd sell that old bureau for -what it will fetch." - -"Sell the old bureau!" exclaimed Mr. Cockermuth. - -"I'm sure I should. What good does it do? Unless that bureau goes out of -the room, we can't put the extra bed in. I've been in there half the day -with Susan and Ann, planning and contriving, and we find it can't be -done any way. Do let Ward take it away, John; there's no place for it in -the other chambers. He'd give you a fair price for it, I dare say." - -Miss Betty had never cared for this piece of furniture, thinking it more -awkward than useful: she looked eagerly at her brother, awaiting his -decision. She was the elder of the two; tall, like him; but whilst he -maintained his thin, wiry form, just the shape of an upright gas-post -with arms, she had grown stout with no shape at all. Miss Betty had -dark, thick eyebrows and an amiable red face. She wore a "front" of -brown curls with a high and dressy cap perched above it. This evening -her gown was of soft twilled shot-green silk, a white net kerchief was -crossed under its body, and she had on a white muslin apron. - -"I don't mind," assented the lawyer, as easy in disposition as Miss -Betty was; "it's of no use keeping it that I know of. Send for Ward and -ask him, if you like, Betty." - -Ward, a carpenter and cabinet-maker, who had a shop in the town and -sometimes bought second-hand things, was sent for by Miss Betty on the -following morning; and he agreed, after some chaffering, to buy the -old bureau. It was the bureau from which Philip's box of gold had -disappeared--but I dare say you have understood that. In the midst -of all this stir and clatter, just as Ward betook himself away after -concluding the negotiation, and the maids were hard at work above stairs -with mops and pails and scrubbing-brushes, the first advance-guard of -the visitors unexpectedly walked in: Captain Cockermuth. - -Miss Betty sat down in an access of consternation. She could do nothing -but stare. He had not been expected for a week yet; there was nothing -ready and nowhere to put him. - -"I wish you'd take to behaving like a rational being, Charles!" she -exclaimed. "We are all in a mess; the rooms upside down, and the bedside -carpets hanging out at the windows." - -Captain Cockermuth said he did not care for bedside carpets, he could -sleep anywhere--on the brewhouse-bench, if she liked. He quite approved -of selling the old bureau, when told it was going to be done. - -Ward had appointed five o'clock that evening to fetch it away. They were -about to sit down to dinner when he came, five o'clock being the hour -for late dinners then in ordinary life. Ward had brought a man with him -and they went upstairs. - -Miss Betty, as carver, sat at the top of the dining-table, her back to -the windows, the lawyer in his place at the foot, Charles between them, -facing the fire. Miss Betty was cutting off the first joint of a loin -of veal when the bureau was heard coming down the staircase, with much -bumping and noise. - -Mr. Cockermuth stepped out of the dining-room to look on. The captain -followed: being a sociable man with his fellow-townspeople, he went to -ask Ward how he did. - -The bureau came down safely, and was lodged at the foot of the stairs; -the man wiped his hot face, while Ward spoke with Captain Cockermuth. It -seemed quite a commotion in the usual quiet dwelling. Susan, a jug of -ale in her hand, which she had been to the cellar to draw, stood looking -on from the passage; Mr. Dene and a younger clerk, coming out of the -office just then to leave for the evening, turned to look on also. - -"I suppose there's nothing in here, sir?" cried Ward, returning to -business and the bureau. - -"Nothing, I believe," replied Mr. Cockermuth. - -"Nothing at all," called out Miss Betty through the open parlour-door. -"I emptied the drawers this morning." - -Ward, a cautious man and honest, drew back the lid and put his hand in -succession into the pigeon-holes; which had not been used since Philip's -time. There were twelve of them; three above, and three below on each -side, and a little drawer that locked in the middle. "Halloa!" cried -Ward, when his hand was in the depth of one of them: "here's something." - -And he drew forth the lost box. The little ebony box with all the gold -in it. - -Well now, that was a strange thing. Worcester thinks so, those people -who are still living to remember it, to this day. How it was that the -box had appeared to be lost and was searched for in vain over and -over again, by poor Philip and others; and how it was that it was now -recovered in this easy and natural manner, was never explained or -accounted for. Ward's opinion was that the box must have been put in, -side upwards, that it had in some way stuck to the back of the deep, -narrow pigeon-hole, which just about held the box in width, that those -who had searched took the box for the back of the hole when their -fingers touched it and that the bumping of the bureau now in coming -downstairs had dislodged the box and brought it forward. As a maker of -bureaus, Ward's opinion was listened to with deference. Any way, it was -a sort of theory, serving passably well in the absence of any other. But -who knew? All that was certain about it was the fact; the loss and the -recovery after many years. It happened just as here described, as I have -already said. - -Sam Dene had never heard of the loss. Captain Cockermuth, perfectly -beside himself with glee, explained it to him. Sam laughed as he touched -with his forefinger the closely packed golden guineas, lying there so -snug and safe, offered his congratulations, and walked home to tea. - -It chanced that on that especial Tuesday evening, matters were at sixes -and sevens in the Parslets' house. Sally had misbehaved herself and was -discharged in consequence; and the servant engaged in her place, who was -to have entered that afternoon, had not made her appearance. When Sam -entered, Maria came out of the parlour, a pretty blush upon her face. -And to Sam the unexpected sight of her, it was not often he got a chance -of it, and the blush and the sweet eyes came like a gleam of Eden, for -he had grown to love her dearly. Not that he had owned it to himself -yet. - -Maria explained. Her school had broken up for the Easter holidays -earlier than it ought, one of the girls showing symptoms of measles; -and her mother had gone out to see what had become of the new servant, -leaving a request that Mr. Dene would take his tea with them in the -parlour that evening, as there was no one to wait on him. - -Nothing loth, you may be sure, Mr. Dene accepted the invitation, running -up to wash his hands, and give a look at his hair, and running down in -a trice. The tea-tray stood in readiness on the parlour table, Maria -sitting behind it. Perhaps she had given a look at _her_ hair, for it -was quite more lovely, Sam thought, more soft and silken than any hair -he had ever seen. The little copper kettle sang away on the hob by the -fire. - -"Will papa be long, do you know?" began Maria demurely, feeling shy and -conscious at being thus thrown alone into Sam's company. "I had better -not make the tea until he comes in." - -"I don't know at all," answered Sam. "He went out on some business for -Mr. Cockermuth at half-past four, and was not back when I left. Such a -curious thing has just happened up there, Miss Parslet!" - -"Indeed! What is it?" - -Sam entered on the narrative. Maria, who knew all about the strange loss -of the box, grew quite excited as she listened. "Found!" she exclaimed. -"Found in the same bureau! And all the golden guineas in it!" - -"Every one," said Sam: "as I take it. They were packed right up to the -top!" - -"Oh, what a happy thing!" repeated Maria, in a fervent tone that rather -struck Sam, and she clasped her fingers into one another, as one -sometimes does in pleasure or in pain. - -"Why do you say that, Miss Parslet?" - -"Because papa--but I do not think I ought to tell you," added Maria, -breaking off abruptly. - -"Oh yes, you may. I am quite safe, even if it's a secret. Please do." - -"Well," cried the easily persuaded girl, "papa has always had an -uncomfortable feeling upon him ever since the loss. He feared that some -people, knowing he was not well off, might think perhaps it was he who -had stolen upstairs and taken it." - -Sam laughed at that. - -"He has never _said_ so, but somehow we have seen it, my mother and I. -It was altogether so mysterious a loss, you see, affording no clue as to -_when_ it occurred, that people were ready to suspect anything, however -improbable. Oh, I am thankful it is found!" - -The kettle went on singing, the minutes went on flitting, and still -nobody came. Six o'clock struck out from the cathedral as Mr. Parslet -entered. Had the two been asked the time, they might have said it was -about a quarter-past five. Golden hours fly quickly; fly on angels' -wings. - -Now it chanced that whilst they were at tea, a creditor of Sam's came -to the door, one Jonas Badger. Sam went to him: and the colloquy that -ensued might be heard in the parlour. Mr. Badger said (in quite a -fatherly way) that he really could not be put off any longer with -promises; if his money was not repaid to him before Easter he should be -obliged to take steps about it, should write to Mr. Jacobson, of Elm -Farm, to begin with. Sam returned to the tea-table with a wry face. - -Soon after that, Mrs. Parslet came in, the delinquent servant in her -rear. Next, a friend of Sam's called, Austin Chance, whose father was a -solicitor in good practice in the town. The two young men, who were very -intimate and often together, went up to Sam's room above. - -"I say, my good young friend," began Chance, in a tone that might be -taken for jest or earnest, "don't you go and get into any entanglement -in that quarter." - -"What d'you mean now?" demanded Sam, turning the colour of the rising -sun. - -"I mean Maria Parslet," said Austin Chance, laughing. "She's a deuced -nice girl; I know that; just the one a fellow might fall in love with -unawares. But it wouldn't do, Dene." - -"Why wouldn't it do?" - -"Oh, come now, Sam, you know it wouldn't. Parslet is only a working -clerk at Cockermuth's." - -"I should like to know what has put the thought in your head?" -contended Sam. "You had better put it out again. I've never told you -I was falling in love with her; or told herself, either. Mrs. Parslet -would be about me, I expect, if I did. She looks after her as one looks -after gold." - -"Well, I found you in their room, having tea with them, and----" - -"It was quite an accident; an exceptional thing," interrupted Sam. - -"Well," repeated Austin, "you need not put your back up, old fellow; a -friendly warning does no harm. Talking of gold, Dene, I've done my best -to get up the twenty pounds you wanted to borrow of me, and I can't do -it. I'd let you have it with all my heart if I could; but I find I am -harder up than I thought for." - -Which was all true. Chance was as good-natured a young man as ever -lived, but at this early stage of his life he made more debts than he -could pay. - -"Badger has just been here, whining and covertly threatening," said Sam. -"I am to pay up in a week, or he'll make me pay--and tell my uncle, he -says, to begin with." - -"Hypocritical old skinflint!" ejaculated Chance, himself sometimes in -the hands of Mr. Badger--a worthy gentleman who did a little benevolent -usury in a small and quiet way, and took his delight in accommodating -safe young men. A story was whispered that young M., desperately -hard-up, borrowed two pounds from him one Saturday night, undertaking -to repay it, with two pounds added on for interest, that day month; and -when the day came and M. had not got the money, or was at all likely to -get it, he carried off a lot of his mother's plate under his coat to -the pawnbroker's. - -"And there's more besides Badger's that is pressing," went on Dene. "I -must get money from somewhere, or it will play the very deuce with me. -I wonder whether Charley Hill could lend me any?" - -"Don't much think so. You might ask him. Money seems scarce with Hill -always. Has a good many ways for it, I fancy." - -"Talking of money, Chance, a lot has been found at Cockermuth's to-day. -A boxful of guineas that has been lost for years." - -Austin Chance stared. "You don't mean that box of guineas that -mysteriously disappeared in Philip's time?" - -"Well, they say so. It is a small, round box of carved ebony, and it is -stuffed to the brim with old guineas. Sixty of them, I hear." - -"I can't believe it's true; that _that's_ found." - -"Not believe it's true, Chance! Why, I saw it. Saw the box found, -and touched the guineas with my fingers. It has been hidden in an old -bureau all the time," added Sam, and he related the particulars of the -discovery. - -"What an extraordinary thing!" exclaimed young Chance: "the queerest -start I ever heard of." And he fell to musing. - -But the "queer start," as Mr. Austin Chance was pleased to designate -the resuscitation of the box, did not prove to be a lucky one. - - -II. - -The sun shone brightly on Foregate Street, but did not yet touch the -front-windows on Lawyer Cockermuth's side of it. Miss Betty Cockermuth -sat near one of them in the parlour, spectacles on nose, and hard at -work unpicking the braid off some very old woollen curtains, green once, -but now faded to a sort of dingy brown. It was Wednesday morning, the -day following the wonderful event of finding the box, lost so long, full -of its golden guineas. In truth nobody thought of it as anything less -than marvellous. - -The house-cleaning, in preparation for Easter and Easter's visitors, was -in full flow to-day, and would be for more than a week to come; the two -maids were hard at it above. Ward, who did not disdain to labour with -his own hands, was at the house, busy at some mysterious business in the -brewhouse, coat off, shirt-sleeves stripped up to elbow, plunging at -that moment something or other into the boiling water of the furnace. - -"How I could have let them remain up so long in this state, I can't -think," said Miss Betty to herself, arresting her employment, scissors -in hand, to regard the dreary curtains. She had drawn the table towards -her from the middle of the room, and the heavy work was upon it. Susan -came in to impart some domestic news. - -"Ward says there's a rare talk in the town about the finding of that -box, missis," cried she, when she had concluded it. "My! how bad them -curtains look, now they're down!" - -Servants were on more familiar terms with their mistresses in those days -without meaning, or showing, any disrespect; identifying themselves, as -it were, with the family and its interests. Susan, a plump, red-cheeked -young woman turned thirty, had been housemaid in her present place for -seven years. She had promised a baker's head man to marry him, but never -could be got to fix the day. In winter she'd say to him, "Wait till -summer;" and when summer came, she'd say, "Wait till winter." Miss Betty -commended her prudence. - -"Yes," said she now, in answer to the girl, "I've been wondering how we -could have kept them up so long; they are not fit for much, I'm afraid, -save the ragbag. Chintz will make the room look much nicer." - -As Susan left the parlour, Captain Cockermuth entered it, a farmer with -him who had come in from Hallow to the Wednesday's market. The captain's -delighted excitement at the finding of the box had not at all subsided; -he had dreamt of it, he talked of it, he pinned every acquaintance he -could pick up this morning and brought him in to see the box of gold. -Independently of its being a very great satisfaction to have had the old -mysterious loss cleared up, the sixty guineas would be a huge boon to -the captain's pocket. - -"But how was it that none of you ever found it, if it remained all this -while in the pigeon-hole?" cried the wondering farmer, bending over the -little round box of guineas, which the captain placed upon the table -open, the lid by its side. - -"Well, we didn't find it, that's all I know; or poor Philip, either," -said Captain Cockermuth. - -The farmer took his departure. As the captain was showing him to the -front-door, another gentleman came hustling in. It was Thomas Chance the -lawyer, father of the young man who had been the previous night with -Samson Dene. He and Lawyer Cockermuth were engaged together just then in -some complicated, private, and very disagreeable business, each acting -for a separate client, who were the defendants against a great wrong--or -what they thought was one. - -"Come in, Chance, and take a look at my box of guineas, resuscitated -from the grave," cried the captain, joyously. "You can go into the -office to John afterwards." - -"Well, I've hardly time this morning," answered Mr. Chance, turning, -though, into the parlour and shaking hands with Miss Betty. "Austin told -me it was found." - -Now it happened that Lawyer Cockermuth came then into the parlour -himself, to get something from his private desk-table which stood there. -When the box had been discussed, Mr. Chance took a letter from his -pocket and placed it in his brother practitioner's hands. - -"What do you think of that?" he asked. "I got it by post this morning." - -"Think! why, that it is of vital importance," said Mr. Cockermuth when -he had read it. - -"Yes; no doubt of that. But what is to be our next move in answer to -it?" asked the other. - -Seeing they were plunging into business, the captain strolled away to -the front-door, which stood open all day, for the convenience of those -coming to the office, and remained there whistling, his hands in his -pockets, on the look out for somebody else to bring in. He had put the -lid on the box of guineas, and left the box on the table. - -"I should like to take a copy of this letter," said Mr. Cockermuth to -the other lawyer. - -"Well, you can take it," answered Chance. "Mind who does it, -though--Parslet, or somebody else that's confidential. Don't let it go -into the office." - -"You are wanted, sir," said Mr. Dene, from the door. - -"Who is it?" asked his master. - -"Mr. Chamberlain. He says he is in a hurry." - -"I'm coming. Here, Dene!" he called out as the latter was turning away: -and young Dene came back again. - -"Sit down here, now, and take a copy of this letter," cried the lawyer, -rapidly drawing out and opening the little writing-desk table that stood -against the wall at the back of the room. "Here's pen, ink and paper, -all ready: the letter is confidential, you perceive." - -He went out of the room as he spoke, Mr. Chance with him; and Sam Dene -sat down to commence his task, after exchanging a few words with Miss -Betty, with whom he was on good terms. - -"Charles makes as much fuss over this little box as if it were filled -with diamonds from Golconda, instead of guineas," remarked she, pointing -with her scissors to the box, which stood near her on the table, to -direct the young man's attention to it. "I don't know how many folks he -has not brought in already to have a look at it." - -"Well, it was a capital find, Miss Betty; one to be proud of," answered -Sam, settling to his work. - -For some little time nothing was heard but the scratching of Mr. Dene's -pen and the clicking of Miss Betty's scissors. Her task was nearing -completion. A few minutes more, and the last click was given, the -last bit of the braid was off. "And I'm glad of it," cried she aloud, -flinging the end of the curtain on the top of the rest. - -"This braid will do again for something or other," considered Miss -Betty, as she began to wind it upon an old book. "It was put on fresh -only three or four years ago. Well brushed, it will look almost like -new." - -Again Susan opened the door. "Miss Betty, here's the man come with the -chintz: five or six rolls of it for you to choose from," cried she. -"Shall he come in here?" - -Miss Betty was about to say Yes, but stopped and said No, instead. The -commotion of holding up the chintzes to the light, to judge of their -different merits, might disturb Mr. Dene; and she knew better than to -interrupt business. - -"Let him take them to the room where they are to hang, Susan; we can -judge best there." - -Tossing the braid to Susan, who stood waiting at the door, Miss Betty -hastily took up her curtains, and Susan held the door open for her -mistress to pass through. - -Choosing chintz for window-curtains takes some time; as everybody knows -whose fancy is erratic. And how long Miss Betty and Susan and the young -man from the chintz-mart had been doubting and deciding and doubting -again, did not quite appear, when Captain Cockermuth's voice was heard -ascending from below. - -"Betty! Are you upstairs, Betty?" - -"Yes, I'm here," she called back, crossing to the door to speak. "Do you -want me, Charles?" - -"Where have you put the box?" - -"What box?" - -"The box of guineas." - -"It is on the table." - -"It is not on the table. I can't see it anywhere." - -"It was on the table when I left the parlour. I did not touch it. Ask -Mr. Dene where it is: I left him there." - -"Mr. Dene's not here. I wish you'd come down." - -"Very well; I'll come in a minute or two," concluded Miss Betty, going -back to the chintzes. - -"Why, I saw that box on the table as I shut the door after you had come -out, ma'am," observed Susan, who had listened to the colloquy. - -"So did I," said Miss Betty; "it was the very last thing my eyes fell -on. If young Mr. Dene finished what he was about and left the parlour, -I dare say he put the box up somewhere for safety. I think, Susan, we -must fix upon this light pea-green with the rosebuds running up it. It -matches the paper: and the light coming through it takes quite a nice -shade." - -A little more indecision yet; and yet a little more, as to whether -the curtains should be lined, or not, and then Miss Cockermuth went -downstairs. The captain was pacing the passage to and fro impatiently. - -"Now then, Betty, where's my box?" - -"But how am I to know where the box is, Charles, if it's not on the -table?" she remonstrated, turning into the parlour, where two friends -of the captain's waited to be regaled with the sight of the recovered -treasure. "I had to go upstairs with the young man who brought the -chintzes; and I left the box here"--indicating the exact spot on the -table. "It was where you left it yourself. I did not touch it at all." - -She shook hands with the visitors. Captain Cockermuth looked gloomy--as -if he were at sea and had lost his reckoning. - -"If you had to leave the room, why didn't you put the box up?" asked he. -"A boxful of guineas shouldn't be left alone in an empty room." - -"But Mr. Dene was in the room; he sat at the desk there, copying a -letter for John. As to why didn't I put the box up, it was not my place -to do so that I know of. You were about yourself, Charles--only at the -front-door, I suppose." - -Captain Cockermuth was aware that he had not been entirely at the -front-door. Two or three times he had crossed over to hold a chat with -acquaintances on the other side the way; had strolled with one of -them nearly up to Salt Lane and back. Upon catching hold of these two -gentlemen, now brought in, he had found the parlour empty of occupants -and the box not to be seen. - -"Well, this is a nice thing--that a man can't put his hand upon his own -property when he wants to, or hear where it is!" grumbled he. "And what -business on earth had Dene to meddle with the box?" - -"To put it in safety--if he did meddle with it, and a sensible thing to -do," retorted Miss Betty, who did not like to be scolded unjustly. "Just -like you, Charles, making a fuss over nothing! Why don't you go and ask -young Dene where it is?" - -"Young Dene is not in. And John's not in. Nobody is in but Parslet; and -he does not know anything about it. I must say, Betty, you manage the -house nicely!" concluded the captain ironically, giving way to his -temper. - -This was, perhaps the reader may think, commotion enough "over nothing," -as Miss Betty put it. But it was not much as compared with the commotion -which set in later. When Mr. Cockermuth came in, he denied all knowledge -of it, and Sam Dene was impatiently waited for. - -It was past two o'clock when he returned, for he had been home to -dinner. The good-looking young fellow turned in at the front-door with a -fleet step, and encountered Captain Cockermuth, who attacked him hotly, -demanding what he had done with the box. - -"Ah," said Sam, lightly and coolly, "Parslet said you were looking for -it." Mr. Parslet had in fact mentioned