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diff --git a/40963-0.txt b/40963-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de02015 --- /dev/null +++ b/40963-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15066 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40963 *** + + JOHNNY LUDLOW + + + + + [Illustration] + + + + + JOHNNY LUDLOW + + BY + MRS. HENRY WOOD + AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC. + + _SIXTH 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 + THE MYSTERY AT NUMBER SEVEN-- + I.--MONTPELLIER-BY-SEA 1 + II.--OWEN, THE MILKMAN 26 + + CARAMEL COTTAGE-- + I.--EDGAR RESTE 54 + II.--DISAPPEARANCE 76 + III.--DON THE SECOND 101 + + A TRAGEDY-- + I.--GERVAIS PREEN 126 + II.--IN THE BUTTERY 152 + III.--MYSTERY 178 + IV.--OLIVER 204 + + IN LATER YEARS 230 + + THE SILENT CHIMES-- + I.--PUTTING THEM UP 257 + II.--PLAYING AGAIN 284 + III.--RINGING AT MIDDAY 313 + IV.--NOT HEARD 341 + V.--SILENT FOR EVER 370 + + + + + "God sent his Singers upon earth + With songs of sadness and of mirth, + That they might touch the hearts of men, + And bring them back to heaven again." + LONGFELLOW. + + + + +JOHNNY LUDLOW + + + + +THE MYSTERY AT NUMBER SEVEN + + +I.--MONTPELLIER-BY-SEA + +"Let us go and give her a turn," cried the Squire. + +Tod laughed. "What, all of us?" said he. + +"To be sure. All of us. Why not? We'll start to-morrow." + +"Oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Todhetley, dismay in her mild tones. "Children +and all?" + +"Children and all; and take Hannah to see to them," said the Squire. +"You don't count, Joe: you will be off elsewhere." + +"We could never be ready," said the Mater, looking the image of +perplexity. "To-morrow's Friday. Besides, there would be no time to +write to Mary." + +"_Write to her!_" cried the Squire, turning sharply on his heel as he +paced the room in his nankeen morning-coat. "And who do you suppose is +going to write to her? Why, it would cause her to make all sorts of +preparation, put her to no end of trouble. A pretty conjurer you'd make! +We will take her by surprise: that's what we will do." + +"But if, when we got there, we should find her rooms are let, sir?" said +I, the possibility striking me. + +"Then we'll go into others, Johnny. A spell at the seaside will be a +change for us all." + +This conversation, and the Squire's planning-out, arose through a letter +we had just received from Mary Blair--poor Blair's widow, if you have +not forgotten him, who went to his end through that Gazette of Jerry's. +After a few ups and downs, trying at this thing for a living, trying at +that, Mrs. Blair had now settled in a house at the seaside, and opened a +day-school. She hoped to get on in it in time, she wrote, especially if +she could be so fortunate as to let her drawing-room to visitors. The +Squire, always impulsive and good-hearted, at once cried out that _we_ +would go and take it. + +"It will be doing her a good turn, you see," he ran on; "and when +we leave I dare say she'll find other people ready to go in. Let's +see"--picking up the letter to refer to the address--"No. 6, Seaboard +Terrace, Montpellier-by-Sea. Whereabouts is Montpellier-by-Sea?" + +"Never heard of it in my life," cried Tod. "Don't believe there is such +a place." + +"Be quiet, Joe. I fancy it lies somewhere towards Saltwater." + +Tod flung back his head. "Saltwater! A nice common place that is!" + +"Hold your tongue, sir. Johnny, fetch me the railway guide." + +Upon looking at the guide, it was found there; "Montpellier-by-Sea;" the +last station before getting to Saltwater. As to Saltwater, it might be +common, as Tod said; for it was crowded with all sorts of people, but it +was lively and healthy. + +Not on the next day, Friday, for it was impossible to get ready in such +a heap of a hurry, but on the following Tuesday we started. Tod had left +on the Saturday for Gloucestershire. His own mother's relatives lived +there, and they were always inviting him. + +"Montpellier-by-Sea?" cried the railway clerk in a doubting tone as we +were getting the tickets. "Let's see? Where is that?" + +Of course that set the Squire exploding. What right had clerks to +pretend to issue tickets unless they knew their business? The clerk in +question coolly ran his finger down the railway list he had turned to, +and then gave us the tickets. + +"It is a station not much frequented, you see," he civilly observed. +"Travellers mostly go on to Saltwater." + +But for the train being due, and our having to make a rush for the +platform, the Squire would have waited to give the young man a piece of +his