it at home over his dinner. - -"Well, where is it?" said the captain. "Where did you put it?" - -"I?" cried young Dene. "Not anywhere. Should I be likely to touch the -box, sir? I saw the box on that table while I was copying a letter for -Mr. Cockermuth; that's all I know of it." - -The captain turned red, and pale, and red again. "Do you mean to tell me -to my face, Mr. Dene, that the box is _gone_?" - -"I'm sure I don't know," said Sam in the easiest of all easy tones. "It -seems to be gone." - -The box was gone. Gone once more with all its golden guineas. It could -not be found anywhere; in the house or out of the house, upstairs or -down. The captain searched frantically, the others helped him, but no -trace of it could be found. - -At first it was impossible to believe it. That this self-same box should -mysteriously have vanished a second time, seemed to be too marvellous -for fact. But it was true. - -Nobody would admit a share in the responsibility. The captain left -the box safe amidst (as he put it) a roomful of people: Miss Betty -considered that she left it equally safe, with Mr. Dene seated at the -writing-table, and the captain dodging (as _she_ put it) in and out. Mr. -Cockermuth had not entered the parlour since he left it, when called to -Mr. Chamberlain, with whom he had gone out. Sam Dene reiterated that he -had not meddled with the box; no, nor thought about it. - -Sam's account, briefly given, was this. After finishing copying the -letter, he closed the little table-desk and pushed it back to its place -against the wall, and had carried the letter and the copy into the -office. Finding Mr. Cockermuth was not there, he locked them up in his -own desk, having to go to the Guildhall upon some business. The business -there took up some time, in fact until past one o'clock, and he then -went home to dinner. - -"And did you consider it right, Sam Dene, to leave a valuable box like -that on the table, unguarded?" demanded Captain Cockermuth, as they all -stood together in the parlour, after questioning Sam; and the captain -had been looking so fierce and speaking so sharply that it might be -thought he was taking Sam for the thief, off-hand. - -"To tell the truth, captain, I never thought of the box," answered Sam. -"I might not have noticed that the box was in the room at all but for -Miss Betty's drawing my attention to it. After that, I grew so much -interested in the letter I was copying (for I know all about the cause, -as Mr. Cockermuth is aware, and it was curious news) that I forgot -everything else." - -Lawyer Cockermuth nodded to confirm this. The captain went on. - -"Betty drew your attention to it, did she? Why did she draw it? In what -way?" - -"Well, she remarked that you made as much fuss over that box as if it -were filled with diamonds," replied the young man, glad to pay out the -captain for his angry and dictatorial tone. But the captain was in truth -beginning to entertain a very ominous suspicion. - -"Do you wish to deny, Samson Dene, that my sister Betty left that box on -the table when she quitted the room?" - -"Why, who does?" cried Sam. "When Miss Betty says she left the box on -the table, of course she did leave it. She must know. Susan, it seems, -also saw that it was left there." - -"And you could see that box of guineas standing stark staring on the -table, and come out of the room and leave it to its fate!" foamed the -captain. "Instead of giving me a call to say nobody was on guard here!" - -"I didn't see it," returned Sam. "There's no doubt it was there, but I -did not see it. I never looked towards the table as I came out, that I -know of. The table, as I dare say you remember, was not in its usual -place; it was up there by the window. The box had gone clean out of my -thoughts." - -"Well, Mr. Dene, my impression is that _you have got the box_," cried -the angry captain. - -"Oh, is it!" returned Sam, with supreme good humour, and just the least -suspicion of a laugh. "A box like that would be uncommonly useful to -me." - -"I expect, young man, the guineas would!" - -"Right you are, captain." - -But Captain Cockermuth regarded this mocking pleasantry as particularly -ill-timed. _He believed the young man was putting it on to divert -suspicion from himself._ - -"Who did take the box?" questioned he. "Tell me that." - -"I wish I could, sir." - -"How could the box vanish off the table unless it was taken, I ask you?" - -"That's a puzzling question," coolly rejoined Sam. "It was too heavy for -the rats, I expect." - -"Oh dear, but we have no rats in the house," cried Miss Betty. "I wish -we had, I'm sure--and could find the box in their holes." She was -feeling tolerably uncomfortable. Placid and easy in a general way, -serious worry always upset her considerably. - -Captain Cockermuth's suspicions were becoming certainties. The previous -night, when his brother had been telling him various items of news of -the old town, as they sat confidentially over the fire after Miss Betty -had gone up to bed, Mr. Cockermuth chanced to mention the fact that -young Dene had been making a few debts. Not speaking in any ill-natured -spirit, quite the contrary, for he liked the young man amazingly. Only -a few, he continued; thoughtless young men would do so; and he had given -him a lecture. And then he laughingly added the information that Mr. -Jacobson had imparted to him twelve months ago, in their mutual -friendship--of the debts Sam had made in London. - -No sensible person can be surprised that Charles Cockermuth recalled -this now. It rankled in his mind. Had Sam Dene taken the box of guineas -to satisfy these debts contracted during the past year at Worcester? It -looked like it. And the longer the captain dwelt on it, the more and -more likely it grew to look. - -All the afternoon the search was kept up by the captain. Not an -individual article in the parlour but was turned inside out; he wanted -to have the carpet up. His brother and Sam Dene had returned to their -work in the office as usual. The captain was getting to feel like a -raging bear; three times Miss Betty had to stop him in a dreadful fit of -swearing; and when dinner-time came he could not eat. It was a beautiful -slice of Severn salmon, which had its price, I can tell you, in -Worcester then, and minced veal, and a jam tart, all of which dishes -Charles Cockermuth especially favoured. But the loss of the sixty -guineas did away with his appetite. Mr. Cockermuth, who took the loss -very coolly, laughed at him. - -The laughing did not mend the captain's temper: neither did the hearing -that Sam Dene had departed for home as usual at five o'clock. Had Sam -been innocent, he would at least have come to the parlour and inquired -whether the box was found, instead of sneaking off home to tea. - -Fretting and fuming, raging and stamping, disturbing the parlour's peace -and his own, strode Charles Cockermuth. His good-humoured brother John -bore it for an hour or two, and then told him he might as well go -outside and stamp on the pavement for a bit. - -"I will," said Charles. Catching up his hat, saying nothing to anybody, -he strode off to see the sergeant of police--Dutton--and laid the case -concisely before him: The box of guineas was on the table where his -sister sat at work; her work being at one end, the box at the other. Sam -Dene was also in the room, copying a letter at the writing-table. Miss -Betty was called upstairs; she went, leaving the box on the table. It -was the last thing she saw as she left the room; the servant, who had -come to call her, also saw it standing there. Presently young Dene also -left the room and the house; and from that moment the box was never -seen. - -"What do you make of that, Mr. Dutton?" summed up Captain Cockermuth. - -"Am I to understand that no other person entered the room after Mr. Dene -quitted it?" inquired the sergeant. - -"Not a soul. I can testify to that myself." - -"Then it looks as though Mr. Dene must have taken the box." - -"Just so," assented the complainant, triumphantly. "And I shall give him -into custody for stealing it." - -Mr. Dutton considered. His judgment was cool; the captain's hot. He -thought there might be ins and outs in this affair that had not yet -come to the surface. Besides that, he knew young Dene, and did not much -fancy him the sort of individual likely to do a thing of this kind. - -"Captain Cockermuth," said he, "I think it might be best for me to -come up to the house and see a bit into the matter personally, before -proceeding to extreme measures. We experienced officers have a way of -turning up scraps of evidence that other people would never look at. -Perhaps, after all, the box is only mislaid." - -"But I tell you it's _lost_," said the captain. "Clean gone. Can't be -found high or low." - -"Well, if that same black box is lost again, I can only say it is the -oddest case I ever heard of. One would think the box had a demon inside -it." - -"No, sergeant, you are wrong there. The demon's inside him that took it. -Listen while I whisper something in your ear--that young Dene is over -head and ears in debt: he has debts here, debts there, debts everywhere. -For some little time now, as I chance to know, he has been at his very -wits' end to think where or how he could pick up some money to satisfy -the most pressing; fit to die of fear, lest they should travel to the -knowledge of his uncle at Elm Farm." - -"_Is_ it so?" exclaimed Mr. Dutton, severely. And his face changed, and -his opinion also. "Are you sure of this, sir?" - -"Well, my informant was my brother; so you may judge whether it is -likely to be correct or not," said the captain. "But, if you think it -best to make some inquiries at the house, come with me now and do so." - -They walked to Foregate together. The sergeant looked a little at the -features of the parlour, where the loss had taken place, and heard what -Miss Betty had to say, and questioned Susan. This did not help the -suspicion thrown on Sam Dene, saving in one point--their joint testimony -that he and the box were left alone in the room together. - -Mr. Cockermuth had gone out, so the sergeant did not see him: but, as he -was not within doors when the loss occurred, he could not have aided the -investigation in any way. - -"Well, Dutton, what do you think now?" asked Captain Cockermuth, -strolling down the street with the sergeant when he departed. - -"I confess my visit has not helped me much," said Dutton, a -slow-speaking man, given to be cautious. "If nobody entered the room -between the time when Miss Cockermuth left it and you entered it, why -then, sir, there's only young Dene to fall back upon." - -"I tell you nobody did enter it," cried the choleric captain; "or -_could_, without my seeing them. I stood at the front-door. Ward was -busy at the house that morning, dodging perpetually across the top of -the passage, between the kitchen and brewhouse: he, too, is sure no -stranger could have come in without being seen by him." - -"Did you see young Dene leave the room, sir?" - -"I did. Hearing somebody come out of the parlour, I looked round and saw -it was young Dene with some papers in his hand. He went into the office -for a minute or two, and then passed me, remarking, with all the -impudence in life, that he was going to the town hall. He must have had -my box in his pocket then." - -"A pity but you had gone into the parlour at once, captain," remarked -the sergeant. "If only to put the box in safety--provided it was there." - -"But I thought it was safe. I thought my sister was there. I did go in -almost directly." - -"And you never stirred from the door--from first to last?" - -"I don't say that. When I first stood there I strolled about a little, -talking with one person and another. _But I did not stir from the door -after I saw Sam Dene leave the parlour._ And I do not think five minutes -elapsed before I went in. Not more than five, I am quite certain. What -are you thinking about, Dutton?--you don't seem to take me." - -"I take you well enough, sir, and all you say. But what is puzzling me -in the matter is this; strikes me as strange, in fact: that Mr. Dene -should do the thing (allowing that he has done it) in so open and -barefaced a manner, laying himself open to immediate suspicion. Left -alone in the room with the box by Miss Betty, he must know that if, -when he left it, the box vanished with him, only one inference would be -drawn. Most thieves exercise some caution." - -"Not when they are as hard up as Dene is. Impudence with them is the -order of the day, and often carries luck with it. Nothing risk, nothing -win, they cry, and they _do_ risk--and win. Dene has got my box, -sergeant." - -"Well, sir, it looks dark against him; almost _too_ dark; and if you -decide to give him into custody, of course we have only to---- -Good-evening, Badger!" - -They had strolled as far as the Cross, and were standing on the wide -pavement in front of St. Nicholas' Church, about to part, when that -respectable gentleman, Jonas Badger, passed by. A thought struck the -captain. He knew the man was a money-lender in a private way. - -"Here, Badger, stop a minute," he hastily cried. "I want to ask you a -question about young Dene--my brother's clerk, you know. Does he owe you -money?--Much?" - -Mr. Badger, wary by nature and by habit, glanced first at the questioner -and then at the police-sergeant, and did not answer. Whereupon Captain -Cockermuth, as an excuse for his curiosity, plunged into the history of -what had occurred: the finding of the box of guineas yesterday and the -losing it again to-day, and the doubt of Sam. - -Mr. Badger listened with interest; for the news of that marvellous find -had not yet reached his ears. He had been shut up in his office all the -morning, very busy over his account-books; and in the afternoon had -walked over to Kempsey, where he had a client or two, getting back only -in time for tea. - -"That long-lost box of guineas come to light at last!" he exclaimed. -"What an extraordinary thing! And Mr. Dene is suspected of---- Why, good -gracious!" he broke off in fresh astonishment, "I have just seen him -with a guinea in his pocket!" - -"Seen a guinea in Sam Dene's pocket!" cried Captain Cockermuth, turning -yellow as the gas-flame under which they were standing. - -"Why yes, I have. It was----" - -But there Mr. Badger came to a full stop. It had suddenly struck him -that he might be doing harm to Sam Dene; and the rule of his life was -not to harm any one, or to make an enemy, if his own interest allowed -him to avoid it. - -"I won't say any more, Captain Cockermuth. It is no business of mine." - -But here Mr. Sergeant Dutton came to the fore. "You must, Badger. You -must say all you know that bears upon the affair; the law demands it of -you. What about the guinea?" - -"Well, if you force me to do so--putting it in that way," returned the -man, driven into a corner. - -Mr. Badger had just been down to Edgar Street to pay another visit to -Sam. Not to torment him; he did not do that more than he could help; but -simply to say he would accept smaller instalments for the liquidation of -his debt--which of course meant giving to Sam a longer time to pay the -whole in. This evening he was admitted to Sam's sitting-room. During -their short conversation, Sam, searching impatiently for a pencil in his -waistcoat-pocket, drew out with it a few coins in silver money, and one -coin in gold. Mr. Badger's hungry eyes saw that it was an old guinea. -These particulars he now imparted. - -"What did he _say_ about the guinea?" cried Captain Cockermuth, his own -eyes glaring. - -"Not a word," said Badger; "neither did I. He slipped it back into his -pocket." - -"I hope you think there's some proof to go upon _now_," were Charles -Cockermuth's last words to the police-officer as he wished him -good-night. - -On the following morning, Sam Dene was apprehended, and taken before the -magistrates. Beyond being formally charged, very little was done; Miss -Betty was in bed with a sick headache, brought on by the worry, and -could not appear to give evidence; so he was remanded on bail until -Saturday. - - -III. - -I'm sure you might have thought all his rick-yards were on fire by the -way old Jacobson came bursting in. It was Saturday morning, and we were -at breakfast at Dyke Manor. He had run every step of the way from Elm -Farm, two miles nearly, not having patience to wait for his gig, and -came in all excitement, the _Worcester Herald_ in his hand. The Squire -started from his chair; Mrs. Todhetley, then in the act of pouring out -a cup of coffee, let it flow over on to the tablecloth. - -"What on earth's amiss, Jacobson?" cried the Squire. - -"Ay, what's amiss," stuttered Jacobson in answer; "_this_ is amiss," -holding out the newspaper. "I'll prosecute the editor as sure as I'm a -living man. It is a conspiracy got up to sell it; a concocted lie. It -can't be anything else, you know, Todhetley. And I want you to go off -with me to Worcester. The gig's following me." - -When we had somewhat collected our senses, and could look at the -newspaper, there was the account as large as life. Samson Reginald Dene -had been had up before the magistrates on Thursday morning on a charge -of stealing a small box of carved ebony, containing sixty guineas in -gold, from the dwelling house of Lawyer Cockermuth; and he was to be -brought up again that day, Saturday, for examination. - -"A pretty thing this is to see, when a man opens his weekly newspaper -at his breakfast-table!" gasped Jacobson, flicking the report with his -angry finger. "I'll have the law of them--accusing _my_ nephew of such -a thing as that! You'll go with me, Squire!" - -"Go! of course I'll go!" returned the Squire, in his hot partisanship. -"We were going to Worcester, any way; I've things to do there. Poor Sam! -Hanging would be too good for the printers of that newspaper, Jacobson." - -Mr. Jacobson's gig was heard driving up to the gate at railroad speed; -and soon our own carriage was ready. Old Jacobson sat with the Squire, I -behind with Giles; the other groom, Blossom, drove Tod in the gig; and -away we went in the blustering March wind. Many people, farmers and -others, were on the road, riding or driving to Worcester market. - -Well, we found it was true. And not the mistake of the newspapers: they -had but reported what passed before the magistrates at the town hall. - -The first person we saw was Miss Cockermuth. She was in a fine way, not -knowing what to think or believe, and sat in the parlour in that soft -green gown of twilled silk (that might have been a relic of the silk -made in the time of the Queen of Sheba), her cap and front all awry. -Rumour said old Jacobson had been a sweetheart of hers in their young -days; but I'm sure I don't know. Any way they were very friendly with -one another, and she sometimes called him "Frederick." He sat down by -her on the horse-hair sofa, and we took chairs. - -She recounted the circumstances (ramblingly) from beginning to end. Not -that the end had come yet by a long way. And--there it was, she wound -up, when the narrative was over: the box had disappeared, just for all -the world as mysteriously as it disappeared in the days gone by. - -Mr. Jacobson had listened patiently. He was a fine, upright man, with -a healthy colour and bright dark eyes. He wore a blue frock-coat to-day -with metal buttons, and top-boots. As yet he did not see how they had -got up grounds for accusing Sam, and he said so. - -"To be sure," cried the Squire. "How's that, Miss Betty?" - -"Why, it's this way," said Miss Betty--"that nobody was here in the -parlour but Sam when the box vanished. It is my brother Charles who has -done it all; he is so passionate, you know. John has properly quarrelled -with him for it." - -"It is not possible, you know, Miss Betty, that Sam Dene could have done -it," struck in Tod, who was boiling over with rage at the whole thing. -"Some thief must have stolen in at the street-door when Sam had left the -room." - -"Well, no, that could hardly have been, seeing that Charles never left -the street-door after that," returned Miss Betty, mildly. "It appears to -be a certain fact that not a soul entered the room after the young man -left it. And there lies the puzzle of it." - -Putting it to be as Miss Betty put it--and I may as well say here that -nothing turned up, then or later, to change the opinion--it looked -rather suspicious for Sam Dene. I think the Squire saw it. - -"I suppose you are sure the box was on the table when you left the room, -Miss Betty?" said he. - -"Why, of course I am sure, Squire," she answered. "It was the last thing -my eyes fell on; for, as I went through the door, I glanced back to see -that I had left the table tidy. Susan can bear witness to that. Dutton, -the police-sergeant, thinks some demon of mischief must be in that -box--meaning the deuce, you know. Upon my word it looks like it." - -Susan came in with some glasses and ale as Miss Betty spoke, and -confirmed the testimony--which did not need confirmation. As she closed -the parlour-door, she said, after her mistress had passed out, she -noticed the box standing on the table. - -"Is Sam here to-day--in the office?" asked Mr. Jacobson. - -"Oh, my goodness, no," cried Miss Betty in a fluster. "Why, Frederick, -he has not been here since Thursday, when they had him up at the -Guildhall. He couldn't well come while the charge is hanging over him." - -"Then I think we had better go out to find Sam, and hear what he has to -say," observed Mr. Jacobson, drinking up his glass of ale. - -"Yes, do," said Miss Betty. "Tell poor Sam I'm as sorry as I can -be--pestered almost out of my mind over it. And as to their having found -one of the guineas in his pocket, please just mention to him that I say -it might have slipped in accidentally." - -"One of the guineas found in Sam's pocket!" exclaimed Mr. Jacobson, -taken aback. - -"Well, I hear so," responded Miss Betty. "The police searched him, you -see." - -As the Squire and Mr. Jacobson went out, Mr. Cockermuth was coming in. -They all turned into the office together, while we made a rush to Sam -Dene's lodgings in Edgar Street: as much of a rush, at least, as the -Saturday's streets would let us make. Sam was out, the young servant -said when we got there, and while parleying with her Mrs. Parslet opened -her sitting-room door. - -"I do not suppose Mr. Dene will be long," she said. "He has to appear -at the town hall this morning, and I think it likely he will come home -first. Will you walk in and wait?" - -She handed us into her parlour, where she had been busy, marking sheets -and pillow-cases and towels with "prepared" ink; the table was covered -with them. Tod began telling her that Mr. Jacobson was at Worcester, and -went on to say what a shame it was that Sam Dene should be accused of -this thing. - -"We consider it so," said Mrs. Parslet; who was a capable, -pleasant-speaking woman, tall and slender. "My husband says it has -upset Mr. Cockermuth more than anything that has occurred for years -past. He tells his brother that he should have had it investigated -privately, not have given Mr. Dene into custody." - -"Then why did he let him do it, Mrs. Parslet?" - -She looked at Tod, as if surprised at the question. "Mr. Cockermuth -knew nothing of it; you may be sure of that. Captain Cockermuth had -the young man at the Guildhall and was preferring the charge, before -Mr. Cockermuth heard a word of what was agate. Certainly that is a -most mysterious box! It seems fated to give trouble." - -At this moment the door opened, and a young lady came into the -parlour. It was Maria. What a nice face she had!--what sweet thoughtful -eyes!--what gentle manners! Sam's friends in the town were accusing him -of being in love with her--and small blame to him. - -But Sam did not appear to be coming home, and time was getting on. Tod -decided not to wait longer, and said good-morning. - -Flying back along High Street, we caught sight of the tray of Dublin -buns, just put fresh on the counter in Rousse's shop, and made as good a -feast as time allowed. Some people called them Doubling buns (from their -shape, I take it), and I don't know to this day which was right. - -Away with fleet foot again, past the bustle round the town hall, and -market house, till we came to the next confectioner's and saw the -apple-tarts. Perhaps somebody remembers yet how delicious those -apple-tarts were. Bounding in, we began upon them. - -While the feast was in progress, Sam Dene went by, walking very fast. -We dashed out to catch him. Good Mrs. Mountford chanced to be in the -shop and knew us, or they might have thought we were decamping without -payment. - -Sam Dene, in answer to Tod's hasty questions, went into a passion; -swearing at the world in general, and Captain Cockermuth in particular, -as freely as though the justices, then taking their places in the -Guildhall, were not as good as within earshot. - -"It is a fearful shame, Todhetley!