mind. "Saltwater, indeed!" said he. "I wonder the fellow does not +issue his edict as to where people shall go and where they shan't go." + +We arrived in due time at our destination. It was written up as large as +life on a white board, "Montpellier-by-Sea." A small roadside station, +open to the country around; no signs of sea or of houses to be seen; a +broad rural district, apparently given over entirely to agriculture. +On went the whistling train, leaving the group of us standing by our +luggage on the platform. The Squire was staring about him doubtfully. + +"Can you tell me where Seaboard Terrace is?" + +"Seaboard Terrace?" repeated the station-master. "No, sir, I don't know +it. There's no terrace of that name hereabouts. For that matter there +are no terraces at all--no houses in fact." + +The Squire's face was a picture. He saw that (save a solitary farm +homestead or two) the country was bare of dwelling-places. + +"This is Montpellier-by-Sea?" he questioned at last. + +"Sure enough it is, sir. Munpler, it's called down here." + +"Then Seaboard Terrace must be _somewhere_ in it--somewhere about. What +a strange thing!" + +"Perhaps the gentlefolks want to go to Saltwater?" spoke up one of the +two porters employed at the little station. "There's lots of terraces +there. Here, Jim!"--calling to his fellow--"come here a minute. He'll +know, sir; he comes from Saltwater." + +Jim approached, and settled the doubt at once. He knew Seaboard Terrace +very well indeed; it was at Saltwater; just out at the eastern end of +it. + +Yes, it was at Saltwater. And there were we, more than two miles off +it, on a broiling hot day, when walking was impracticable, with all our +trunks about us, and no fly to be had, or other means of getting on. The +Squire went into one of his passions, and demanded why people living at +Saltwater should give their address as Montpellier-by-Sea. + +He had hardly patience to listen to the station-master's +explanation--who acknowledged that we were not the first travelling +party that had been deluded in like manner. Munpler (as he and the rest +of the natives persisted in calling it) was an extensive, straggling +rural parish, filled with farm lands; an arm of it extended as far +as Saltwater, and the new buildings at that end of Saltwater had +rechristened themselves Montpellier-by-Sea, deeming it more aristocratic +than the common old name. Had the Squire been able to transport the +new buildings, builders and all, he had surely done it on the spot. + +Well, we got on to Saltwater in the evening by another train, and to +No. 6, Seaboard Terrace. Mary Blair was just delighted. + +"If I had but known you were coming, if you had only written to me, I +would have explained that it was Saltwater Station you must get out at, +not Montpellier," she cried in deprecation. + +"But, my dear, why on earth do you give in to a deception?" stormed the +Squire. "Why call your place Montpellier when it's Saltwater?" + +"I do what other people do," she sighed; "I was told it was Montpellier +when I came here. Generally speaking, I have explained, when writing +to friends, that it is really Saltwater, in spite of its fine name. I +suppose I forgot it when writing to you--I had so much to say. The +people really to blame are those who named it so." + +"And that's true, and they ought to be shown up," said the Squire. + +Seaboard Terrace consisted of seven houses, built in front of the sea a +little beyond the town. The parlours had bay windows; the drawing-rooms +had balconies and verandahs. The two end houses, Nos. 1 and 7, were +double houses, large and handsome, each of them being inhabited by a +private family; the middle houses were smaller, most of them being let +out in lodgings in the season. Mary Blair began talking that first +evening as we sat together about the family who lived in the house next +door to her, No. 7. Their name was Peahern, she said, and they had been +so very, very kind to her since she took her house in March. Mr. Peahern +had interested himself for her and got her several pupils; he was much +respected at Saltwater. "Ah, he is a good man," she added; "but----" + +"I'll call and thank him," interrupted the Squire. "I am proud to shake +hands with such a man as that." + +"You cannot," she said; "he and his wife have gone abroad. A great +misfortune has lately befallen them." + +"A great misfortune! What was it?" + +I noticed a sort of cloud pass over Mary Blair's face, a hesitation in +her manner before she replied. Mrs. Todhetley was sitting by her on the +sofa; the Squire was in the armchair opposite them, and I at the table, +as I