--to bring such a charge against me, -and to lug me up to the criminal bar like a felon. Worse than all, to -let it go forth to the town and county in to-day's glaring newspapers -that I, Sam Dene, am a common thief!" - -"Of course it is a fearful shame, Sam--it's infamous, and all your -friends know it is," cried Tod, with eager sympathy. "My father wishes -he could hang the printers. I say, what do you think has become of the -box?" - -"Become of it!--why, that blundering Charles Cockermuth has got it. He -was off his head with excitement at its being found. He must have come -into the room and put it somewhere and forgotten it: or else he put it -into his pocket and got robbed of it in the street. That's what I think. -Quite off his head, I give you my word." - -"And what fable is it the wretches have got up about finding one of the -guineas in your pocket, Sam?" - -"Oh, bother that! It was my own guinea. I swear it--there! I can't stay -now," went on Sam, striding off down High Street. "I am due at the town -hall this minute; only out on bail. You'll come with me." - -"You go in and pay for the tarts, Johnny," called back Tod, as he put -his arm within Sam Dene's. I looked in, pitched a shilling on the -counter, said I didn't know how many we had eaten; perhaps ten; and -that I couldn't wait for change. - -Crushing my way amidst the market women and their baskets in the -Guildhall yard, I came upon Austin Chance. His father held some post -connected with the law, as administered there, and Austin said he would -get me in. - -"Can it be true that the police found one of the guineas about him?" I -asked. - -Chance pulled a long face. "It's true they found one when they searched -him----" - -"What right had they to search him?" - -"Well, I don't know," said Austin, laughing a little; "they did it. To -see perhaps whether all the guineas were about him. And I am afraid, -Johnny Ludlow, that the finding of that guinea will make it rather hard -for Sam. It is said that Maria Parslet can prove the guinea was Sam's -own, and that my father has had a summons served on her to appear here -to-day. He has taken Sam's case in hand; but he is closer than wax, and -tells me nothing." - -"You don't think he can have stolen the box, Chance?" - -"I don't. I shouldn't think him capable of anything so mean; let alone -the danger of it. Not but that there are circumstances in the case that -tell uncommonly strong against him. And where the deuce the box can have -got to, otherwise, is more than mortal man can guess at. Come along." - - -IV. - -Not for a long while had Worcester been stirred as it was over this -affair of Samson Dene's. What with the curious discovery of the box of -guineas after its mysterious disappearance of years, and then its second -no less mysterious loss, with the suspicion that Sam Dene stole it, the -Faithful City was so excited as hardly to know whether it stood on its -head or its heels. - -When the police searched the prisoner on Thursday morning, after taking -him into custody, and found the guinea upon him (having been told that -he had one about him), his guilt was thought to be as good as proved. -Sam said the guinea was his own, an heirloom, and stood to this so -indignantly resolute that the police let him have it back. But now, what -did Sam go and do? When released upon bail by the magistrates--to come -up again on the Saturday--he went straight off to a silversmith's, had -a hole stamped in the guinea and hung it to his watch-chain across his -waistcoat, that the public might feast their eyes upon it. It was in -this spirit of defiance--or, as the town called it, bravado--that he met -the charge. His lodgings had been searched for the rest of the guineas, -but they were not found. - -The hour for the Saturday's examination--twelve o'clock--was striking, -as I struggled my way with Austin Chance through the crush round the -Guildhall. But that Austin's father was a man of consequence with the -door-keepers, we should not have got in at all. - -The accused, arraigned by his full name, Samson Reginald Dene, stood in -the place allotted to prisoners, cold defiance on his handsome face. As -near to him as might be permitted, stood Tod, just as defiant as he. -Captain Charles Cockermuth, a third in defiance, stood opposite to -prosecute; while Lawyer Cockermuth, who came in with Sam's uncle, Mr. -Jacobson, openly wished his brother at Hanover. Squire Todhetley, being -a county magistrate, sat on the bench with the City magnates, but not -to interfere. - -The proceedings began. Captain Cockermuth related how the little box, -his property, containing sixty golden guineas, was left on the table in -a sitting-room in his brother's house, the accused being the only person -in the room at the time, and that the box disappeared. He, himself -(standing at the front-door), saw the accused quit the room; he went -into it almost immediately, but the box was gone. He swore that no -person entered the room after the prisoner left it. - -Miss Betty Cockermuth, flustered and red, appeared next. She testified -that she was in the room nearly all the morning, the little box being -upon the table; when she left the room, Mr. Dene remained in it alone, -copying a letter for her brother; the box was still on the table. Susan -Edwards, housemaid at Lawyer Cockermuth's, spoke to the same fact. It -was she who had fetched her mistress out, and she saw the box standing -upon the table. - -The accused was asked by one of the magistrates what he had to say -to this. He answered, speaking freely, that he had nothing to say in -contradiction, except that he did not know what became of the box. - -"Did you see the box on the table?" asked the lawyer on the opposite -side, Mr. Standup. - -"I saw it there when I first went into the room. Miss Betty made a -remark about the box, which drew my attention to it. I was sitting at -the far end of the room, at Mr. Cockermuth's little desk-table. I did -not notice the box afterwards." - -"Did you not see it there after Miss Cockermuth left the room?" - -"No, I did not; not that I remember," answered Sam. "Truth to say, I -never thought about it. My attention was confined to the letter I was -copying, to the exclusion of everything else." - -"Did any one come into the room after Miss Cockermuth left it?" - -"No one came into it. Somebody opened the door and looked in." - -This was fresh news. The town hall pricked up its ears. - -"I do not know who it was," added Sam. "My head was bent over my -writing, when the door opened quickly, and as quickly shut again. I -supposed somebody had looked in to see if Mr. or Miss Cockermuth was -there, and had retreated on finding they were not." - -"Could that person, whomsoever it might be, have advanced to the table -and taken the box?" asked the chief of the magistrates. - -"No, sir. For certain, no!"--and Sam's tone here, he best knew why, was -aggravatingly defiant. "The person might have put his head in--and no -doubt did--but he did not set a foot inside the room." - -Captain Cockermuth was asked about this: whether he observed any one go -to the parlour and look in. He protested till he was nearly blue with -rage (for he regarded it as Sam's invention), that such a thing never -took place, that no one whatever went near the parlour-door. - -Next came up the question of the guinea, which was hanging from his -watch-guard, shining and bold as if it had been brass. Sam had been -questioned about this by the justices on Thursday, and his statement in -answer to them was just as bold as the coin. - -The guinea had been given him by his late father's uncle, old Thomas -Dene, who had jokingly enjoined him never to change it, always to keep -it by him, and then he would never be without money. Sam had kept -it; kept it from that time to this. He kept it in the pocket of an -old-fashioned leather case, which contained some letters from his -father, and two or three other things he valued. No, he was not in the -habit of getting the guinea out to look at, he had retorted to a little -badgering; had not looked at it (or at the case either, which lay in the -bottom of his trunk) for months and months--yes, it might be years, for -all he recollected. But on the Tuesday evening, when talking with Miss -Parslet about guineas, he fetched it to show to her; and slipped it into -his pocket afterwards, where, the police found it on the Thursday. This -was the substance of his first answer, and he repeated it now. - -"Do you know who is said to be the father of lies, young man?" asked -Justice Whitewicker in a solemn tone, suspecting that the prisoner was -telling an out-and-out fable. - -"I have heard," answered Sam. "Have never seen him myself. Perhaps you -have, sir." At which a titter went round the court, and it put his -worship's back up. Sam went on to say that he had often thought of -taking his guinea into wear, and had now done it. And he gave the guinea -a flick in the face of us all. - -Evidently little good could come of a hardened criminal like this; and -Justice Whitewicker, who thought nothing on earth so grand as the sound -of his own voice from the bench, gave Sam a piece of his mind. In the -midst of this a stir arose at the appearance of Maria Parslet. Mr. -Chance led her in; her father, sad and shrinking as usual, walked behind -them. Lawyer Cockermuth--and I liked him for it--made a place for his -clerk next to himself. Maria looked modest, gentle and pretty. She wore -black silk, being in slight mourning, and a dainty white bonnet. - -Mr. Dene was asked to take tea with them in the parlour on the Tuesday -evening, as a matter of convenience, Maria's evidence ran, in answer to -questions, and she briefly alluded to the reason why. Whilst waiting -together, he and she, for her father to come in, Mr. Dene told her -of the finding of the ebony box of guineas at Mr. Cockermuth's. She -laughingly remarked that a guinea was an out-of-date coin now, and she -was not sure that she had ever seen one. In reply to that, Mr. Dene said -he had one by him, given him by an old uncle some years before; and he -went upstairs and brought it down to show to her. There could be no -mistake, Maria added to Mr. Whitewicker, who wanted to insinuate a word -of doubt, and her sweet brown eyes were honest and true as she said it; -she had touched the guinea and held it in her hand for some moments. - -"Held it and touched it, did you, Miss Parslet?" retorted Lawyer -Standup. "Pray what appearance had it?" - -"It was a thin, worn coin, sir," replied Maria; "thinner, I think, than -a sovereign, but somewhat larger; it seemed to be worn thin at the -edge." - -"Whose image was on it?--what king's?" - -"George the Third's. I noticed that." - -"Now don't you think, young lady, that the accused took this marvellous -coin from his pocket, instead of from some receptacle above stairs?" -went on Mr. Standup. - -"I am quite sure he did not take it from his pocket when before me," -answered Maria. "He ran upstairs quickly, saying he would fetch the -guinea: he had nothing in his hands then." - -Upon this Lawyer Chance inquired of his learned brother why he need -waste time in useless questions; begging to remind him that it was not -until Wednesday morning the box disappeared, so the prisoner could not -well have had any of its contents about him on Tuesday. - -"Just let my questions alone, will you," retorted Mr. Standup, with a -nod. "I know what I am about. Now, Miss Parslet, please attend to me. -Was the guinea you profess to have seen a perfect coin, or was there a -hole in it?" - -"It was a perfect coin, sir." - -"And what became of it?" - -"I think Mr. Dene put it in his waistcoat-pocket: I did not particularly -notice. Quite close upon that, my father came home, and we sat down to -tea. No, sir, nothing was said to my father about the guinea; if it was, -I did not hear it. But he and Mr. Dene talked of the box of guineas that -had been found." - -"Who was it that called while you were at tea?" - -"Young Mr. Chance called. We had finished tea then, and Mr. Dene took -him upstairs to his own sitting-room." - -"I am not asking you about young Mr. Chance; we shall come to him -presently," was the rough-toned, but not ill-natured retort. "Somebody -else called: who was it?" - -Maria, blushing and paling ever since she stood up to the ordeal, grew -white now. Mr. Badger had called at the door, she answered, and Mr. Dene -went out to speak to him. Worried by Lawyer Standup as to whether he did -not come to ask for money, she said she believed so, but she did not -hear all they said. - -Quiet Mr. Parslet was the next witness. He had to acknowledge that he -did hear it. Mr. Badger appeared to be pressing for some money owing to -him; could not tell the amount, knew nothing about that. When questioned -whether the accused owed him money, Parslet said not a shilling; Mr. -Dene had never sought to borrow of him, and had paid his monthly -accounts regularly. - -Upon that, Mr. Badger was produced; a thin man with a neck as stiff as a -poker; who gave his reluctant testimony in a sweet tone of benevolence. -Mr. Dene had been borrowing money from him for some time; somewhere -about twenty pounds, he thought, was owing now, including interest. He -had repeatedly asked for its repayment, but only got put off with (as he -believed) lame excuses. Had certainly gone to ask for it on the Tuesday -evening; was neither loud nor angry, oh dear, no; but did tell the -accused he thought he could give him some if he would, and did say that -he must have a portion of it within a week, or he should apply to Mr. -Jacobson, of Elm Farm. Did not really mean to apply to Mr. Jacobson, -had no wish to do any one an injury, but felt vexed at the young man's -off-handedness, which looked like indifference. Knew besides that Mr. -Dene had other debts. - -Now I'll leave you to judge how this evidence struck on the ears of old -Jacobson. He leaped to the conclusion that Sam had been going all sorts -of ways, as he supposed he went when in London, and might be owing, the -mischief only knew how much money; and he shook his fist at Sam across -the justice-room. - -Mr. Standup next called young Chance, quite to young Chance's surprise; -perhaps also to his father's. He was questioned upon no end of -things--whether he did not know that the accused was owing a great deal -of money, and whether the accused had shown any guinea to him when -he was in Edgar Street on the Tuesday night. Austin answered that he -believed Mr. Dene owed a little money, not a great deal, so far as he -knew; and that he had not seen the guinea or heard of it. And in saying -all this, Austin's tone was just as resentfully insolent to Mr. Standup -as he dared to make it. - -Well, it is of no use to go on categorically with the day's proceedings. -When they came to an end, the magistrates conferred pretty hotly in a -low tone amongst themselves, some apparently taking up one opinion, -as to Sam's guilt, or innocence, and some the other. At length they -announced their decision, and it was as follows. - -"Although the case undoubtedly presents grave grounds of suspicion -against the accused, Samson Reginald Dene--'Very grave indeed,' -interjected Mr. Whitewicker, solemnly--we do not consider them to be -sufficient to commit him for trial upon; therefore, we give him the -benefit of the doubt, and discharge him. Should any further evidence -transpire, he can be brought up again." - -"It was Maria Parslet's testimony about the guinea that cleared him," -whispered the crowd, as they filed out. - -And I think it must have been. It was just impossible to doubt her -truth, or the earnestness with which she gave it. - -Mr. Jacobson "interviewed" Sam, as the Americans say, and the interview -was not a loving one. Being in the mood, he said anything that came -uppermost. He forbade Sam to appear at Elm Farm ever again, as "long as -oak and ash grew;" and he added that as Sam was bent on going to the -deuce head foremost, he might do it upon his own means, but that he'd -never get any more help from him. - -The way the Squire lashed up Bob and Blister when driving home--for, -liking Sam hitherto, he was just as much put out as old Jacobson--and -the duet they kept together in abuse of his misdeeds, was edifying to -hear. Tod laughed; I did not. The gig was given over this return journey -to the two grooms. - -"I do not believe Sam took the box, sir," I said to old Jacobson, -interrupting a fiery oration. - -He turned round to stare at me. "What do you say, Johnny Ludlow? _You do -not believe he took the box?_" - -"Well, to me it seems quite plain that he did not take it. I've hardly -ever felt more sure of anything." - -"Plain!" struck in the Squire. "How is it plain, Johnny? What grounds do -you go upon?" - -"I judge by his looks and his tones, sir, when denying it. They are to -be trusted." - -They did not know whether to laugh or scoff at me. It was Johnny's way, -said the Squire; always fancying he could read the riddles in a man's -face and voice. But they'd have thrown up their two best market-going -hats with glee to be able to think it true. - - -V. - -Samson Reginald Dene was relieved of the charge, as it was declared "not -proven;" all the same, Samson Reginald Dene was ruined. Worcester said -so. During the following week, which was Passion Week, its citizens -talked more of him than of their prayers. - -Granted that Maria Parslet's testimony had been honestly genuine, a -theory cropped up to counteract it. Lawyer Standup had been bold enough -to start it at the Saturday's examination: a hundred tongues were -repeating it now. Sam Dene, as may be remembered, was present at the -finding of the box on Tuesday; he had come up the passage and touched -the golden guineas in it with the tips of his fingers; those fingers -might have deftly extracted one of the coins. No wonder he could show it -to Maria when he went home to tea! Captain Cockermuth admitted that in -counting the guineas subsequently he had thought he counted sixty; but, -as he knew there were (or ought to be) that number in the box, probably -the assumption misled him, causing him to reckon them as sixty when in -fact there were only fifty-nine. Which was a bit of logic. - -Still, popular opinion was divided. If part of the town judged Sam to be -guilty, part believed him to be innocent. A good deal might be said on -both sides. To a young man who does not know how to pay his debts from -lack of means, and debts that he is afraid of, too, sixty golden guineas -may be a great temptation; and people did not shut their eyes to that. -It transpired also that Mr. Jacobson, his own uncle, his best friend, -had altogether cast Sam off and told him he might now go to the dogs his -own way. - -Sam resented it all bitterly, and defied the world. Far from giving in -or showing any sense of shame, he walked about with an air, his head up, -and that brazen guinea dangling in front of him. He actually had the -face to appear at college on Good Friday (the congregation looking -askance at him), and sat out the cold service of the day: no singing, no -organ, and the little chorister-boys in black surplices instead of white -ones. - -But the crowning act of boldness was to come. Before Easter week had -lapsed into the past, Sam Dene had taken two rooms in a conspicuous part -of the town and set-up in practice. A big brass plate on the outer door -displayed his name: "Mr. Dene, Attorney-at-law." Sam's friends extolled -his courage; Sam's enemies were amazed at his impudence. Captain -Cockermuth prophesied that the ceiling of that office would come -tumbling down on its crafty occupant's head: it was _his_ gold that -was paying for it. - -The Cockermuths, like the town, were divided in opinion. Mr. Cockermuth -could not believe Sam guilty, although the mystery as to where the box -could be puzzled him as few things had ever puzzled him in this life. He -would fain have taken Sam back again, had it been a right thing to do. -What the captain thought need not be enlarged upon. While Miss Betty -felt uncertain; veering now to this belief, now to that, and much -distressed either way. - -There is one friend in this world that hardly ever deserts us--and that -is a mother. Mrs. Dene, a pretty little woman yet, had come flying to -Worcester, ready to fight everybody in it on her son's behalf. Sam of -course made his own tale good to her; whether it was a true one or not -he alone knew, but not an angel from heaven could have stirred her faith -in it. She declared that, to her positive knowledge, the old uncle had -given Sam the guinea. - -It was understood to be Mrs. Dene who advanced the money to Sam to set -up with; it was certainly Mrs. Dene who bought a shutting-up bed (at old -Ward's), and a gridiron, and a tea-pot, and a three-legged table, and a -chair or two, all for the back-room of the little office, that Sam might -go into housekeeping on his own account, and live upon sixpence a-day, -so to say, until business came in. To look at Sam's hopeful face, he -meant to do it, and to live down the scandal. - -Looking at the thing impartially, one might perhaps see that Sam was not -swayed by impudence in setting-up, so much as by obligation. For what -else lay open to him?