had sat at our tea-dinner. + +"Mr. Peahern was in business once--a wholesale druggist, I believe; but +he made a fortune, and retired some years ago," began Mary. "Mrs. +Peahern has bad health and is a little lame. She was very kind to me +also--very good and kind indeed. They had one son--no other children; I +think he was studying for the Bar; I am not sure; but he lived in +London, and came down here occasionally. My young maid-servant, Susan, +got acquainted with their servants, and she gathered from their gossip +that he, Edmund Peahern, a very handsome young man, was in some way a +trouble to his parents. He was down at Easter, and stayed three weeks; +and in May he came down again. What happened I don't know; I believe +there was some scene with his father the day he arrived; anyway, Mr. +Peahern was heard talking angrily to him; and that night he--he died." + +She had dropped her voice to a whisper. The Squire spoke. + +"Died! Was it a natural death?" + +"No. A jury decided that he was insane; and he was buried here in the +churchyard. Such a heap of claims and debts came to light, it was said. +Mr. Peahern left his lawyer to pay them all, and went abroad with his +poor wife for change of scene. It has been a great grief to me. I feel +so sorry for them." + +"Then, is the house shut up?" + +"No. Two servants are left in it--the two housemaids. The cook, who had +lived with them five and twenty years and was dreadfully affected at the +calamity, went with her mistress. Nice, good-natured young women are +these two that are left, running in most days to ask if they can do +anything for me." + +"It is good to have such neighbours," said the Squire. "And I hope +you'll get on, my dear. How came you to be at this place at all?" + +"It was through Mr. Lockett," she answered--the clergyman who had +been so much with her husband before he died, and who had kept up a +correspondence with her. Mr. Lockett's brother was in practice as a +doctor at Saltwater, and they thought she might perhaps do well if she +came to it. So Mary's friends had screwed a point or two to put her +into the house, and gave her besides a ten-pound note to start with. + + * * * * * + +"I tell you what it is, young Joe: if you run and reve yourself into +that scarlet heat, you shan't come here with me again." + +"But I like to race with the donkeys," replied young Joe. "I can run +almost as fast as they, Johnny. I like to see the donkeys." + +"Wouldn't it be better to ride a donkey, lad?" + +He shook his head. "I have never had a ride but once," he answered: +"I've no sixpences for it. That once Matilda treated me. She brings me +on the sands." + +"Who is Matilda?" + +"Matilda at No. 7--Mr. Peahern's." + +"Well, if you are a good boy, young Joe, and stay by me, you shall have +a ride as soon as the donkeys come back." + +They were fine sands. I sat down on a bench with a book; little Joe +strained his eyes to look after the donkeys in the distance, cantering +off with some young shavers like himself on their backs, their +nursemaids walking quickly after them. Poor little Joe!--he had the +gentlest, meekest face in the world, with his thoughtful look and nice +eyes--waited and watched in quiet patience. The sands were crowded with +people this afternoon; organs were playing, dancing dolls exhibiting; +and vessels with their white sails spread glided smoothly up and down on +the sparkling sea. + +"And will you really pay the sixpence?" asked the little fellow +presently. "They won't let me get on for less." + +"Really and truly, Joe. I'll take you for a row in a boat some calm day, +if mamma will allow you to go." + +Joe looked grave. "I don't _much_ like the water, please," said he, +timidly. "Alfred Dale went on it in a boat and fell in, and was nearly +drowned. He comes to mamma's school." + +"Then we'll let the boats alone, Joe. There's Punch! He is going to set +himself up yonder: wouldn't you like to run and see him?" + +"But I might miss the donkeys," answered Joe. + +He stood by me quietly, gazing in the direction taken by the donkeys; +evidently they were his primary attraction. The other child, Mary, who +was a baby when her father died (poor Baked Pie, as we boys used to call +him at Frost's), was in Wales with Mrs. Blair's people. They had taken +the child for a few months, until she saw whether she should get along +at Saltwater. + +But we thought she would get along. Her school was a morning school for +little boys of good parentage, all of whom paid liberal terms; and she +would be able to let her best rooms for at least six months in the year. + +"There's Matilda! Oh, there's