--no firm would engage him as clerk with that doubt -sticking to his coat-tails. He paid some of his debts, and undertook to -pay the rest before the year was out. A whisper arose that it was Mrs. -Dene who managed this. Sam's adversaries knew better; the funds came out -of the ebony box: that, as Charles Cockermuth demonstrated, was as sure -as heaven. - -But now there occurred one thing that I, Johnny Ludlow, could not -understand, and never shall: why Worcester should have turned its back, -like an angry drake, upon Maria Parslet. The school, where she was -resident teacher, wrote her a cool, polite note, to say she need not -trouble herself to return after the Easter recess. That example was -followed. Pious individuals looked upon her as a possible story-teller, -in danger of going to the bad in Sam's defence, nearly as much as Sam -had gone. - -It was just a craze. Even Charles Cockermuth said there was no sense -in blaming Maria: of course Sam had deceived her (when pretending to -show the guinea as his own), just as he deceived other people. Next -the town called her "bold" for standing up in the face and eyes of the -Guildhall to give her evidence. But how could Maria help that? It was -not her own choice: she'd rather have locked herself up in the cellar. -Lawyer Chance had burst in upon her that Saturday morning (not ten -minutes after we left the house), giving nobody warning, and carried -her off imperatively, never saying "Will you, or Won't you." It was -not his way. - -Placid Miss Betty was indignant when the injustice came to her ears. -What did people mean by it? she wanted to know. She sent for Maria -to spend the next Sunday in Foregate Street, and marched with her -arm-in-arm to church (St. Nicholas'), morning and evening. - -As the days and the weeks passed, commotion gave place to a calm; Sam -and his delinquencies were let alone. One cannot be on the grumble for -ever. Sam's lines were pretty hard; practice held itself aloof from -him; and if he did not live upon the sixpence a-day, he looked at every -halfpenny that he had to spend beyond it. His face grew thin, his blue -eyes wistful, but he smiled hopefully. - - * * * * * - -"You keep up young Dene's acquaintance, I perceive," remarked Lawyer -Chance to his son one evening as they were finishing dinner, for he had -met the two young men together that day. - -"Yes: why shouldn't I?" returned Austin. - -"Think that charge was a mistaken one, I suppose?" - -"Well I do, father. He has affirmed it to me in terms so unmistakable -that I can but believe him. Besides, I don't think Dene, as I have -always said, is the sort of fellow to turn rogue: I don't, indeed." - -"Does he get any practice?" - -"Very little, I'm afraid." - -Mr. Chance was a man with a conscience. On the whole, he felt inclined -to think Sam had not helped himself to the guineas, but he was by no -means sure of it: like Miss Betty Cockermuth, his opinion veered, now -on this side, now on that, like a haunted weathercock. If Sam was not -guilty, why, then, Fate had dealt hardly with the young fellow--and what -would the end be? These thoughts were running through the lawyer's mind -as he talked to his son and sat playing with his bunch of seals, which -hung down by a short, thick gold chain, in the old-fashioned manner. - -"I should like to say a word to him if he'd come to me," he suddenly -cried. "You might go and bring him, Austin." - -"What--this evening?" exclaimed Austin. - -"Ay; why not? One time's as good as another." - -Austin Chance started off promptly for the new office, and found his -friend presiding over his own tea-tray in the little back-room; the loaf -and butter on the table, and a red herring on the gridiron. - -"Hadn't time to get any dinner to-day; too busy," was Sam's apology, -given briefly with a flush of the face. "Mr. Chance wants me? Well, -I'll come. What is it for?" - -"Don't know," replied Austin. And away they went. - -The lawyer was standing at the window, his hands in the pockets of his -pepper-and-salt trousers, tinkling the shillings and sixpences there. -Austin supposed he was not wanted, and shut them in. - -"I have been thinking of your case a good bit lately, Sam Dene," began -Mr. Chance, giving Sam a seat and sitting down himself; "and I should -like to feel, if I can, more at a certainty about it, one way or the -other." - -"Yes, sir," replied Sam. And you must please to note that manners in -those days had not degenerated to what they are in these. Young men, -whether gentle or simple, addressed their elders with respect; young -women also. "Yes, sir," replied Sam. "But what do you mean about wishing -to feel more at a certainty?" - -"When I defended you before the magistrates, I did my best to convince -them that you were not guilty: you had assured me you were not: and they -discharged you. I believe my arguments and my pleadings went some way -with them." - -"I have no doubt of it, sir, and I thanked you at the time with all my -heart," said Sam warmly. "Some of my enemies were bitter enough against -me." - -"But you should not speak in that way--calling people your enemies!" -reproved the lawyer. "People were only at enmity with you on the score -of the offence. Look here, Sam Dene--did you commit it, or did you -not?" - -Sam stared. Mr. Chance had dropped his voice to a solemn key, his head -was pushed forward, gravity sat on his face. - -"No, sir. No." - -The short answer did not satisfy the lawyer. "Did you filch that box -of guineas out of Cockermuth's room; or were you, and are you, as you -assert, wholly innocent?" he resumed. "Tell me the truth as before -Heaven. Whatever it be, I will shield you still." - -Sam rose. "On my sacred word, sir, and before Heaven, I have told -nothing but the truth. I did not take or touch the box of guineas. I -do not know what became of it." - -Mr. Chance regarded Sam in silence. He had known young men, when under -a cloud, prevaricate in a most extraordinary and unblushing manner: to -look at them and listen to them, one might have said they were fit to -be canonized. But he thought truth lay with Sam now. - -"Sit down, sit down, Dene," he said. "I am glad to believe you. Where -the deuce could the box have got to? It could not take flight through -the ceiling up to the clouds, or down to the earth through the floor. -_Whose hands took it?_" - -"The box went in one of two ways," returned Sam. "If the captain did not -fetch it out unconsciously, and lose it in the street, why, somebody -must have entered the parlour after I left it and carried off the box. -Perhaps the individual who looked into the room when I was sitting -there." - -"A pity but you had noticed who that was." - -"Yes, it is. Look here, Mr. Chance; a thought has more than once struck -me--if that person did not come back and take the box, why has he not -come forward openly and honestly to avow it was himself who looked in?" - -The lawyer gave his head a dissenting shake. "It is a ticklish thing to -be mixed up in, he may think, one that he had best keep out of--though -he may be innocent as the day. How are you getting on?" he asked, -passing abruptly from the subject. - -"Oh, middling," replied Sam. "As well, perhaps, as I could expect to get -on at first, with all the prejudice abroad against me." - -"Earning bread-and-cheese?" - -"Not quite--yet." - -"Well, see here, Dene--and this is what I chiefly sent for you to say, -if you could assure me on your conscience you deserved it--I may be able -to put some little business in your hands. Petty matters are brought -to us that we hardly care to waste time upon: I'll send them to you in -future. I dare say you'll be able to rub on by dint of patience. Rome -was not built in a day, you know." - -"Thank you, sir; I thank you very truly," breathed Sam. "Mr. Cockermuth -sent me a small matter the other day. If I can make a bare living of it -at present, that's all I ask. Fame and fortune are not rained down upon -black sheep." - -Which was so true a remark as to need no contradiction. - -May was nearing its close then, and the summer evenings were long and -lovely. As Sam went forth from the interview, he thought he would take a -walk by the river, instead of turning in to his solitary rooms. Since -entering upon them he had been as steady as old Time: the accusation -and its attendant shame seemed to have converted him from a heedless, -youthful man into a wise old sage of age and care. Passing down Broad -Street towards the bridge, he turned to the left and sauntered along -beside the Severn. The water glittered in the light of the setting sun; -barges, some of them bearing men and women and children, passed smoothly -up and down on it; the opposite fields, towards St. John's, were green -as an emerald: all things seemed to wear an aspect of brightness. - -All on a sudden things grew brighter--and Sam's pulses gave a leap. He -had passed the grand old red-stoned wall that enclosed the Bishop's -palace, and was close upon the gates leading up to the Green, when a -young lady turned out of them and came towards him with a light, quick -step. It was Maria Parslet, in a pretty summer muslin, a straw hat -shading her blushing face. For it did blush furiously at sight of Sam. - -"Mr. Dene!" - -"Maria!" - -She began to say, hurriedly, that her mother had sent her with a message -to the dressmaker on the Parade, and she had taken that way, as being -the shortest--as if in apology for having met Sam. - -He turned with her, and they paced slowly along side by side, the colour -on Maria's cheeks coming and going with every word he spoke and every -look he gave her--which seemed altogether senseless and unreasonable. -Sam told her of his conversation with Austin Chance's father, and his -promise to put a few things in his way. - -"Once let me be making two hundred a-year, Maria, and then----" - -"Then what?" questioned Maria innocently. - -"Then I should ask you to come to me, and we'd risk it together." - -"Risk what?" stammered Maria, turning her head right round to watch a -barge that was being towed by. - -"Risk our luck. Two hundred a-year is not so bad to begin upon. I should -take the floor above as well as the ground-floor I rent now, and we -should get along. Any way, I hope to try it." - -"Oh, Mr. Dene!" - -"Now don't 'Mr. Dene' me, young lady, if you please. Why, Maria, what -else can we do? A mean, malicious set of dogs and cats have turned their -backs upon us both; the least we should do is to see if we can't do -without them. I know you'd rather come to me than stay in Edgar Street." - -Maria held her tongue, as to whether she would or not. "Mamma is -negotiating to get me a situation at Cheltenham," she said. - -"You will not go to Cheltenham, or anywhere else, if I get any luck," he -replied dictatorially. "Life would look very blue to me now without you, -Maria. And many a man and wife, rolling in riches at the end, have -rubbed on with less than two hundred a-year at the beginning. I wouldn't -say, mind, but we might risk it on a hundred and fifty. My rent is low, -you see." - -"Ye--es," stammered Maria "But--I wish that mystery of the guineas could -be cleared up!" - -Sam stood still, turned, and faced her. "Why do you say _that_? You are -not suspecting that I took them?" - -"Oh dear, NO," returned Maria, losing her breath. "I _know_ you did not -take them: could not. I was only thinking of your practice: so much more -would come in." - -"Cockermuth has sent me a small matter or two. I think I shall get on," -repeated Sam. - -They were at their journey's end by that time, at the dressmaker's door. -"Good-evening," said Maria, timidly holding out her hand. - -Sam Dene took it and clasped it. "Good-bye, my darling. I am going home -to my bread-and-cheese supper, and I wish you were there to eat it with -me!" - -Maria sighed. She wondered whether that wonderful state of things would -ever come to pass. Perhaps no; perhaps yes. Meanwhile no living soul -knew aught of these treasonable aspirations; they were a secret between -her and Sam. Mr. and Mrs. Parslet suspected nothing. - -Time went on. Lawyer Chance was as good as his word, and put a few small -matters of business into the hands of Sam Dene. Mr. Cockermuth did the -same. The town came down upon him for it; though it let Chance alone, -who was not the sort of man to be dictated to. "Well," said Cockermuth -in answer, "I don't believe the lad is guilty; never have believed it. -Had he been of a dishonest turn, he could have helped himself before, -for a good deal of my cash passed at times through his hands. And, given -that he was innocent, he has been hardly dealt by." - -Sam Dene was grateful for these stray windfalls, and returned his best -thanks to the lawyers for them. But they did not amount to much in -the aggregate; and a gloomy vision began to present itself to his -apprehension of being forced to give up the struggle, and wandering out -in the world to seek a better fortune. The summer assizes drew near. Sam -had no grand cause to come on at them, or small one either; but it was -impossible not to give a thought now and again to what his fate might -have been, had he stood committed to take his trial at them. The popular -voice said that was only what he merited. - - -VI. - -The assizes were held, and passed. One hot day, when July was -nearing its meridian, word was brought to Miss Cockermuth--who was -charitable--that a poor sick woman whom she befriended, was worse than -usual, so she put on her bonnet and cloak to pay her a visit. The -bonnet was a huge Leghorn, which shaded her face well from the sun, its -trimming of straw colour; and the cloak was of thin black "taffeta," -edged with narrow lace. It was a long walk on a hot afternoon, for the -sick woman lived but just on this side Henwick. Miss Betty had got as -far as the bridge, and was about to cross it when Sam Dene, coming over -it at a strapping pace, ran against her. - -"Miss Betty!" he cried. "I beg your pardon." - -Miss Betty brought her bonnet from under the shade of her large -grass-green parasol. "Dear me, is it you, Sam Dene?" she said. "Were you -walking for a wager?" - -Sam laughed a little. "I was hastening back to my office, Miss Betty. I -have no clerk, you know, and a client _might_ come in." - -Miss Betty gave her head a twist, something between a nod and a shake; -she noticed the doubtful tone in the "might." "Very hot, isn't it?" said -she. "I'm going up to see that poor Hester Knowles; she's uncommon bad, -I hear." - -"You'll have a warm walk." - -"Ay. Are you pretty well, Sam? You look thin." - -"Do I? Oh, that's nothing but the heat of the weather. I am quite well, -thank you. Good-afternoon, Miss Betty." - -She shook his hand heartily. One of Sam's worst enemies, who might have -run in a curricle with Charles Cockermuth, as to an out-and-out belief -in his guilt, was passing at the moment, and saw it. - -Miss Betty crossed the bridge, turned off into Turkey, for it was -through those classical regions that her nearest and coolest way lay, -and so onwards to the sick woman's room. There she found the blazing -July sun streaming in at the wide window, which had no blind, no shelter -whatever from it. Miss Betty had had enough of the sun out-of-doors, -without having it in. Done up with the walk and the heat, she sat down -on the first chair, and felt ready to swoon right off. - -"Dear me, Hester, this is bad for you!" she gasped. - -"Did you mean the sun, ma'am?" asked the sick woman, who was sitting -full in it, wrapped in a blanket or two. "It is a little hot just now, -but I don't grumble at it; I'm so cold mostly. As soon as the sun goes -off the window, I shall begin to shiver." - -"Well-a-day!" responded Miss Betty, wishing she could be cool enough to -shiver. "But if you feel it cold now, Hester, what will you do when the -autumn winds come on?" - -"Ah, ma'am, please do not talk of it! I just can't tell what I shall do. -That window don't fit tight, and the way the wind pours in through it -upon me as I sit here at evening, or lie in my little bed there, passes -belief. I'm coughing always then." - -"You should have some good thick curtains put up," said Miss Betty, -gazing at the bare window, which had a pot of musk on its sill. "Woollen -ones." - -The sick woman smiled sadly. She was very poor now, though it had not -always been so; she might as well have hoped to buy the sun itself as -woollen curtains--or cotton curtains either. Miss Betty knew that. - -"I'll think about it, Hester, and see if I've any old ones that I could -let you have. I'm not sure; but I'll look," repeated she--and began to -empty her capacious dimity pockets of a few items of good things she had -brought. - -By-and-by, when she was a little cooler, and had talked with Hester, -Miss Betty set off home again, her mind running upon the half-promised -curtains. "They are properly shabby," thought she, as she went along, -"but they'll serve to keep the sun and the wind off her." - -She was thinking of those warm green curtains that she had picked the -braid from that past disastrous morning--as the reader heard of, and all -the town as well. Nothing had been done with them since. - -Getting home, Miss Betty turned into the parlour. Susan--who had not -yet found leisure to fix any time for her wedding--found her mistress -fanning her hot face, her bonnet untied and tilted back. - -"I've been to see that poor Hester Knowles, Susan," began Miss Betty. - -"Law, ma'am!" interposed Susan. "What a walk for you this scorching -afternoon! All up that wide New Road!" - -"You may well say that, girl: but I went Turkey away. She's very ill, -poor thing; and that's a frightfully staring window of hers, the sun on -it like a blazing fire, and not as much as a rag for a blind; and the -window don't fit, she says, and in cold weather the biting wind comes in -and shivers her up. I think I might give her those shabby old curtains, -Susan--that were up in Mr. Philip's room, you know, before we got the -new chintz ones in." - -"So you might, ma'am," said Susan, who was not a bad-hearted girl, -excepting to the baker's man. "They can't go up at any of our windows as -they be; and if you had 'em dyed, I don't know as they'd answer much, -being so shabby." - -"I put them--let me see--into the spare ottoman, didn't I? Yes, that was -it. And there I suppose they must be lying still." - -"Sure enough, Miss Betty," said Susan. "I've not touched 'em." - -"Nor I," said Miss Betty. "With all the trouble that got into our house -at that time, I couldn't give my mind to seeing after the old things, -and I've not thought about them since. Come upstairs with me now, Susan; -we'll see what sort of a state they are in." - -They went up; and Miss Betty took off her bonnet and cloak and put -her cap on. The spare ottoman, soft, and red, and ancient, used as a -receptacle for odds and ends that were not wanted, stood in a spacious -linen-closet on the first-floor landing. It was built out over the -back-door, and had a skylight above. Susan threw back the lid of the -ottoman, and Miss Betty stood by. The faded old brown curtains, green -once, lay in a heap at one end, just as Miss Betty had hastily flung -them in that past day in March, when on her way to look at the chintzes. - -"They're in a fine rabble, seemingly," observed Susan, pausing to regard -the curtains. - -"Dear me!" cried Miss Betty, conscience-stricken, for she was a careful -housewife, "I let them drop in any way, I remember. I did mean to have -them well shaken out-of-doors and properly folded, but that bother drove -it all out of my head. Take them out, girl." - -Susan put her strong arms underneath the heap and lifted it out with -a fling. Something heavy flew out of the curtains, and dropped on the -boarded floor with a crash. Letting fall the curtains, Susan gave a -wild shriek of terror and Miss Betty gave a wilder, for the floor was -suddenly covered with shining gold coins. Mr. Cockermuth, passing across -the passage below at the moment, heard the cries, wondered whether the -house was on fire, and came hastening up. - -"Oh," said he coolly, taking in the aspect of affairs. "So the thief was -you, Betty, after all!" - -He picked up the ebony box, and bent his head to look at the guineas. -Miss Betty sank down on a three-legged stool--brought in for Philip's -children--and grew as white as death. - -Yes, it was the missing box of guineas, come to light in the same -extraordinary and unexpected manner that it had come before, without -having been (as may be said) truly lost. When Miss Betty gathered her -curtains off the dining-room table that March morning, a cumbersome and -weighty heap, she had unwittingly gathered up the box with them. No -wonder Sam Dene had not seen the box on the table after Miss Betty's -departure! It was a grievous misfortune, though, that he failed to take -notice it was not there. - -She had no idea she was not speaking truth in saying she saw the box -on the table as she left the room. Having seen the box there all the -morning she thought it was there still, and that she saw it, being quite -unconscious that it was in her arms. Susan, too, had noticed the box on -the table when she opened the door to call her mistress, and believed -she was correct in saying she saw it there to the last: the real fact -being that she had not observed it was gone. So there the box with -its golden freight had lain undisturbed, hidden in the folds of the -curtains. But for Hester Knowles's defective window, it might have -stayed there still, who can say how long? - -Susan, no less scared than her mistress, stood back against the closet -wall for safety, out of reach of those diabolical coins; Miss Betty, -groaning and half-fainting on the three-legged stool, sat pushing back -her cap and her front. The lawyer picked up the guineas and counted them -as he laid them flat in the box. Sixty of them: not one missing. So -Sam's guinea _was_ his own! He had not, as Worcester whispered, trumped -up the story with Maria Parslet. - -"John," gasped poor Miss Betty, beside herself with remorse and terror, -"John, what will become of me now? Will anything be done?" - -"How 'done'?" asked he. - -"Will they bring me to trial--or anything of that--in poor Sam's place?" - -"Well, I don't know," answered her brother grimly; "perhaps not this -time. But I'd have you take more care in future, Betty, than to hide -away gold in old curtains." - -Locking the box securely within his iron safe, Mr. Cockermuth put on -his hat and went down to the town hall, where the magistrates, after -dispensing their wisdom, were about to disperse for the day. He told -them of the wonderful recovery of the box of guineas, of how it had been -lost, and that Sam Dene was wholly innocent. Their worships were of -course charmed to hear it, Mr. Whitewicker observing that they had only -judged Sam by appearances, and that appearances had been sufficient (in -theory) to hang him. - -From the town hall, Mr. Cockermuth turned off to Sam's office. Sam was -making a great show of business, surrounded by a tableful of imposing -parchments, but with never a client to the fore. His old master grasped -his hand. - -"Well, Sam, my boy," he said, "the tables have turned for you. That box -of guineas is found." - -Sam never spoke an answering word. His lips parted with expectation: his -breath seemed to be a little short. - -"Betty had got it all the time. She managed somehow to pick it up -off the table with those wretched old curtains she had there, all -unconsciously, of course, and it has lain hidden with the curtains -upstairs in a lumber-box ever since. Betty will never forgive herself. -She'll have a fit of the jaundice over this." - -Sam drew a long breath. "You will let the public know, sir?" - -"Ay, Sam, without loss of an hour. I've begun with the magistrates--and -a fine sensation the news made amidst 'em, I can tell you; and now I'm -going round to the newspapers; and I shall go over to Elm Farm the first -thing to-morrow. The town took up the cause against you, Sam: take care -it does not eat you now in its repentance. Look here, you'll have to -come round to Betty, or she'll moan her heart out: you won't bear -malice, Sam?" - -"No, that I won't," said Sam warmly. "Miss Betty did not bear it to me. -She has been as kind as can be all along." - -The town did want to eat Sam. It is the custom of the true Briton to go -to extremes. Being unable to shake Sam's hands quite off, the city would -fain have chaired him round the streets with honours, as it used to -chair its newly returned members. - -Captain Cockermuth, sent for post haste, came to Worcester all -contrition, beseeching Sam to forgive him fifty times a-day, and wanting -to press the box of guineas upon him as a peace-offering. Sam would not -take it: he laughingly told the captain that the box did not seem to -carry luck with it. - -And then Sam's troubles were over. And no objection was made by his -people (as it otherwise might have been) to his marrying Maria Parslet, -by way of recompense. "God never fails to bring good out of evil, my -dear," said old Mrs. Jacobson to Maria, the first time they had her -on a visit at Elm Farm. As to Sam, he had short time for Elm Farm, -or anything else in the shape of recreation. Practice was flowing in -quickly: litigants arguing, one with another, that a young man, lying -for months under an imputation of theft, and then coming out of it with -flying colours, must needs be a clever lawyer. - -"But, Johnny," Sam said to me, when talking of the past, "there's one -thing I would alter if I made the laws. No person, so long as he is only -suspected of crime, should have his name proclaimed publicly. I am not -speaking of murder, you understand, or charges of that grave nature; -but of such a case as mine. My name appeared in full, in all the local -newspapers, Samson Reginald Dene, coupled with theft, and of course -it got a mark upon it. It is an awful blight upon a man when he is -innocent, one that he may never quite live down. Suspicions must arise, -I know that, of the innocent as well as the guilty, and they must -undergo preliminary examinations in public and submit to legal -inquiries: but time enough to proclaim who the man is when evidence -strengthens against him, and he is committed for trial; until then let -his name be suppressed. At least that is my opinion." - -And it is mine as well as Sam's. - - - - -OUR FIRST TERM AT OXFORD. - - -I. - -It was Friday night at the Oxford terminus, and all the world scrambling -for cabs. Sir John and the Squire, nearly lifted off their legs, and -too much taken aback to fight for themselves, stood against the wall, -thinking the community had gone suddenly mad. Bill Whitney and Tod, -tall, strong young fellows, able to hold their own anywhere, secured a -cab at length, and we and our luggage got in and on it. - -"To the Mitre." - -"If this is a specimen of Oxford manners, the sooner the lads are at -home the better," growled the Squire. Sir John Whitney was settling his -spectacles on his nose--nearly lost off it in the scuffle. - -"Snepp told me it was a regular shindy at the terminus the first day of -term, with all the students coming back," said Bill Whitney. - -There had been no end of discussion as to our college career. Sir -John Whitney said William must go to Oxford, as he had been at Oxford -himself; whereas Brandon stood out against Oxford for me; would not hear -of it. He preferred Cambridge he said: and to Cambridge Johnny Ludlow -should go: and he, as my guardian, had full power over me. The Squire -cared not which university was chosen; but Tod went in for Oxford with -all his strong will: he said the boating was best there. The result was -that Mr. Brandon gave way, and we were entered at Christchurch. - -Mr. Brandon had me at his house for two days beforehand, giving me -counsel. He had one of his bad colds just then and kept his room, and -his voice was never more squeaky. The last evening, I sat up there with -him while he sipped his broth. The fire was large enough to roast us, -and he had three flannel night-caps on. It was that night that he -talked to me most. He believed with all his heart, he said, that the -temptations to young men were greater at Oxford than at Cambridge; that, -of the two, the more reckless set of men were there: and that was one of -the reasons why he had objected to Oxford for me. And then he proceeded -to put the temptations pretty strongly before me, and did not mince -things, warning me that it would require all the mental and moral -strength I possessed to resist them, and steer clear of a course of sin -and shame. He then suddenly opened the Bible, which was on the table at -his elbow, and read out a line or two from the thirtieth chapter of -Deuteronomy. - -"'See, I have set before you this day life and good, and death and evil: -therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live.'" - -"That's what I have been striving to set before you, Johnny Ludlow. Read -that chapter, the whole of it, often; treasure its precepts in your -heart; and may God give you grace to keep them!" - -He shook hands with me in silence. I took up my candle and waited a -moment, for I thought he was going to speak again. - -"Will you try to keep them, lad?" - -"I will try, sir." - -We were fortunate in getting good rooms at Christchurch. Tod's and mine -were close together; Bill Whitney's on the floor above. Our sitting-room -was pleasant; it had an old cracked piano in it, which turned out to be -passably fair when it had been tinkered and tuned. The windows looked -out on the trees of the Broad Walk and to the meadows beyond; but trees -are bare in winter, and the month was January. I had never stayed at -Oxford before: and I saw that I should like it, with its fine, grand old -colleges. The day after we got there, Saturday, we wrote our names in -the dean's book, and saw our tutor. The rest of the day was spent in -seeing about battels and getting into the new ways. Very new to us. A -civil young fellow, who waited on us as scout, was useful; they called -him "Charley" in the college. Tod pulled a long face at some of the -rules, and did not like the prospect of unlimited work. - -"I'll go in for the boating and fishing and driving, Johnny; and you can -go in for the books." - -"All right, Tod." I knew what he meant. It was not that he did not -intend to take a fair amount of work: but to exist without a good share -of out-of-door life also, would have been hard lines for Tod. - -The Sunday services were beautiful. The first Sunday of term was a high -day, and the cathedral was filled. Orders of admission to the public -were not necessary that day, and a general congregation mixed with the -students. Sir John and the Squire were staying at the Mitre until -Monday. After service we went to promenade in the Broad Walk--and it -seemed that everybody else went. - -"Look there!" cried the Squire, "at this tall clergyman coming along. -I am sure he is one of the canons of Worcester." - -It was Mr. Fortescue--Honourable and Reverend. He halted for a minute to -exchange greetings with Sir John Whitney, whom he knew, and then passed -on his way. - -"There's some pretty girls about, too," resumed the Squire, gazing -around. "Not that I'd advise you boys to look much at them. Wonder if -they often walk here?" - -Before a week had gone by, we were quite at home; had shaken down into -our new life as passengers shake down in their places in an omnibus; and -made lots of friends. Some I liked; some I did not like. There was one -fellow always coming in--a tall dark man with crisp hair; his name -Richardson. He had plenty of money and kept dogs and horses, and seemed -to go in for every kind of fast life the place afforded. Of work he did -none; and report ran that he was being watched by the proctor, with whom -he was generally in hot water. Altogether he was not in good odour: and -he had a way of mocking at religion as though he were an atheist. - -"I heard a bit about Richardson just now," cried Whitney, one morning -that he had brought his commons in to breakfast with us--and the fields -outside were white with snow. "Mayhew says he's a scamp." - -"Don't think he's much else, myself," said Tod. "I say, just taste this -butter! It's shockingly strong. Wonder what it is made of?" - -"Mayhew says he's a liar as well as a villain. There's no speaking after -him. Last term a miserable affair occurred in the town; the authorities -could not trace it home to Richardson though they suspected he was the -black sheep. Lots of fellows knew he was: but he denied it out-and-out. -I think we had better not have much to do with him." - -"He entertains jolly well," said Tod. "Johnny, you've boiled these -eggs too hard. And his funds seem to spring from some perpetual gold -mine----" - -The door opened, and two bull-dogs burst in, leaping and howling. -Richardson--they were his--followed, with little Ford; the latter a -quiet, inoffensive man, who stuck to his work. - -"Be quiet, you two devils!" cried Richardson, kicking his dogs. "Lie -down, will you? I say, I've a wine-coach on to-night in my rooms, after -Hall. Shall be glad to see you all at it." - -Considering the conversation he had broken in upon, none of us had a -very ready answer at hand. - -"I have heaps of letters to answer to-night, and must do it," said -Whitney. "Thank you all the same." - -Richardson might have read coolness in the tone; I don't know; but he -turned the back of his chair on Bill to face Tod. - -"You have not letters to write, I suppose, Todhetley?" - -"Not I. I leave letters to Ludlow." - -"You'll come, then?" - -"Can't," said Tod candidly. "Don't mean to go in for wine-parties." - -"Oh," said Richardson. "You'll tell another tale when you've been here -a bit longer. _Will_ you be still, you brutes?" - -"Hope I shan't," said Tod. "Wine plays the very mischief with work. -Should never get any done if I went in for it." - -"Do you intend to go up for honours?" went on Richardson. - -"'Twould be a signal failure if I did. I leave all that to Ludlow--as -I said by the letters. See to the dogs, Richardson." - -The animals had struck up a fight. Richardson secured the one and sent -the other out with a kick. Our scout was coming in, and the dog flew at -him. No damage; but a great row. - -"Charley," cried Tod, "this butter's not fit to eat." - -"Is it not, sir? What's the matter with it?" - -"The matter with it?--everything's the matter with it." - -"Is _that_ your scout?" asked Richardson, when the man had gone again, -holding his dog between his knees as he sat. - -"Yes," said Tod. "And your dogs all but made mincemeat of him. You -should teach them better manners." - -"Serve him right if they had. His name's Tasson." - -"Tasson, is it? We call him Charley here." - -"I know. He's a queer one." - -"How is he queer?" - -"He's pious." - -"He's what?" - -"Pious," repeated Richardson, twisting his mouth. "A saint; a cant; a -sneak." - -"Good gracious!" cried Bill Whitney. - -"You think I'm jesting! Ask Ford here. Tell it, Ford." - -"Oh, it's true," said Ford: "true that he goes in for piety. Last term -there was a freshman here named Carstairs. He was young; rather soft; no -experience, you know, and he began to go the pace. One night this -Charley, his scout, fell on his knees, and besought him with tears not -to go to the bad; to pull up in time and remember what the end must be; -and--and so on." - -"What did Carstairs do?" - -"Do! why turned him out," put in Richardson. "Carstairs, by the way, has -taken his name off the books, or _had_ to take it off." - -"Charley is civil and obliging to us," said Whitney. "Never presumes." - -How much of the tale was gospel we knew not; but for my own part, I -liked Charley. There was something about him quite different from scouts -and servants in general--and by the way, I don't think Charley was a -scout, only a scout's help--but in appearance and diction and manner -he was really superior. A slim, slight young fellow of twenty, with -straight fine light hair and blue eyes, and a round spot of scarlet on -his thin cheeks. - -"I say, Charley, they say you are pious," began Bill Whitney that same -day after lecture, when the man was bringing in the bread-and-cheese -from the buttery. - -He coloured to the roots of his light hair, and did not answer. Bill -never minded what he said to any one. - -"You were scout to Mr. Carstairs. Did you take his morals under your -special protection?" - -"Be quiet, Whitney," said Tod in an undertone. - -"And constitute yourself his guardian-angel-in-ordinary? Didn't you go -down on your knees to him with tears and sobs, and beseech him not to go -to the bad?" went on Bill. - -"There's not a word of truth in it, sir. One evening when Mr. Carstairs -was lying on his sofa, tired and ill--for he was beginning to lead a -life that had no rest in it, hardly, day or night, a folded slip of -paper was brought in from Mr. Richardson, and Mr. Carstairs bade me read -it to him. It was to remind him of some appointment for the night. Mr. -Carstairs was silent for a minute, and then burst out with a kind of -sharp cry, painful to hear. 'By Heaven, if this goes on, they'll ruin -me, body and soul! I've a great mind not to go.' I did speak then, sir; -I told him he was ill, and had better stay at home; and I said that it -was easy enough for him to pull up then, but that when one got too far -on the down-hill path it was more difficult." - -"Was that all?" cried Whitney. - -"Every word, sir. I should not have spoken at all but that I had known -Mr. Carstairs before we came here. Mr. Richardson made a great deal of -it, and gave it quite a different colouring." - -"Did Mr. Carstairs turn you away for that?" I asked of Charley; when he -came back for the things, and the other two had gone out. - -"Three or four days after it happened, sir, Mr. Carstairs stopped my -waiting on him again. I think it was through Mr. Richardson. Mr. -Carstairs had refused to go out with him the evening it occurred." - -"You knew Mr. Carstairs before he came to Oxford. Where was it?" - -"It was----" he hesitated, and then went on. "It was at the school he -was at in London, sir. I was a junior master there." - -Letting a plate fall--for I was helping to pack them, wanting the -table--I stared at the fellow. "A master there and----" and a servant -here, I all but said, but I stopped the words. - -"Only one of the outer masters, attending daily," he went on quietly. -"I taught writing and arithmetic, and English to the juniors." - -"But how comes it that you are here in this post, Charley?" - -"I had reasons for wishing to come to live at Oxford, sir." - -"But why not have sought out something better than this?" - -"I did seek, sir. But nothing of the kind was to be had, and this place -offered. There's many a one, sir, falls into the wrong post in life, and -can never afterwards get into the right one." - -"But--do you--like this?" - -"_Like_ it, sir; no! But I make a living at it. One thing I shall be -always grateful to Mr. Carstairs for: that he did not mention where -he had known me. I should not like it to be talked of in the college, -especially by Mr. Richardson." - -He disappeared with his tray as he spoke. It sounded quite mysterious. -But I took the hint, and said nothing. - -The matter passed. Charley did not put on any mentorship to us, and the -more we saw of him the more we liked him. But an impression gradually -dawned upon us that he was not strong enough for his place. Carrying a -heavy tray upstairs would set him panting like an old man, and he could -not run far or fast. - -One day I was hard at work, Tod and Whitney being off somewhere, driving -tandem, when a queer, ugly-sounding cough kept annoying me from outside: -but whether it came from dog or man I could not tell. Opening the door -at last, there sat Charley on the stairs, his head resting against the -wall, and his cheeks brighter than a red leaf in autumn. - -"What, is it you, Charley? Where did you pick up that cough?" - -"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, starting up. "I thought your rooms -were empty." - -"Come in till the fit's over. You are in a regular draught there. Come -along," for he hesitated--"I want to shut the door." - -He came in, coughing finely, and I gave him the chair by the fire. It -was nothing, he said, and would soon be gone. He had caught it a day or -two back in the bleak east wind: the college was draughty, and he had to -be on the run out-of-doors in all sorts of weather. - -"Well, you know, Charley, putting east winds and draughts aside, you -don't seem to be quite up to your work here in point of strength." - -"I was up to it, sir, when I took it. It's a failing in some of our -family, sir, to have weak lungs. I shall be all right again, soon." - -The coughing was over, and he got up to go away, evidently not liking to -intrude. There was a degree of sensitiveness about him that, of itself, -might have shown he was superior to his position. - -"Take a good jorum of treacle-posset, Charley, at bed-time." - - * * * * * - -Spring weather came in with February. The biting cold and snow of -January disappeared, and genial sunshine warmed the earth again. The -first Sunday in this same February month, from my place at morning -service, looking out on the townsfolk who had come in with orders, I saw -a lady, very little and pretty, staring fixedly at me from afar. The -face--where had I seen her face? It seemed familiar, but I could not -tell how or where I had known it. A small slight face of almost an ivory -white, and wide-open light blue eyes that had plenty of confidence in -them. - -Sophie Chalk! I should have recognized her at the first moment but for -the different mode in which her hair was dressed. Wonderful hair! A -vast amount of it, and made the most of. She wore it its natural colour -to-day, brown, and the red tinge on it shone like burnished gold. She -knew me; that was certain; and I could not help watching her. Her eyes -went roving away presently, possibly in search of Tod. I stole a glance -at him; but he did not appear to see her. What brought her to Oxford? - -We got out of church. I took care to hold my tongue. Tod had cared for -Sophie Chalk--there could be little doubt of it--as one never cares for -anybody again in life: and it might be just as well--in spite of the -expose of mademoiselle's false ways and misdoings--that they did not -meet. Syrens are syrens all the world over. - -The day went on to a bright moonlight night. Tod and I, out for a -stroll, were standing within the shade of the fine old Magdalen Tower, -talking to a fellow of Trinity, when there came up a lady of delicate -presence, the flowers in her bonnet exhaling a faint odour of perfume. - -"I _think_ I am not mistaken--I am sure--yes, I _am_ sure it is Mr. -Ludlow. And--surely that cannot be Mr. Todhetley?" - -Tod wheeled round at the soft, false voice. The daintily gloved hand was -held out to him; the fair, false face was bent close: and his own face -turned red and white with emotion. I saw it even in the shade of the -moonlight. Had she been strolling about to look for us? Most likely. A -few moments more, and we were all three walking onwards together. - -"Only fancy my position!" she gaily said. "Here am I, all forlorn, set -down alone in this great town, and must take care of myself as I best -can. The formidable gowns and caps frighten me." - -"The gowns and caps will do you no harm--Miss Chalk," cried Tod--and he -only just saved himself from saying "Sophie." - -"Do you think not," she returned, touching the sleeve of her velvet -jacket, as if to brush off a fly. "But I beg you will accord me my due -style and title, Mr. Todhetley, and honour me accordingly. I am no -longer Miss Chalk. I am Mrs. Everty." - -So she had married Mr. Everty after all! She minced along between us in -her silk gown, her hands in her ermine muff that looked made for a doll. -At the private door of a shop in High Street she halted, rang the bell, -and threw the door open. - -"You will walk up and take a cup of tea with me. Nay, but you must--or -I shall think you want to hold yourselves above poor little me, now -you are grand Oxford men." - -She went along the passage and up the stairs: there seemed no resource -but to follow. In the sitting-room, which was very well furnished and -looked out upon the street, a fire burned brightly; and a lamp and -tea-things stood on the table. - -"Where have you been?--keeping me waiting for my tea in this way! You -never think of any one but yourself: never." - -The querulous complaint, and thin, shrill voice came from a small dark -girl who sat at the window, peering out into the lighted street. I had -not forgotten the sharp-featured sallow face and the deep-set eyes. It -was Mabel Smith, the poor little lame and deformed girl I had seen in -Torriana Square. She really did not look much older or bigger, and she -spoke as abruptly as ever. - -"I remember you, Johnny Ludlow." - -Mrs. Everty made the tea. Her dress, white one way, green the other, -gleamed like silver in the lamplight. It had a quantity of white lace -upon it: light green ribbons were twisted in her hair. "I should think -it would be better to have those curtains drawn, Mabel. Your tea's -ready: if you will come to it." - -"But I choose to have the curtains open and I'll take my tea here," -answered Mabel. "You may be going out again for hours, and what company -should I have but the street? I don't like to be shut up in a strange -room: I might see ghosts. Johnny Ludlow, that's a little coffee-table by -the wall: if you'll put it here it will hold my cup and saucer." - -I put it near her with her tea and plate of bread-and-butter. - -"Won't you sit by me? I am very lonely. Those other two can talk to one -another." - -So I carried my cup and sat down by Mabel. The "other two," as Mabel put -it, were talking and laughing. Tod was taking a lesson in tea-making -from her, and she called him awkward. - -"Are you living here?" I asked of Mabel under cover of the noise. - -"Living here! no," she replied in her old abrupt fashion. "Do you think -papa would let me be living over a shop in Oxford? My grandmamma lives -near the town, and she invited me down on a visit to her. There was no -one to bring me, and she said _she_ would"--indicating Sophie--"and we -came yesterday. Well, would you believe it? Grandmamma had meant _next_ -Saturday, and she could not take us in, having visitors already. I -wanted to go back home; but she said she liked the look of Oxford, and -she took these rooms for a week. Two guineas without fires and other -extras: I call it dear. How came she to find you out, Johnny?" - -"We met just now. She tells us she is Mrs. Everty now." - -"Oh yes, they are married. And a nice bargain Mr. Everty has in her! Her -dresses must cost twenty pounds apiece. Some of them _thirty_ pounds! -Look at the lace on that one. Mrs. Smith, papa's wife, gives her a good -talking-to sometimes, telling her Mr. Everty's income won't stand it. -I should think it would not!--though I fancy he has a small share in -papa's business now." - -"Do they live in London?" - -"Oh yes, they live in London. Close to us, too! In one of the small -houses in Torriana Street. _She_ wanted to take a large house in the -square like ours, but Mr. Everty was too wise." - -Talking to this girl, my thoughts back in the past, I wondered whether -Sophie's people had heard of the abstraction of Miss Deveen's emeralds. -But it was not likely. To look at her now: watching her fascinating -ease, listening to her innocent reminiscences of the time we had all -spent together at Lady Whitney's, I might have supposed she had taken -a dose of the waters of Lethe, and that Sophie Chalk had always been -guileless as a child; an angel without wings. - -"She has lost none of her impudence, Tod," I said as we went home. "In -the old days, you know, we used to say she'd fascinate the hair off our -heads, give her the chance. She'd wile off both ears as well now. A good -thing she's married!" - -Tod broke into a whistle, and went striding on. - -Before the week was out, Sophie Chalk--we generally called her by -the old name--had become intimate with some of the men of different -colleges. Mabel Smith went to her grandmother's, and Sophie had nothing -to do but exhibit her charms in the Oxford streets and entertain her -friends. The time went on. Hardly an evening passed but Tod was there; -Bill Whitney went sometimes; I rarely. Sophie did not fascinate me, -whatever she might do by others. Sophie treated her guests to wine and -spirits, and to unlimited packs of cards. Bill Whitney said one night -in a joking way that he was not sure but she might be indicted for -keeping a private gaming-house. Richardson was one of her frequent -evening visitors, and she would let him take his bull-dogs to make a -morning call. There would be betting over the cards in the evenings, -and she did not attempt to object. Sophie would not play herself; she -dispersed her fascinations amidst the company while they played, and -sang songs at the piano--one of the best pianos to be found in Oxford. -There set in a kind of furore for pretty Mrs. Everty; the men who had -the entree there went wild over her charms, and vied with each other in -making her costly presents. Sophie broke into raptures of delight over -each with the seeming simplicity of a child, and swept all into her -capacious net. - -I think it was receiving those presents that was keeping her in Oxford; -or helping to keep her. Some of them were valuable. Very valuable indeed -was a set of diamonds, brooch and ear-rings, that soft young calf, -Gaiton, brought her; but what few brains the viscount had were clean -dazzled away by Sophie's attractions: and Richardson gave her a -bejewelled fan that must have cost a small fortune. If Sophie Chalk did -spend her husband's money, she was augmenting her stock of precious -stones--and she had not lost her passion for them. - -One morning my breakfast was brought in by a strange fellow, gloomy and -grim. Tod had gone to breakfast with Mayhew. - -"Where's Charley?" I asked. - -"Sick," was the short answer. - -"What's the matter with him?" - -"Down with a cold, or something." - -And we had this surly servant for ever so long to come: and I'm sorry -to say got so accustomed to seeing his face as to forget sick Charley. - - -II. - -"Will you go up the river for a row, Johnny?" - -"I don't mind if I do." - -The questioner was Bill Whitney; who had come in to look for Tod. I had -nothing particular on hand that afternoon, and the skies were blue and -the sun golden. So we went down to the river together. - -"Where has Tod got to?" he asked. - -"Goodness knows. I've not seen him since lecture this morning." - -We rowed up to Godstowe. Bill disappeared with some friend of his from -Merton's, who had watched us put in. I strolled about. Every one knows -the dark pool of water there. On the bench under the foliage, so thick -in summer, but bare yet in this early season, warm and sunny though it -was, sat a man wrapped in a great-coat, whom I took at first to be -a skeleton with painted cheeks. But one does not care to stare at -skeletons, knowing they'd help their looks if they could; and I was -passing him with my face turned the other way. - -"Good-afternoon, sir." - -I turned at the hollow words--hollow in sound as though they came out -of a drum. It was Charley: the red paint on his thin cheeks was nothing -but natural hectic, and the blue of his eyes shone painfully bright. - -"Why, what's the matter, Charley?" - -"A fly-man, who had to drive here and back, brought me with him for a -mouthful of fresh air, it being so warm and bright. It is the first -time I have been able to get out, sir." - -"You are poorly, Charley." I had all but said "dying." But one can only -be complimentary to a poor fellow in that condition. - -"Very ill I have been, sir; but I'm better. At one time I never thought -I should get up again. It's this beautiful warm weather coming in so -early that has restored me." - -"I don't know about restored? You don't look great things yet." - -"You should have seen me a short while ago, sir! I'm getting on." - -Lying by his side, on a piece of paper, was a thick slice, doubled, of -bread-and-butter, that he must have brought with him. He broke a piece -off, and ate it. - -"You look hungry, Charley." - -"That's the worst of it, sir; I'm always hungry," he answered, and his -tone from its eagerness was quite painful to hear, and his eyes grew -moist, and the hectic spread on his cheeks. "It is the nature of the -complaint, I'm told: and poor mother was the same. I could be eating and -drinking every hour, sir, and hardly be satisfied." - -"Come along to the inn, and have some tea." - -"No, sir; no, thank you," he said, shrinking back. "I answered your -remark thoughtlessly, sir, for it's the truth; not with any notion -that it would make you ask me to take anything. And I've got some -bread-and-butter here." - -Going indoors, I told them to serve him a good tea, with a big dish of -bacon and eggs, or some relishing thing of that sort. Whitney came in -and heard me. - -"You be hanged, Johnny! We are not going in for all that, here!" - -"It's not for us, Bill; it's for that poor old scout, Charley. He's as -surely dying as that you and I are talking. Come and look at him: you -never saw such an object. I don't believe he gets enough to eat." - -Whitney came, and did nothing but stare. Charley went indoors with a -good deal of pressing, and we saw him sit down to the feast. Whitney -stayed; I went out-of-doors again. - -I remembered a similar case. It was that of a young woman who used to -make Lena's frocks. She fell into a decline. Her appetite was wonderful. -Anything good and substantial to eat and drink, she was always craving -for: and it all seemed to do her no good. Charley Tasson's sickness must -be of the same nature. She died: and he---- - -I was struck dumb! Seated on the bench under the trees, my thoughts back -in that past time, there came two figures over the rustic bridge. A lady -and gentleman, arm-in-arm: she in a hat and blue feather and dainty lace -parasol; and he with bent head and words softened to a whisper. -Tod!