Matilda!" + +It was quite a loud shout for little Joe. Looking up, I saw him rush to +a rather good-looking young woman, neatly dressed in a black-and-white +print gown and small shawl of the same, with black ribbons crossed on +her straw bonnet. Servants did not dress fine enough to set the Thames +on fire in those days. Joe dragged her triumphantly up to me. She was +one of the housemaids at No. 7. + +"It's Matilda," he said; and the young woman curtsied. "And I am going +to have a donkey-ride, Matilda; Mr. Johnny Ludlow's going to give the +sixpence for me!" + +"I know you by sight, sir," observed Matilda to me. "I have seen you go +in and out of No. 6." + +She had a pale olive complexion, with magnificent, melancholy dark eyes. +Many persons would have called her handsome. I took a sort of liking for +the girl--if only for her kindness to poor little fatherless Joe. In +manner she was particularly quiet, subdued, and patient. + +"You had a sad misfortune at your house not long ago," I observed to +her, at a loss for something to say. + +"Oh, sir, don't talk of it, please!" she answered, catching her breath. +"I seem to have had the shivers at times ever since. It was me that +found him." + +Up cantered the donkeys; and presently away went Joe on the back of +one, Matilda attending him. The ride was just over, and Joe beginning +to enlarge on its delights to me, when another young woman, dressed +precisely similar to Matilda, even to the zigzag white running pattern +on the prim gown, and the black cotton gloves, was seen making her way +towards us. She was nice-looking also, in a different way--fair, with +blue eyes, and a laughing, arch face. + +"Why, there's Jane Cross!" exclaimed Matilda. "What in the world have +you come out for, Jane? Have you left the house safe?" + +"As if I should leave it unsafe!" lightly retorted the one they had +called Jane Cross. "The back door's locked, and here's the key of the +front"--showing a huge key. "Why shouldn't I go out if you do, Matilda? +The house is none so lively a one now, to stop in all alone." + +"And that's true enough," was Matilda's quiet answer. "Little master +Joe's here; he has been having a donkey-ride." + +The two servants, fellow-housemaids, strolled off towards the sea, +taking Joe with them. At the edge of the beach they encountered Hannah, +who had just come on with our two children, Hugh and Lena. The maids sat +down for a gossip, while the children took off their shoes and stockings +to dabble in the gently rising tide. + +And that was my introductory acquaintanceship with the servant-maids at +No. 7. Unfortunately it did not end there. + + * * * * * + +Twilight was coming on. We had been out and about all day, had dined as +usual at one o'clock (not to give unnecessary trouble), and had just +finished tea in Mrs. Blair's parlour. It was where we generally took +tea, and supper also. The Squire liked to sit in the open bay window +and watch the passers-by as long as ever a glimmer of daylight lasted; +and he could not see them so well in the drawing-room above. I was at +the other corner of the bay window. The Mater and Mary Blair were on +their favourite seat, the sofa, at the end of the room, both knitting. +In the room at the back, Mary held her morning school. + +I sat facing towards the end house, No. 7. And I must here say that +during the last two or three weeks I had met the housemaids several +times on the sands, and so had become quite at home with each of them. +Both appeared to be thoroughly well-conducted, estimable young women; +but, of the two, I liked Jane Cross best; she was always so lively and +pleasant-mannered. One day she told me why No. 7 generally called her by +her two names--which I had thought rather odd. It appeared that when she +entered her place two years before, the other housemaid was named Jane, +so they took to call her by her full name, Jane Cross. That housemaid +had left in about a twelvemonth, and Matilda had entered in her place. +The servants were regarded as equals in the house, not one above the +other, as is the case in many places. These details will probably be +thought unnecessary and uncalled for, but you will soon see why I +mention them. This was Monday. On the morrow we should have been three +weeks at Saltwater, and the Squire did not yet talk of leaving. He was +enjoying the free-and-easy life, and was as fond as a child of picking +up shells on the sands and looking at Punch and the dancing dolls. + +Well, we sat this evening in the bay window as usual, I facing No. 7. +Thus sitting, I saw Matilda cross the strip of garden with a jug in her +hand, and