--and Sophie Chalk! - -"Good gracious! There's Johnny Ludlow!" - -She loosed his arm as she spoke, and came sailing up to me, her gold -bracelets jingling as she gave her hand. I don't believe there are ten -women in England who could get themselves up as effectively as did -Sophie Chalk. Tod looked black as thunder. - -"What the devil brings you here, Johnny?" - -"I rowed up with Whitney." - -A pause. "Who else is here?" - -"Forbes of Merton: Whitney has been about with him. And I suppose a few -others. We noticed a skiff or two waiting. Perhaps one was yours." - -I spoke indifferently, determined he should not know I was put out. -Seeing him there--I was going to say on the sly--with that beguiling -syren, who was to foretell what pitfalls she might charm him into? He -took Madame Sophie on his arm again to continue their promenade, and I -lost sight of them. - -I did not like it. It was not satisfactory. He had rowed her up--or -perhaps driven her up--and was marching about with her tete-a-tete under -the sweet spring sunshine. No great harm in itself this pastime: but -he might grow too fond of it. That she had reacquired all her strong -influence over Tod's heart was clear as the stars on a frosty night. -Whitney called out to me that it was time to think of going back. I got -into the boat with him, saying nothing. - -Charley told me where he lived--"Up Stagg's Entry"--for I said I would -call to see him. Just for a day or two there seemed to be no time; but -I got there one evening when Tod had gone to the syren's. It was a -dark, dusky place, this Stagg's Entry, and, I think, is done away with -now, with several houses crowded into it. Asking for Charles Tasson, -of a tidy, motherly woman on the stairs, she went before me, and threw -open a door. - -"Here's a gentleman to see you, Mr. Charley." - -He was lying in a bed at the end of the room near the fire, under the -lean-to roof. If I had been shocked at seeing him in the open air, in -the glad sunshine, I was doubly so now in the dim light of the tallow -candle. He rose in bed. - -"It's very kind of you to come here, sir! I'm sure I didn't expect you -to remember it." - -"Are you worse, Charley?" - -"I caught a fresh cold, sir, that day at Godstowe. And I'm as weak as a -rat too--hardly able to creep out of bed. Nanny, bring a chair for this -gentleman." - -One of the handiest little girls I ever saw, with the same shining blue -eyes that he had, and plump, pretty cheeks, laid hold of a chair. I took -it from her and sat down. - -"Is this your sister, Charley?" - -"Yes, sir. There's only us two left together. We were eight of us once. -Three went abroad, and one is in London, and two dead." - -"What doctor sees you?" - -"One comes in now and then, sir. My illness is not much in a doctor's -way. There's nothing he could do: nothing for me but to wait patiently -for summer weather." - -"What have you had to eat to-day?" - -"He had two eggs for his dinner: I boiled them," said little Nanny. "And -Mrs. Cann brought us in six herrings, and I cooked one for tea; and -he'll have some ale and bread-and-butter for supper." - -She spoke like a little important housekeeper. But I wondered whether -Charley was badly off. - -Mrs. Cann, the same woman who had spoken to me, came out of her room -opposite as I was going away. She followed me downstairs, and began to -talk in an undertone. "A sad thing, ain't it, sir, to see him a-lying -there so helpless; and to know that it has laid hold of him for good and -all. He caught it from his mother." - -"How do you mean?" - -"She died here in that room, just as the winter come in, with the same -complaint--decline they call it; and he waited on her and nursed her, -and must have caught it of her. A good son he was. They were well off -once, sir, but the father just brought 'em to beggary; and Charley--he -had a good education of his own--came down from London when his mother -got ill, and looked out for something to do here that he might stay -with her. At first he couldn't find anything; and when he was at a -sore pinch, he took a place at Christchurch College as scout's helper. -He had to pocket his pride: but there was Nanny as well as his mother." - -"I see." - -"He'd been teacher in a school up in London, sir, by day, and in the -evenings he used to help some young clergyman as scripture-reader to the -poor in one of them crowded parishes we hear tell of: he was always one -for trying to do what good he could. Naturally he'd be disheartened at -falling to be a bed-maker in a college, and I'm afraid the work was too -hard for him: but, as I say, he was a good son. The mother settled in -Oxford after her misfortunes." - -"How is he supported now? And the little girl?" - -"It's not over much of a support," said Mrs. Cann with disparagement. -"Not for him, that's a-craving for meat and drink every hour. The eldest -brother is in business in London, sir, and he sends them what they -have. Perhaps he's not able to do more." - -It was not late. I thought I would, for once, pay Mrs. Everty a visit. -A run of three minutes, and I was at her door. - -They were there--the usual set. Tod, and Richardson, and Lord Gaiton, -and the two men from Magdalen, and--well, it's no use enumerating--seven -or eight in all. Richardson and another were quarrelling at ecarte, four -were at whist; Tod was sitting apart with Sophie Chalk. - -She was got up like a fairy at the play, in a cloud of thin white -muslin; her hair hanging around and sparkling with gold dust, and little -gleams of gold ornaments shining about her. If ever Joseph Todhetley had -need to pray against falling into temptation, it was during the weeks of -that unlucky term. - -"This is quite an honour, Johnny Ludlow," said Madame Sophie, rising to -meet me, her eyes sparkling with what might have been taken for the most -hearty welcome. "It is not often you honour my poor little room, sir." - -"It is not often I can find the time for it, Mrs. Everty. Tod, I came in -to see whether you were ready to go in." - -He looked at his watch hastily, fearing it might be later than it was; -and answered curtly and coolly. - -"Ready?--no. I have not had my revenge yet at ecarte." - -Approaching the ecarte table, he sat down. Mrs. Everty drew a chair -behind Lord Gaiton, and looked over his hand. - -The days passed. I had two cares on my mind, and they bothered me. The -one was Tod and his dangerous infatuation; the other, poor dying Charley -Tasson. Tod was losing frightfully at those card-tables. Night after -night it went on. Tod's steps were drawn thither by a fascination -irresistible: and whether the cards or their mistress were the more -subtle potion for him, or what was to be the ending of it all, no -living being could tell. - -As to Stagg's Entry, my visits to it had grown nearly as much into a -habit as Tod's had to High Street. When I stayed away for a night, -little Nanny would whisper to me the next that Charley had not taken -his eyes off the door. Sick people always like to see visitors. - -"Don't let him want for anything, Johnny," said Tod. "The pater would -blow us up." - -The time ran on, and the sands of Charley's life ran with it. One -Wednesday evening upon going in late, and not having many minutes to -stay, I found him on the bed in a dead faint, and the candle guttering -in the socket. Nanny was nowhere. I went across the passage to Mrs. -Cann's, and she was nowhere. It was an awkward situation; for I declare -that for the moment I thought he was gone. - -Knowing most of Nanny's household secrets, I looked in the candle-box -for a fresh candle. Charley was stirring then, and I gave him some -wine. He had had a similar fainting-fit at mid-day, he said, which had -frightened them, and Nanny had fetched the doctor. She was gone now, he -supposed, to fetch some medicine. - -"Is this the end, sir?" - -He asked it quite calmly. I could not tell: but to judge by his wan face -I thought it might be. And my time was up and more than up: and neither -Nanny nor Mrs. Cann came. The wine revived him and he seemed better; -quite well again: well, for him. But I did not like to leave him alone. - -"Would you mind reading to me, sir?" he asked. - -"What shall I read, Charley?" - -"It may be for the last time, sir. I'd like to hear the service for the -burial of the dead." - -So I read it every word, the long lesson, and all. Nanny came in before -it was finished, medicine in hand, and sat down in silence with her -bonnet on. She had been kept at the doctor's. Mrs. Cann was the next to -make her appearance, having been abroad on some business of her own: and -I got away when it was close upon midnight. - -"Your name and college, sir." - -"Ludlow. Christchurch." - -It was the proctor. He had pounced full upon me as I was racing home. -And the clocks were striking twelve! - -"Ludlow--Christchurch," he repeated, nodding his head. - -"I am sorry to be out so late, sir, against rules, but I could not help -it. I have been sitting with a sick man." - -"Very good," said he blandly; "you can tell that to-morrow to the dean. -Home to your quarters now, if you please, Mr. Ludlow." - -And I knew he believed me just as much as he would had I told him I'd -been up in a balloon. - -"You are a nice lot, Master Johnny!" - -The salutation was Tod's. He and Bill Whitney were sitting over the fire -in our room. - -"I couldn't help being late." - -"Of course not! As to late--it's only midnight. Next time you'll come in -with the milk." - -"Don't jest. I've been with that poor Charley, and I think he's dying. -The worst of it is, the proctor has just dropped upon me." - -"No!" It sobered them both, and they put aside their mockery. Bill, who -had the tongs in his hand, let them go down with a crash. - -"It's a thousand pities, Johnny. Not one of us has been before the dean -yet." - -"I can only tell the dean the truth." - -"As if he'd believe you! By Jupiter! Once get one of our names up, and -those proctors will track every step of the ground we tread on. They -watch a marked man as a starving cat watches a mouse." - -With the morning came in the requisition for me to attend before the -dean. When I got there, who should be stealing out of the room quite -sheepishly, his face down and his ears red, but Gaiton. - -"Is it your turn, Ludlow!" he cried, closing the room-door as softly as -though the dean had been asleep inside. - -"What have you been had up for, Gaiton?" - -"Oh, nothing. I got knocking about a bit last night, for Mrs. Everty did -not receive, and came across that confounded proctor." - -"Is the dean in a hard humour?" - -"Hard enough, and be hanged to him! It's not the dean: he's ill, or -something; perhaps been making a night of it himself: and Applerigg's on -duty for him. Dry old scarecrow! For two pins, Ludlow, I'd take my name -off the books, and be free of the lot." - -Dr. Applerigg had the reputation of being one of the strictest of -college dons. He was like a maypole, just as tall and thin, with a long, -sallow face, and enough learning to set up the reputations of three -archbishops for life. The doctor was marching up and down the room in -his college-cap, and turned his spectacles on me. - -"Shut the door, sir." - -While I did as I was bid, he sat down at an open desk near the fire and -looked at a paper that had some writing on it. - -"What age may you be, Mr. Ludlow?" he sternly asked, when a question or -two had passed. And I told him my age. - -"Oh! And don't you think it a very disreputable thing, a great -_discredit_, sir, for a young fellow of your years to be found abroad by -your proctor at midnight?" - -"But I could not help being late, sir, last night; and I was not abroad -for any purpose of pleasure. I had been staying with a poor fellow who -is sick; dying, in fact: and--and it was not my fault, sir." - -"Take care, young man," said he, glaring through his spectacles. -"There's one thing I can never forgive if deliberately told me, and -that's a lie." - -"I should be sorry to tell a lie, sir," I answered: and by the annoyance -so visible in his looks and tones, it was impossible to help fancying he -had found out, or thought he had found out, Gaiton in one. "What I have -said is truth." - -"Go over again what you did say," cried he, very shortly, after looking -at his paper again and then hard at me. And I went over it. - -"_What_ do you say the man's name is?" - -"Charles Tasson, sir. He was our scout until he fell ill." - -"Pray do you make a point, Mr. Ludlow, of visiting all the scouts and -their friends who may happen to fall sick?" - -"No, sir," I said, uneasily, for there was ridicule in his tone, and -I knew he did not believe a word. "I don't suppose I should ever have -thought of visiting Tasson, but for seeing him look so ill one afternoon -up at Godstowe." - -"He must be very ill to be at Godstowe!" cried Dr. Applerigg. "Very!" - -"He was so ill, sir, that I thought he was dying then. Some flyman he -knew had driven him to Godstowe for the sake of the air." - -"But what's your _motive_, may I ask, for going to sit with him?" He had -a way of laying emphasis on certain of his words. - -"There's no motive, sir: except that he is lonely and dying." - -The doctor looked at me for what seemed ten minutes. "What is this sick -man's address, pray?" - -I told him the address in Stagg's Entry; and he wrote it down, telling -me to present myself again before him the following morning. - -That day, I met Sophie Chalk; her husband was with her. She nodded and -seemed gay as air: he looked dark and sullen as he took off his hat. I -carried the news into college. - -"Sophie Chalk has her husband down, Tod." - -"Queen Anne's dead," retorted he. - -"Oh, you knew it!" And I might have guessed that he did by his not -having spent the past evening in High Street, but in a fellow's rooms at -Oriel. And he was as cross as two sticks. - -"What a _fool_ she must have been to go and throw herself away upon that -low fellow Everty!" he exclaimed, putting his shoulders against the -mantelpiece and stamping on the carpet with one heel. - -"Throw herself away! Well, Tod, opinions vary. _I_ think she was lucky -to get him. As to his being low, we don't know that he is. Putting aside -that one mysterious episode of his being down at our place in hiding, -which I suppose we shall never come to the bottom of, we know nothing of -what Everty has, or has not been." - -"You shut up, Johnny. Common sense is common sense." - -"Everty's being here--we can't associate with him, you know, -Tod--affords a good opportunity for breaking off the visits to High -Street." - -"Who wants to break off the visits to High Street?" - -"I do, for one. Madame Sophie's is a dangerous atmosphere." - -"Dangerous for you, Johnny?" - -"Not a bit of it. _You_ know. Be wise in time, old fellow." - -"Of all the muffs living, Johnny, you are about the greatest. In the old -days you feared I might go in for marrying Sophie Chalk. I don't see -what you can fear now. Do you suppose I should run away with another -man's wife?" - -"Nonsense, Tod!" - -"Well, what else is it? Come! Out with it." - -"Do you think our people or the Whitneys would like it if they knew we -are intimate with her?" - -"They'd not die of it, I expect." - -"I don't like her, Tod. It is not a nice thing of her to allow the -play and the betting, and to have all those fellows there when they -choose to go." - -Tod took his shoulder from the mantelpiece, and sat down to his -imposition: one he had to write for having missed chapel. - -"You mean well, Johnny, though you are a muff." - -Later in the day I met Dr. Applerigg. He signed to me to stop. "Mr. -Ludlow, I find that what you told me this morning was true. And I -withdraw every word of condemnation that I spoke. I wish I had never -greater cause to find fault than I have with you, in regard to this -matter. Not that I can sanction your being out so late, although the -plea of excuse _be_ a dying man. You understand?" - -"Yes, sir. It shall not occur again." - -Down at the house in Stagg's Entry, that evening, Mrs. Cann met me on -the stairs. "One of the great college doctors was here to-day, sir. He -came up asking all manner of questions about you--whether you'd been -here till a'most midnight yesterday, and what you'd stayed so late for, -and--and all about it." - -Dr. Applerigg! "What did you tell him, Mrs. Cann?" - -"Tell him, sir! what should I tell him but the truth? That you had -stayed here late because of Charley's being took worse and nobody with -him, and had read the burial service to him for his asking; and that you -came most evenings, and was just as good to him as gold. He said he'd -see Charley for himself then; and he went in and talked to him, oh so -gently and nicely about his soul; and gave little Nanny half-a-crown -when he went away. Sometimes it happens, sir, that those who look to -have the hardest faces have the gentlest hearts. And Charley's dying, -sir. He was took worse again this evening at five o'clock, and I hardly -thought he'd have lasted till now. The doctor has been, and thinks he'll -go off quietly." - -Quietly perhaps in one sense, but it was a restless death-bed. He was -not still a minute; but he was quite sensible and calm. Waking up out of -a doze when I went in, he held out his hand. - -"It is nearly over, sir." - -I was sure of that, and sat down in silence. There could be no mistaking -his looks. - -"I have just had a strange dream," he whispered, between his laboured -breath; and his eyes were wet with tears, and he looked curiously -agitated. "I thought I saw mother. It was in a wide place, all light and -sunshine, too beautiful for anything but heaven. Mother was looking at -me; I seemed to be outside in dulness and darkness, and not to know how -to get in. Others that I've known in my lifetime, and who have gone on -before, were there, as well as mother; they all looked happy, and there -was a soft strain of music, like nothing I ever heard in this world. All -at once, as I was wondering how I could get in, my sins seemed to rise -up before me in a great cloud; I turned sick, thinking of them; for I -knew no sinful person might enter there. Then I saw One standing on the -brink! it could only have been Jesus; and He held out His hand to me and -smiled, 'I am here to wash out your sins,' He said, and I thought He -touched me with His finger; and oh, the feeling of delight that came -over me, of repose, of bliss, for I knew that all earth's troubles were -over, and I had passed into rest and peace for ever." - -Nanny came up, and gave him one or two spoonfuls of wine. - -"I don't believe it was a dream," he said, after a pause. "I think it -was sent to show me what it is I am entering on; to uphold me through -the darksome valley of the shadow of death." - -"Mother said she should be watching for us, you know, Charley," said the -child. - -A restless fit came over him again, and he stirred uneasily. When it had -passed, he was still for awhile and then looked up at me. - -"It was the new heaven and the new earth, sir, that we are told of in -the Revelation. Would you mind, sir--just those few verses--reading them -to me for the last time?" - -Nanny brought the Bible, and put the candle on the stand, and I read -what he asked for--the first few verses of the twenty-first chapter. The -little girl kneeled down by the bed and joined her hands together. - -"That's enough, Nanny," I whispered. "Put the candle back." - -"But I did not tell all my dream," he resumed; "not quite all. As I -passed over into heaven, I thought I looked down here again. I could -see the places in the world; I could see this same Oxford city. I -saw the men here in it, sir, at their cards and their dice and their -drink; at all their thoughtless folly. Spending their days and nights -without a care for the end, without as much as thinking whether they -need a Saviour or not. And oh, their condition troubled me! I seemed -to understand all things plainly then, sir. And I thought if they -would but once lift up their hearts to Him, even in the midst of their -sin, He would take care of them even then, and save them from it in -the end--for He was tempted Himself once, and knows how sore their -temptations are. In my distress, I tried to call out and tell them -this, and it awoke me." - -"Do you think he ought to talk, sir?" whispered Nanny. But nothing more -could harm him now. - -My time was up, and I ought to be going. Poor Charley spoke so -imploringly--almost as though the thought of it startled him. - -"Not yet, sir; not yet! Stay a bit longer with me. It is for the last -time." - -And I stayed: in spite of my word passed to Dr. Applerigg. It seems to -me a solemn thing to cross the wishes of the dying. - -So the clock went ticking on. Mrs. Cann stole in and out, and a lodger -from below came in and looked at him. Before twelve all was over. - -I went hastening home, not much caring whether the proctor met me again, -or whether he didn't, for in any case I must go to Dr. Applerigg in the -morning, and tell him I had broken my promise to him, and why. Close at -the gates some one overtook and passed me. - -It was Tod. Tod with a white face, and his hair damp with running. He -had come from Sophie Chalk's. - -"What is it, Tod?" - -I laid my hand upon his arm in speaking. He threw it off with a word -that was very like an imprecation. - -"What _is_ the matter?" - -"The devil's the matter. Mind your own business, Johnny." - -"Have you been quarrelling with Everty?" - -"Everty be hanged! The man has betaken himself off." - -"How much have you lost to-night?" - -"Cleaned-out, lad. That's all." - -We got to our room in silence. Tod turned over some cards that lay on -the table, and trimmed the candle from a thief. - -"Tasson's dead, Tod." - -"A good thing if some of us were dead," was the answer. And he turned -into his chamber and bolted the door. - - -III. - -Lunch-time at Oxford, and a sunny day. Instead of college and our usual -fare, bread-and-cheese from the buttery, we were looking on the High -Street from Mrs. Everty's rooms, and about to sit down to a snow-white -damasked table with no end of good things upon it. Madam Sophie had -invited four or five of us to lunch with her. - -The term had gone on, and Easter was not far off. Tod had not worked -much: just enough to keep him out of hot-water. His mind ran on Sophie -Chalk more than it did on lectures and chapel. He and the other fellows -who were caught by her fascinations mostly spent their spare time there. -Sophie dispersed her smiles pretty equally, but Tod contrived to get the -largest share. The difference was this: they had lost their heads to her -and Tod his heart. The evening card-playing did not flag, and the stakes -played for were high. Tod and Gaiton were the general losers: a run of -ill-luck had set in from the first for both of them. Gaiton might afford -this, but Tod could not. - -Tod had his moments of reflection. He'd sit sometimes for an hour -together, his head bent down, whistling softly to himself some slow -dolorous strain, and pulling at his dark whiskers; no doubt pondering -the question of what was to be the upshot of it all. For my part, I -devoutly wished Sophie Chalk had been caught up into the moon before an -ill-wind had wafted her to Oxford. It was an awful shame of her husband -to let her stay on there, turning the under-graduates' brains. Perhaps -he could not help it. - -We sat down to table: Sophie at its head in a fresh-looking pink gown -and bracelets and nicknacks. Lord Gaiton and Tod sat on either side of -her; Richardson was at the foot, and Fred Temple and I faced each other. -What fit of politeness had taken Sophie to invite me, I could not -imagine. Possibly she thought I should be sure to refuse; but I did not. - -"So kind of you all to honour my poor little table!" said Sophie, -as we sat down. "Being in lodgings, I cannot treat you as I should -wish. It is all cold: chickens, meat-patties, lobster-salad, and -bread-and-cheese. Lord Gaiton, this is sherry by you, I think. Mr. -Richardson, you like porter, I know: there is some on the chiffonier." - -We plunged into the dishes without ceremony, each one according to his -taste, and the lunch progressed. I may as well mention one thing--that -there was nothing in Mrs. Everty's manners at any time to take exception -to: never a word was heard from her, never a look seen, that could -offend even an old dowager. She made the most of her charms and her -general fascinations, and flirted quietly; but all in a lady-like way. - -"Thank you, yes; I think I will take a little more salad, Mr. -Richardson," she said to him with a beaming smile. "It is my dinner, -you know. I have not a hall to dine in to-night, as you gentlemen -have. I am sorry to trouble you, Mr. Johnny." - -I was holding her plate for Richardson. There happened at that moment -to be a lull in the talking, and we heard a carriage of some kind stop -at the door, and a loud peal at the house-bell. - -"It's that brother of mine," said Fred Temple. "He bothered me to drive -out to some confounded place with him, but I told him I wouldn't. What's -he bumping up the stairs in that fashion for?" - -The room-door was flung open, and Fred Temple put on a savage face, for -his brother looked after him more than he liked; when, instead of Temple -major, there appeared a shining big brown satin bonnet, and an old -lady's face under it, who stood there with a walking-stick. - -"Yes, you see I was right, grandmamma; I said she was not gone," piped -a shrill voice behind; and Mabel Smith, in an old-fashioned black silk -frock and tippet, came into view. They had driven up to look after -Sophie. - -Sophie was equal to the occasion. She rose gracefully and held out both -her hands, as though they had been welcome as is the sun in harvest. The -old lady leaned on her stick, and stared around: the many faces seemed -to confuse her. - -"Dear me! I did not know you had a luncheon-party, ma'am." - -"Just two or three friends who have dropped in, Mrs. Golding," said -Sophie, airily. "Let me take your stick." - -The old lady, who looked like a very amiable old lady, sat down in the -nearest chair, but kept the stick in her hand. Mabel Smith was regarding -everything with her shrewd eyes and compressing her thin lips. - -"This is Johnny Ludlow, grandmamma; you have heard me speak of _him_: -I don't know the others." - -"How do you do, sir," said the old lady, politely nodding her brown -bonnet at me. "I hope you are in good health, sir?" - -"Yes, ma'am, thank you." For she put it as a question, and seemed to -await an answer. Tod and the rest, who had risen, began to sit down -again. - -"I'm sure I am sorry to disturb you at luncheon, ma'am," said the old -lady to Mrs. Everty. "We came in to see whether you had gone home or -not. I said you of course had gone; that you wouldn't stay away from -your husband so long as this; and also because we had not heard of you -for a month past. But Mabel thought you were here still." - -"I am intending to return shortly," said Sophie. - -"That's well: for I want to send up Mabel. And I brought in a letter -that came to my house this morning, addressed to you," continued the old -lady, lugging out of her pocket a small collection of articles before -she found the letter. "Mabel says it is your husband's handwriting, -ma'am; if so, he must be thinking you are staying with me." - -"Thanks," said Sophie, slipping the letter away unopened. - -"Had you not better see what it says?" suggested Mrs. Golding to her. - -"Not at all: it can wait. May I offer you some luncheon?" - -"Much obleeged, ma'am, but I and Mabel took an early dinner before -setting out. And on which day, Mrs. Everty, do you purpose going?" - -"I'll let you know," said Sophie. - -"What can have kept you so long here?" continued the old lady, -wonderingly. "Mabel said you did not know any of the inhabitants." - -"I have found it of service to my health," replied Sophie with charming -simplicity. "Will you take a glass of sherry, Mrs. Golding?" - -"I don't mind if I do. Just half a glass. Thank you, sir; not much more -than half"--to me, as I went forward with the glass and decanter. "I'm -sure, sir, it is good of you to be attentive to an old lady like me. If -you had a mind for a brisk walk at any time, of three miles, or so, and -would come over to my house, I'd make you welcome. Mabel, write down -the address." - -"And I wish you had come while I was there, Johnny Ludlow," said the -girl, giving me the paper. "I like you. You don't say smiling words to -people with your lips and mock at them in your heart, as some do." - -I remembered that she had not been asked to take any wine, and I offered -it. - -"_No_, thank you," she said with emphasis. "None for me." And it struck -me that she refused because the wine belonged to Sophie. - -The old lady, after nodding a farewell around and shaking hands with -Mrs. Everty, stood leaning on her stick between the doorway and the -stairs. "My servant's not here," she said, looking back, "and these -stairs are steep: would any one be good enough to help me down?" - -Tod went forward to give her his arm; and we heard the fly drive away -with her and Mabel. Somehow the interlude had damped the free go of the -banquet, and we soon prepared to depart also. Sophie made no attempt to -hinder it, but said she should expect us in to take some tea with her in -the evening: and the lot of us filed out together, some going one way, -some another. I and Fred Temple kept together. - -There was a good-natured fellow at Oxford that term, who had come up -from Wales to take his degree, and had brought his wife with him, a nice -kind of young girl who put me in mind of Anna Whitney. They had become -acquainted with Sophie Chalk, and liked her; she fascinated both. She -meant to do it too: for the companionship of staid irreproachable -people like Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Jenkyns, reflected credit on herself in -the eyes of Oxford. - -"I thought we should have met the Ap-Jenkynses, at lunch," remarked -Temple. "What a droll old party that was with the stick! She puts me -in mind of--I say, here's another old party!" he broke off. "Seems to -be a friend of yours." - -It was Mrs. Cann. She had stopped, evidently wanting to speak to me. - -"I have just been to put little Nanny Tasson in the train for London, -sir," she said; "I thought you might like to know it. Her eldest -brother, the one that's settled there, has taken to her. His wife wrote -a nice letter and sent the fare." - -"All right, Mrs. Cann. I hope they'll take good care of her. -Good-afternoon." - -"Who the wonder is Nanny Tasson?" cried Temple as we went on. - -"Only a little friendless child. Her brother was our scout when we first -came, and he died." - -"Oh, by Jove, Ludlow! Look there!" - -I turned at Temple's words. A gig was dashing by as large as life; Tod -in it, driving Sophie Chalk. Behind it dashed another gig, containing -Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Jenkyns. Fred Temple laughed. - -"Mrs. Everty's unmistakably charming," said he, "and we don't know any -real harm of her, but if I were Ap-Jenkyns I should not let my wife be -quite her bosom companion. As to Todhetley, I think he's a gone calf." - -Whitney came to our room as I got in. He had been invited to the -luncheon by Mrs. Everty, but excused himself, and she asked Fred Temple -in his place. - -"Well, Johnny, how did it go off?" - -"Oh, pretty well. Lobster-salad and other good things. Why did not you -go?" - -"Where's Tod?" he rejoined, not answering the question. - -"Out on a driving-party. Sophie Chalk and the Ap-Jenkynses." - -Whitney whistled through the verse of an old song: "Froggy would -a-wooing go." "I say, Johnny," he said presently, "you had better give -Tod a hint to take care of himself. That thing will go too far if he -does not look out." - -"As if Tod would mind me! Give him the hint yourself, Bill." - -"I said half a word to him this morning after chapel: he turned on me -and accused me of being jealous." - -We both laughed. - -"I had a letter from home yesterday," Bill went on, "ordering me to keep -clear of Madam Sophie." - -"No! Who from?" - -"The mother. And Miss Deveen, who is staying with them, put in a -postscript." - -"How did they know Sophie Chalk was here?" - -"Through me. One wet afternoon I wrote a long epistle to Harry, telling -him, amidst other items, that Sophie Chalk was here, turning some of our -heads, especially Todhetley's. Harry, like a flat, let Helen get hold of -the letter, and she read it aloud, pro bono publico. There was nothing -in it that I might not have written to Helen herself; but Mr. Harry -won't get another from me in a hurry. Sophie seems to have fallen to a -discount with the mother and Miss Deveen." - -Bill Whitney did not know what I knew--the true story of the emeralds. - -"And that's why I did not go to the lunch to-day, Johnny. Who's this?" - -It was the scout. He came in to bring in a small parcel, daintily done -up in white paper. - -"Something for you, sir," he said to me. "A boy has just left it." - -"It can't be for me--that I know of. It looks like wedding-cake." - -"Open it," said Bill. "Perhaps one of the grads has gone and got -married." - -We opened it together, laughing. A tiny paste-board box loomed out with -a jeweller's name on it; inside it was a chased gold cross, attached to -a slight gold chain. - -"It's a mistake, Bill. I'll do it up again." - -Tod came back in time for dinner. Seeing the little parcel on the -mantelshelf, he asked what it was. So I told him--something that the -jeweller's shop must have sent to our room by mistake. Upon that, he -tore the paper open; called the shop people hard names for sending it -into college, and put the box in his pocket. Which showed that it was -for him. - -I went to Sophie's in the evening, having promised her, but not as soon -as Tod, for I stayed to finish some Greek. Whitney went with me, in -spite of his orders from home. The luncheon-party had all assembled -there with the addition of Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Jenkyns. Sophie sat behind -the tea-tray, dispensing tea; Gaiton handed the plum-cake. She wore -a silken robe of opal tints; white lace fell over her wrists and -bracelets; in her hair, brushed off her face, fluttered a butterfly -with silver wings; and on her neck was the chased gold cross that had -come to our rooms a few hours before. - -"Tod's just a fool, Johnny," said Whitney in my ear. "Upon my word, I -think he is. And she's a syren!--and it was at our house he met her -first!" - -After Mr. and Mrs. Ap-Jenkyns left, for she was tired, they began cards. -Sophie was engrossing Gaiton, and Tod sat down to ecarte. He refused at -first, but Richardson drew him on. - -"I'll show Tod the letter I had from home," said Whitney to me as we -went out. "What can possess him to go and buy gold crosses for her? -She's married." - -"Gaiton and Richardson buy her things also, Bill." - -"They don't know how to spend their money fast enough. I wouldn't: I -know that." - -Tod and Gaiton came in together soon after I got in. Gaiton just looked -in to say good-night, and proposed that we should breakfast with him -on the morrow, saying he'd ask Whitney also: and then he went up to -his own rooms. - -Tod fell into one of his thinking fits. He had work to do, but he sat -staring at the fire, his legs stretched out. With all his carelessness -he had a conscience and some forethought. I told him Bill Whitney had -had a lecture from home, touching Sophie Chalk, and I conclude he heard. -But he made no sign. - -"I wish to _goodness_ you wouldn't keep up that tinkling, Johnny," he -said by-and-by, in a tone of irritation. - -The "tinkling" was a bit of quiet harmony. However, I shut down the -piano, and went and sat by the fire, opposite to him. His brow looked -troubled; he was running his hands through his hair. - -"I wonder whether I could raise some money, Johnny," he began, after a -bit. - -"How much money?" - -"A hundred, or so." - -"You'd have to pay a hundred and fifty for doing it." - -"Confound it, yes! And besides----" - -"Besides what?" - -"Nothing." - -"Look here, Tod: we should have gone on as straightly and steadily as -need be but for _her_. As it is, you are wasting your time and getting -out of the way of work. What's going to be the end of it?" - -"Don't know myself, Johnny." - -"Do you ever ask yourself?" - -"Where's the use of asking?" he returned, after a pause. "If I ask it of -myself at night, I forget it by the morning." - -"Pull up at once, Tod. You'd be in time." - -"Yes, now: don't know that I shall be much longer," said Tod candidly. -He was in a soft mood that night; an unusual thing with him. "Some awful -complication may come of it: a few writs or something." - -"Sophie Chalk can't do you any good, Tod." - -"She has not done me any harm." - -"Yes she has. She has unsettled you from the work that you came to -Oxford to do; and the play in her rooms has caused you to run into debt -that you don't know how to get out of: it's nearly as much harm as she -can do you." - -"Is it?" - -"As much as she can do any honest fellow. Tod, if you were to lapse into -crooked paths, you'd break the good old pater's heart. There's nobody in -the world he cares for as he cares for you." - -Tod sat twitching his whiskers. I could not understand his mood: all the -carelessness and the fierceness had quite gone out of him. - -"It's the thought of the father that pulls me up, lad. What a -cross-grained world it is! Why should a bit of pleasure be hedged in -with thorns?" - -"If we don't go to bed we shall not be up for chapel." - -"_You_ can go to bed." - -"Why do you drive her out, Tod?" - -"Why does the sun shine?" was the lucid answer. - -"I saw you with her in that gig to-day." - -"We only went four miles. Four out and four in." - -"You may be driving her rather too far some day--fourteen, or so." - -"I don't think she'd be driven. With all her simplicity, she knows how -to take care of herself." - -Simplicity! I looked at him; and saw he spoke the word in good faith. -_He_ was simple. - -"She has a husband, Tod." - -"Well?" - -"Do you suppose he would like to see you driving her abroad?--and all -you fellows in her rooms to the last minute any of you dare stop out?" - -"That's not my affair. It's his." - -"Any way, Everty might come down upon the lot of you some of these fine -days, and say things you'd not like. _She's_ to blame. Why, you heard -what that old lady in the brown bonnet said--that her husband must -think Sophie was staying with her." - -"The fire's low, and I'm cold," said Tod. "Good-night, Johnny." - -He went into his room, and I to mine. - -A few years ago, there appeared a short poem called "Amor Mundi."[1] -While reading it, I involuntarily recalled this past experience at -Oxford, for it described a young fellow's setting-out on the downward -path, as Tod did. Two of life's wayfarers start on their long life -journey: the woman first; the man sees and joins her; then speaks to -her. - - [1] Christina G. Rossetti. - - "Oh, where are you going, with your love-locks flowing, - And the west wind blowing along the narrow track?" - "This downward path is easy, come with me, an it please ye; - We shall escape the up-hill by never turning back." - - So they two went together in the sunny August weather; - The honey-blooming heather lay to the left and right: - And dear she was to dote on, her small feet seemed to float on - The air, like soft twin-pigeons too sportive to alight. - -And so they go forth, these two, on their journey, revelling in the -summer sunshine and giving no heed to their sliding progress; until he -sees something in the path that startles him. But the syren accounts for -it in some plausible way; it lulls his fear, and onward they go again. -In time he sees something worse, halts, and asks her again: - - "Oh, what's that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?" - "Oh, that's a thin dead body that waits the Eternal term." - -The answer effectually arouses him, and he pulls up in terror, asking -her to turn. She answers again, and he knows his fate. - - "Turn again, oh my sweetest! Turn again, false and fleetest! - This way, whereof thou weetest, is surely Hell's own track!" - "Nay, too late for cost counting, nay too steep for hill-mounting, - This downward path is easy, but there's no turning back." - -Shakespeare tells us that there is a tide in the affairs of man, which, -taken at the flood, leads on to fortune: omitted, all the voyage of the -after life is spent in shoals and miseries. That will apply to other -things besides fortune. I fully believe that after a young fellow has -set out on the downward path, in almost all cases there's a chance given -him of pulling up again, if he only is sufficiently wise and firm to -seize upon it. The opportunity was to come for Tod. He had started; -there was no doubt of that; but he had not got down very far yet and -could go backward almost as easily as forward. Left alone, he would -probably make a sliding run of it, and descend into the shoals. But the -chance for him was at hand. - -Our commons and Whitney's went up to Gaiton's room in the morning, and -we breakfasted there. Lecture that day was at eleven, but I had work to -do beforehand. So had Tod, for the matter of that; plenty of it. I went -down to mine, but Tod stayed up with the two others. - -Bursting into our room, as a fellow does when he is late for anything, -I saw at the open window somebody that I thought must be Mr. Brandon's -ghost. It took me aback, and for a moment I stood staring. - -"Have you no greeting for me, Johnny Ludlow?" - -"I was lost in surprise, sir. I am very glad to see you." - -"I dare say you are!" he returned, as if he doubted my word. -"It's a good half-hour that I have waited here. You've been at a -breakfast-party!" - -He must have got that from the scout. "Not at a party, sir. Gaiton asked -us to take our commons up, and breakfast with him in his room." - -"Who is Gaiton?" - -"He is Lord Gaiton. One of the students at Christchurch." - -"Never mind his being a lord. Is he any good?" - -I could not say Gaiton was particularly good, so passed the question -over, and asked Mr. Brandon when he came to Oxford. - -"I got here at mid-day yesterday. How are you getting on?" - -"Oh, very well, sir." - -"Been in any rows?" - -"No, sir." - -"And Todhetley? How is he getting on?" - -I should have said very well to this; it would never have done to say -very ill, but Tod and Bill Whitney interrupted the answer. They looked -just as much surprised as I had been. After talking a bit, Mr. Brandon -left, saying he should expect us all three at the Mitre in the evening -when dinner in Hall was over. - -"What the deuce brings him at Oxford?" cried Tod. - -Whitney laughed. "I'll lay a crown he has come to look after Johnny and -his morals." - -"After the lot of us," added Tod, pushing his books about. "Look here, -you two. I'm not obliged to go bothering to that Mitre in the evening, -and I shan't. You'll be enough without me." - -"It won't do, Tod," I said. "He expects you." - -"What if he does? I have an engagement elsewhere." - -"Break it." - -"I shall not do anything of the kind. There! Hold your tongue, Johnny, -and push the ink this way." - -Tod held to that. So when I and Whitney reached the Mitre after dinner, -we said he was unable to get off a previous engagement, putting the -excuse as politely as we could. - -"Oh," said old Brandon, twitching his yellow silk handkerchief off his -head, for he had been asleep before the fire. "Engaged elsewhere, is he! -With the lady I saw him driving out yesterday, I suppose: a person with -blue feathers on her head." - -This struck us dumb. Bill said nothing, neither did I. - -"It was Miss Sophie Chalk, I presume," went on old Brandon, ringing the -bell. "Sit down, boys; we'll have tea up." - -The tea and coffee must have been ordered beforehand, for they came -in at once. Mr. Brandon drank four cups of tea, and ate a plate of -bread-and-butter and some watercress. - -"Tea is my best meal in the day," he said. "You young fellows -all like coffee best. Don't spare it. What's that by you, William -Whitney?--anchovy toast? Cut that pound-cake, Johnny." - -Nobody could say, with all his strict notions, that Mr. Brandon was not -hospitable. He'd have ordered up the Mitre's whole larder had he thought -we could eat it. And never another word did he say about Tod until the -things had gone away. - -Then he began, quietly at first: he sitting on one side the fire, I and -Bill on the other. Touching gently on this, alluding to that, our eyes -opened in more senses than one; for we found that he knew all about -Sophie Chalk's sojourn in the town, the attention she received from -the undergraduates, and Tod's infatuation. - -"What's Todhetley's object in going there?" he asked. - -"Amusement, I think, sir," hazarded Bill. - -"Does he gamble there for amusement too?" - -Where on earth had old Brandon got hold of all this? - -"How much has Todhetley lost already?" he continued. "He is in debt, I -know. Not for the first time from the same cause." - -Bill stared. He knew nothing of that old episode in London with the -Clement-Pells. I felt my face flush. - -"Tod does not care for playing really, sir. But the cards are there, and -he sees others play and gets drawn in to join." - -"Well, what amount has he lost this time, Johnny?" - -"I don't know, sir." - -"But you know that he is in debt?" - -"I--yes, sir. Perhaps he is a little." - -"Look here, boys," said old Brandon. "Believing that matters were not -running in a satisfactory groove with some of you, I came down to Oxford -yesterday to look about me a bit--for I don't intend that Johnny Ludlow -shall lapse into bad ways, if I can keep him out of them. Todhetley may -have made up his mind to go to the deuce, but he shall not take Johnny -with him. I hear no good report of Todhetley; he neglects his studies -for the sake of a witch, and is in debt over his head and shoulders." - -"Who could have told you that, sir?" - -"Never you mind, Johnny Ludlow; I dare say you know it's pretty true. -Now look here--as I said just now. I mean to see what I can do towards -saving Todhetley, for the sake of my good old friend, the Squire, and -for his dead mother's sake; and I appeal to you both to aid me. You can -answer my questions if you will; and you are not children, that you -should make an evasive pretence of ignorance. If I find matters are -too hard for me to cope with, I shall send for the Squire and Sir John -Whitney; their influence may effect what mine cannot. If I can deal with -the affair successfully, and save Todhetley from himself, I'll do so, -and say nothing about it anywhere. You understand me?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Very well. To begin with, what amount of debt has Todhetley got into?" - -It seemed to be a choice of evils: but the least of them was to speak. -Bill honestly said he would tell in a minute if he knew. I knew little -more than he; only that Tod had been saying the night before he wished -he could raise a hundred pounds. - -"A hundred pounds!" repeated old Brandon, nodding his head like a -Chinese mandarin. "Pretty well, that, for a first term at Oxford. Well, -we'll leave that for the present, and go to other questions. What snare -and delusion is drawing him on to make visits to this person, this -Sophie Chalk? What does he purpose? Is it marriage?" - -Marriage! Bill and I both looked up at him. - -"She is married already, sir. Did you not know it?" - -"Married already! Who says so?" - -So I told him all about it--as much as I knew--and that her husband, -Mr. Everty, had been to Oxford once or twice to see her. - -"Well, that's a relief," cried Mr. Brandon, drawing a deep breath, as -though a fear of some kind had been lifted from his mind. And then -he fell into a reverie, his head nodding incessantly, and his yellow -handkerchief in his hand keeping time to it. - -"If it's better in one sense, it's worse in another," he squeaked. -"Todhetley's in love with her, I suppose!" - -"Something like it, sir," said Bill. - -"What brainless fools some of you young men can be!" - -But it was then on the stroke of nine, when Old Tom would peal out. -Mr. Brandon hurried us away: he seemed to understand the notions of -University life as well as we did: ordering us to say nothing to Tod, -as he intended to speak to him on the morrow. - -And we concluded that he did. Tod came stalking in during the afternoon -in a white rage with somebody, and I thought it might be with old -Brandon. - - * * * * * - -The time passed. Mr Brandon stayed on at the Mitre as though he meant to -make it his home for good, and was evidently watching. Tod seemed to be -conscious of it, and to exist in a chronic state of irritation. Sophie -Chalk stayed on also, and Tod was there more than ever. The affair had -got wind somehow--I mean Tod's infatuation for her--and was talked of -in the colleges. Richardson fell ill about that time: at least, he met -with an accident which confined him to his bed: and the play at Mrs. -Everty's was not much to speak of: I did not go, Mr. Brandon had -interdicted it. Thus the time went on, and Passion Week was coming in. - -"Are you running for a wager, Johnny Ludlow?" - -I was running down to the river and had nearly run over Mr. Brandon, who -was strolling along with his hands under his coat-tails. It was Saturday -afternoon, and some of us were going out rowing. Mr. Brandon came down -to see us embark. - -As we all stood there, who should loom into sight but Sophie Chalk. She -was leading a little mouse-coloured dog by a piece of red tape, one that -Fred Temple had given her; and her shining hair was a sight to be seen -in the sunlight; Tod walked by her with his arms folded. They halted to -talk with some of us for a minute, and then went on, Madam Sophie giving -old Brandon a saucy stare from her wide-open blue eyes. He had stood as -still as a post, giving never a word to either of them. - -That same night, when Tod and I were in our room alone, Mr. Brandon -walked in. It was pretty late, but Tod was about to depart on his visit -to High Street. As if the entrance of Mr. Brandon had been the signal -for him to bolt, he put on his trencher and turned to the door. Quick as -thought, Mr. Brandon interposed himself. - -"If you go out of this room, Joseph Todhetley, it shall be over my -body," cried he, a whole hatful of authority in his squeaky voice. "I -have come in to hold a final conversation with you; and I mean to do -it." - -I thought an explosion was inevitable, with Tod's temper. He controlled -it, however; and after a moment's hesitation put off his cap. Mr. -Brandon sat down in the old big chair by the fire; Tod stood on the -other side, his arm on the mantelpiece. - -In a minute or two, they were going at it kindly. Old Brandon put Tod's -doings before him in the plainest language he could command; Tod -retorted insolently in his passion. - -"I have warned you enough against your ways and against that woman," -said Mr. Brandon. "I am here to do it once again, and to bid you for the -last time give up her acquaintanceship. Yes, sir, _bid_ you: I stand in -the light of your unconscious father." - -"I wouldn't do it for my father," cried Tod, in his fury. - -"She is leading you into a gulf of--of brimstone," fired old Brandon. -"Day by day you creep down a step lower into it, sir, like a calf that -is being wiled to the shambles. Once fairly in, you'll be smothered: the -whole world won't be able to pull you out again." - -Tod answered with a torrent of words. The chief burden of them was--that -if he chose to walk into the brimstone, it was not Mr. Brandon who -should keep him out of it. - -"Is it not?" retorted Mr. Brandon--and though he was very firm and hard, -he gave no sign of losing his temper. "We'll see that. I am in this town -to strive to save you, Joseph Todhetley; and if I can't do it by easy -means, I'll do it by hard ones. I got you out of one scrape, thanks to -Johnny here, and now I'm going to get you out of another." - -Tod held his peace. That past obligation was often on his conscience. - -"You ought to take shame to yourself, sir," continued old Brandon. "You -were placed at Oxford to study, to learn to be a man and a gentleman, -to prepare yourself to fight well the battle of life, not to waste the -talents God has given you, and fritter away your best days in sin." - -"In sin?" retorted Tod, jerking his head fiercely. - -"Yes, sir, in sin. What else do you call it--this idleness that you are -indulging in? The short space of time that young men spend at the -University must be used, not abused. Once it has passed, it can never -again be laid hold of. What sort of example are you setting my ward -here, who is as your younger brother? Stay where you are, Johnny Ludlow. -I choose that you shall be present at this." - -"Johnny need not fret himself that he'll catch much harm from my -iniquities," said Tod with a sneer. - -"Now listen to me, young man," spoke Mr. Brandon. "If you persist in -this insane conduct and refuse to hear reason, I'll keep you out of -danger by putting you in prison." - -Tod stared. - -"You owe me a hundred pounds." - -"I am quite conscious of that, sir: and of my inability hitherto to -repay it." - -"For that debt I will shut you up in prison. Headstrong young idiots -like you must be saved from themselves." - -Tod laughed slightly in his insolence. A defiant, mocking laugh. - -"I should like to see you try to shut me up in prison! You have no power -to do it, Mr. Brandon: you have never proved the debt." - -Mr. Brandon rose, and took a step towards him. "You dare to tell _me_ I -cannot do a thing that I say I will do, Joseph Todhetley! I shall make -an affidavit before a judge in chambers that you are about to leave the -country, and obtain the warrant that will lock you up. And I say to you -that I believe you are going to leave it, sooner or later; and that -Chalk woman with you!" - -"What an awful lie," cried Tod, his face all ablaze. - -"Lie or no lie, I believe it. I believe it is what she will bring you -to, unless you are speedily separated from her. And if there be no other -way of saving you, why, I'll save you by force." - -Tod ran his hands through his damp hair: what with wrath and emotion he -was in a fine heat. Knowing nothing of the law himself, he supposed old -Brandon could do as he said, and it sobered him. - -"I am your father's friend, Joseph Todhetley, and I'll take care of you -for his sake if I can. I have stayed on here, putting myself, as it -were, into his place to save him pain. As his substitute, I have a right -to be heard; ay, and to act. Do you know that your dead mother was very -dear to me? I will tell you what perhaps I never should have told you -but for this crisis in your life, that her sister was to me the dearest -friend a man can have in this life; she would have been my wife but that -death claimed her. Your mother was nearly equally dear, and loved me to -the last. She took my hand in dying, and spoke of you; of you, her only -child. 'Should it ever be in your power to shield him from harm or -evil, do so, John,' she said, 'do it for my sake.' And with Heaven's -help, I will do it now." - -Tod was moved. The mention of his mother softened him at all times. Mr. -Brandon sat down again. - -"Don't let us play at this pitched battle, Joe. Hear a bit of truth from -me, of common sense: can't you see that I have your interest at heart? -There are two roads that lie before a young man on his setting out in -life, either of which he can take: you can take either, even yet. The -one leads to honour, to prosperity, to a clear conscience, to a useful -career, to a hale and happy old age--and, let us hope, to heaven. The -other leads to vice, to discomfort, to miserable self-torment, to a -waste of talent and energies; in short, to altogether a lost life. Lost, -at any rate, for this world: and--we'll not speculate upon what it may -be in the other. Are you attending?" - -Tod just lifted his eyes in answer. I sat at the table by my books, -silently turning some of their leaves, ready to drop through the floor -with annoyance. Mr. Brandon resumed. - -"You have come to the Oxford University to perfect your education; to -acquire self-reliance, experience, and a tone of good manners; to keep -upright ways, to eschew bad company, and to train yourself to be a -Christian gentleman. Do this, and you will go home with satisfaction and -a sound conscience. In time you will marry, and rear your children to -good, and be respected of all men. This is the career expected of you; -this is the road you ought to take." - -He paused slightly, and then went on. - -"I will put the other road before you; the one you seem so eager to rush -upon. Ah, boy! how many a one, with as hopeful a future before him as -you have, has gone sliding, sliding down unconsciously, never meaning, -poor fellow, to slide too far, and been lost in the vortex of sin and -shame! You are starting on well for it. Wine, and cards, and betting, -and debt; and a singing mermaid to lure you on! That woman, with the -hard light eyes, and the seductive airs, has cast her spell upon you. -You think her an angel, no doubt; I say she's more of an angel's -opposite----" - -"Mr. Brandon!" - -"There are women in the world who will conjure a man's coat off his -back, and his pockets after it," persisted Mr. Brandon, drowning the -interruption. "She is one of them. They are bad to the core. They are; -and they draw a man into all kinds of irretrievable entanglements. She -will draw you: and the end may be that you'd find her saddled on you for -good. Who will care to take your hand in friendship then? Will you dare -to clasp that of honest people, or hold up your face in the light of -day? No: not for very shame. That's what gambling and evil courses will -bring a man to: and, his self-respect once gone, it's gone for ever. -You will feel that you have raised a barrier between you and your kind: -remembrance will be a sting, and your days will be spent in one long cry -of too late repentance, 'Oh, that I had been wise in time!'" - -"You are altogether mistaken in her," burst out Tod. "There's no harm in -her. She is as particular as--as any lady need be." - -"No harm in her!" retorted Mr. Brandon. "Is there any good in her? Put -it at its best: she induces you to waste your time and your substance. -How much money has the card-playing and the present-giving taken out of -you, pray? What amount of debt has it involved you in? More than you -know how to pay." - -Tod winced. - -"Be wise in time, lad, now, without further delay, and break off this -dangerous connection. I know that in your better moments you must see -how fatal it may become. It is a crisis in your life; it may be its -turning-point; and, as you choose the evil or the good, so may you be -lost or saved in this world and in eternity." - -Tod muttered something about his not deserving to be judged so harshly. - -"I judge you not harshly yet: I say that evil will come unless you flee -from it," said Mr. Brandon. "Don't you care for yourself?--for your good -name? Is it nothing to you whether you turn out a scamp or a gentleman?" - -To look at Tod just then, it was a great deal. - -"Have you any reverence for your father?--for the memory of your mother? -Then you will do a little violence to your own inclinations, even though -it be hard and difficult--more difficult than to get a double first; -harder than having the best tooth in your head drawn--and take your -leave of that lady for ever. For your own sake, Joe; for your own sake!" - -Tod was pulling gently at his whiskers. - -"Send all folly to the wind, Joseph Todhetley! Say to yourself, for -God and myself will I strive henceforth! It only needs a little steady -resolution; and you can call it up if you choose. You shall always find -a friend in me. Write down on a bit of paper the sums you owe, and I'll -give you a cheque to cover them. Come, shake hands upon it." - -"You are very kind, sir," gasped Tod, letting his hand meet old -Brandon's. - -"I hope you will let me be kind. Why, lad, you should have had more -spirit than to renew an acquaintanceship with a false girl; an -adventurer, who has gone about the country stealing jewels." - -"Stealing jewels!" echoed Tod. - -"Stealing jewels, lad. Did you never know it? She took Miss Deveen's -emeralds at Whitney Hall." - -"Oh, that was a mistake," said Tod, cheerfully. "She explained it to -me." - -"A mistake, was it! Explained it to you, did she! When?" - -"At Oxford: before she had been here above a day or two. She introduced -the subject herself, sir, saying she supposed I had heard something -about it, and what an absurd piece of business the suspecting her was; -altogether a mistake." - -"Ah, she's a wily one, Joe," said Mr. Brandon. "Johnny Ludlow could have -told you whether it was a mistake or not. Why, boy, she stole the stones -out of Miss Deveen's own dressing-room, and went up to London the -next day, or the next but one, and pledged them the same night at a -pawnbroker's, in a false name, and gave a false account of herself. -Moreover, when it was brought home to her, she confessed all upon her -knees to Miss Deveen, and sued for mercy." - -Tod looked from Mr. Brandon to me. At the time of the discovery, he -had had a hint given him of the fact, with a view of more effectually -weaning him from Sophie Chalk, but not the particulars. - -"It's true, Todhetley," said Mr. Brandon, nodding his head. "You may -judge, therefore, whether she is a nice kind of person for you to be -seen beauing about Oxford streets in the face and eyes of the dons." And -Tod winced again, and bit his lips. - -Mr. Brandon rose, taking both Tod's hands in his, and said a few solemn -words in the kindest tone I had ever heard him speak; wrung his hands, -nodded good-night to me, and was gone. Tod walked about the room a bit, -whistling softly to make a show of indifference, and looking miserably -cut up. - -"Is what he said true?" he asked me presently, stopping by the -mantelpiece again: "about the emeralds?" - -"Every word of it." - -"Then why on earth could you not open your mouth and tell me, Johnny -Ludlow?" - -"I thought you knew it. I'm sure you were told of it at the time. Had I -brought up the matter again later, you'd have been fit to punch me into -next week, Tod." - -"Let's hear the details--shortly." - -I went over them all; shortly, as he said; but omitting none. Tod stood -in silence, never once interrupting. - -"Did the Whitneys know of this?" - -"Anna did." - -"Anna!" - -"Yes. Anna had suspected Sophie from the first. She saw her steal out -of Miss Deveen's room, and saw her sewing something into her stays at -bed-time. But Anna kept it to herself until discovery had come." - -Tod could frown pretty well on ordinary occasions, but I never saw -a frown like the one on his brow as he listened. And I thought--I -thought--it was meant for Sophie Chalk. - -"Lady Whitney, I expect, knows it all now, Tod. Perhaps Helen also. -Old Brandon went over to the Hall to spend the day, and it was in -consequence of what he heard from Lady Whitney and Miss Deveen that he -came down here to look us up." - -"Meaning _me_," said Tod. "Not us. Use right words, Johnny." - -"They did not know, you see, that Sophie Chalk was married. And they -must have noticed that you cared for her." - -Tod made no comment. He just leaned against the shelf in silence. I was -stacking my books. - -"Good-night, Johnny," he quietly said, without any appearance of -resentment; and went into his room. - -The next day was Palm Sunday. Tod lay in bed with a splitting headache, -could not lift his head from the pillow, and his skin was as sallow as -an old gander's. "Glad to hear it," said Mr. Brandon, when I told him; -"it will give him a quiet day for reflection." - -A surprise awaited me that morning, and Mr. Brandon also. Miss Deveen -was at Oxford, with Helen and Anna Whitney. They had arrived the evening -before, and meant to stay and go up with Bill and with us. I did not -tell Tod: in fact, he seemed too ill to be spoken to, his head covered -with the bedclothes. - -You can't see many a finer sight than the Broad Walk presents on the -evening of Palm Sunday. Every one promenades there, from the dean -downwards. Our party went together: Miss Deveen, Helen, and Anna; Bill, -I, and Mr. Brandon. - -We were in the middle of the walk; and it was at its fullest, when Tod -came up. He was better, but looked worn and ill. A flush of surprise -came into his face when he saw who we had with us, and he shook hands -with the ladies nearly in silence. - -"Oxford has not mended your looks, Mr. Todhetley," said Miss Deveen. - -"I have one of my bad headaches to-day," he answered. "I get them now -and then." - -The group of us were turning to walk on, when in that moment there -approached Sophie Chalk. Sophie in a glistening blue silk, and flowers, -and jingling ornaments, and kid gloves. She was coming up to us as bold -as brass with her fascinating smile, when she saw Miss Deveen, and -stopped short. Miss Deveen passed on without notice of any kind; Helen -really did not see her; Anna, always gentle and kind, slightly bowed. -Even then Madam Sophie's native impudence came to her aid. She saw they -meant to shun her, and she nodded and smiled at Tod, and made as though -she would stop him for a chat. He took off his cap to her, and went on. -Anna's delicate face had flushed, and his own was white enough for its -coffin. - -Miss Deveen held Tod's hand in parting. "I am so glad to have met you -again," she cordially said; "we are all glad. We shall see you often, I -hope, until we go up together. And all you young people are coming to -me for a few days in the Easter holidays. Friends cannot afford too long -absences from one another in this short life. Good-bye; and mind you get -rid of your headache for to-morrow. There; shake hands with Helen and -Anna." - -He did as he was bid. Helen was gay as usual; Anna rather shy. Her -pretty blue eyes glanced up at Tod's, and he smiled for the first time -that day. Sophie Chalk might have fascinated three parts of his heart -away, but there was a corner in it remaining for Anna Whitney. - -I did not do it intentionally. Going into our room the next day, a sheet -of paper with some writing on it lay on the table, the ink still wet. -Supposing it was some message just left for me by Tod, I went up to read -it, and caught the full sense of the lines. - - "DEAR MRS. EVERTY, - - "I have just received your note. I am sorry that I cannot drive you - out to-day--and fear that I shall not be able to do so at all. Our - friends, who are staying here, have to receive the best part of my - leisure time. - - "Faithfully yours, - "J. TODHETLEY." - -And I knew by the contents of the note, by its very wording even, that -the crisis was past, and Tod saved. - -"Thank you, Johnny! Perhaps you'll read your own letters another time. -That's mine." - -He had come out of his room with the envelopes and sealing-wax. - -"I beg your pardon, Tod. I thought it was a message you had left for me, -seeing it lie open." - -"You've read it, I suppose?" - -"Yes, or just as good. My eyes seemed to take it all in at once; and I -am as glad as though I had had a purse of gold given to me." - -"Well, it's no use trying to fight against a stream," said he, as he -folded the note. "And if I had known the truth about the emeralds, -why--there'd have been no bother at all." - -"Putting the emeralds out of the question, she is not a nice person to -know, Tod. And there's no telling what might have come of it." - -"I suppose not. When the two paths, down-hill and up-hill, cross each -other, as Brandon put it, and the one is pleasant and the other is not, -one has to do a bit of battle with one's self in choosing the right." - -And something in his face told me that in the intervening day and -nights, he had battled with himself as few can battle; fought -strenuously with the evil, striven hard for the good, and come out a -conqueror. - -"It has cost you pain." - -"Somewhat, Johnny. There are few good things in the way of duty but what -do cost man pain--as it seems to me. The world and a safe conscience -will give us back our recompense." - -"And heaven too, Tod." - -"Ay, lad; and heaven." - - -THE END. - - -PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. - - - - -"Mrs. Henry Wood has an art of novel-writing which no rival possesses in -the same degree."--_Spectator._ - -"The fame of Mrs. Henry Wood widens and strengthens."--_Morning Post._ - -MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS. - -_Sale approaching Two Million and a half Copies._ - - - EAST LYNNE. _480th Thousand._ - THE CHANNINGS. _200th Thousand._ - MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. _150th Thousand._ - THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. _110th Thousand._ - LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. _105th Thousand._ - VERNER'S PRIDE. _85th Thousand._ - ROLAND YORKE. _130th Thousand._ - JOHNNY LUDLOW. First Series. _55th Thousand._ - MILDRED ARKELL. _80th Thousand._ - ST. MARTIN'S EVE. _76th Thousand._ - TREVLYN HOLD. _65th Thousand._ - GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. _70th Thousand._ - THE RED COURT FARM. _80th Thousand._ - WITHIN THE MAZE. _112th Thousand._ - ELSTER'S FOLLY. _60th Thousand._ - LADY ADELAIDE. _60th Thousand._ - OSWALD CRAY. _60th Thousand._ - JOHNNY LUDLOW. Second Series. _35th Thousand._ - ANNE HEREFORD. _55th Thousand._ - DENE HOLLOW. _60th Thousand._ - EDINA. _45th Thousand._ - A LIFE'S SECRET. _65th Thousand._ - COURT NETHERLEIGH. _46th Thousand._ - BESSY RANE. _42nd Thousand._ - THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. _50th Thousand._ - ORVILLE COLLEGE. _38th Thousand._ - POMEROY ABBEY. _48th Thousand._ - THE HOUSE OF HALLIWELL. _30th Thousand._ - THE STORY OF CHARLES STRANGE. _15th Thousand._ - ASHLEY. _15th Thousand._ - JOHNNY LUDLOW. Third Series. _23rd Thousand._ - LADY GRACE. _21st Thousand._ - ADAM GRAINGER. _15th Thousand._ - THE UNHOLY WISH. _15th Thousand._ - JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fourth Series. _15th Thousand._ - JOHNNY LUDLOW. Fifth Series. _15th Thousand._ - JOHNNY LUDLOW. Sixth Series. - - - LONDON: - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED. - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - -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 - - 23 "harbonr" changed to "harbour" (efforts to make the harbour.) - 40 "lives" changed to "live" (How does he live then?) - 71 "soiree" changed to "soiree" (home at night from some soiree) - 78 "interupted" changed to "interrupted" (interrupted Nancy) - 88 "dejeuner" changed to "dejeuner" ( whilst I was preparing the - dejeuner) - 105 "to-morow" changed to "to-morrow" (he probably will be here - to-morrow) - 111 "Livinia" changed to "Lavinia" (Lavinia did not herself talk - about) - 201 "ano er" changed to "another" (another doctor who had the - reputation) - 312 "Jocobson" changed to "Jacobson" (the way old Jacobson came - bursting in.) - 418 "inpudence" changed to "impudence" (Madam Sophie's native - impudence came to her aid). - -Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling -and hyphenation. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Johnny Ludlow, Fifth Series, by Mrs. Henry Wood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHNNY LUDLOW, FIFTH SERIES *** - -***** This file should be named 40951.txt or 40951.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/9/5/40951/ - -Produced by David Edwards, eagkw and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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