come out at the gate to fetch the beer for supper. + +"There goes Jane Cross," cried the Squire, as she passed the window. +"Is it not, Johnny?" + +"No, sir, it's Matilda." But the mistake was a very natural one, for +the girls were about the same height and size, and were usually dressed +alike, the same mourning having been supplied to both of them. + +Ten minutes or so had elapsed when Matilda came back: she liked a gossip +with the landlady of the Swan. Her pint jug was brimful of beer, and she +shut the iron gate of No. 7 after her. Putting my head as far out at the +window as it would go, to watch her indoors, for no earthly reason but +that I had nothing else to do, I saw her try the front door, and then +knock at it. This knock she repeated three times over at intervals, each +knock being louder than the last. + +"Are you shut out, Matilda?" I called out. + +"Yes, sir, it seems like it," she called back again, without turning her +head. "Jane Cross must have gone to sleep." + +Had she been a footman with a carriage full of ladies in court trains +behind him, she could not have given a louder or longer knock than she +gave now. There was no bell to the front door at No. 7. But the knock +remained unanswered and the door unopened. + +"Matilda at No. 7 is locked out," I said, laughing, bringing in my head +and speaking to the parlour generally. "She has been to fetch the beer +for supper, and can't get in again." + +"The beer for supper?" repeated Mrs. Blair. "They generally go out at +the back gate to fetch that, Johnny." + +"Anyhow, she took the front way to-night. I saw her come out." + +Another tremendous knock. The Squire put his good old nose round the +window-post; two boys and a lady, passing by, halted a minute to look +on. It was getting exciting, and I ran out. She was still at the door, +which stood in the middle of the house, between the sitting-rooms on +each side. + +"So you have got the key of the street, Matilda!" + +"I can't make it out," she said; "what Jane Cross can be about, or why +the door should be closed at all. I left it on the latch." + +"Somebody has slipped in to make love to her. Your friend, the milkman, +perhaps." + +Evidently Matilda did not like the allusion to the milkman. Catching a +glimpse of her face by the street lamp, I saw it had turned white. The +milkman was supposed to be paying court at No. 7, but to which of the +two maids gossip did not decide. Mrs. Blair's Susan, who knew them well, +said it was Matilda. + +"Why don't you try the back way?" I asked, after more waiting. + +"Because I know the outer door is locked, sir. Jane Cross locked it just +now, and that's why I came out this front way. I can try it, however." + +She went round to the road that ran by the side of the house, and tried +the door in the garden wall. It was fastened, as she had said. Seizing +the bell-handle, she gave a loud peal--another, and another. + +"I say, it seems odd, though," I cried, beginning to find it so. "Do you +think she can have gone out?" + +"I'm sure I don't know, sir. But--no; it's not likely, Master Johnny. I +left her laying the cloth for our supper." + +"Was she in the house alone?" + +"We are always alone, sir; we don't have visitors. Anyway, none have +been with us this evening." + +I looked at the upper windows of the house. No light was to be seen in +any of them, no sign of Jane Cross. The lower windows were hidden from +view by the wall, which was high. + +"I think she must have dropped asleep, Matilda, as you say. Suppose you +come in through Mrs. Blair's and get over the wall?" + +I ran round to tell the news to our people. Matilda followed me slowly; +I thought, reluctantly. Even in the dim twilight, as she stood at our +gate in hesitation, I could see how white her face was. + +"What are you afraid of?" I asked her, going out again to where she +stood. + +"I hardly know, Master Johnny. Jane Cross used to have fits. Perhaps she +has been frightened into one now." + +"What should frighten her?" + +The girl looked round in a scared manner before replying. Just then I +found my jacket-sleeve wet. Her trembling hands had shaken a little of +the ale upon it. + +"If she--should have seen Mr. Edmund?" the girl brought out in a +horrified whisper. + +"Seen Mr. Edmund! Mr. Edmund who?--Mr. Edmund Peahern? Why, you don't +surely mean his ghost?" + +Her face was growing whiter. I stared at her in surprise. + +"We have always been afraid of seeing something, she and me, since last +May; we haven't liked the house at night-time. It has often been quite a +scuffle which of us should fetch the beer, so as not to be the one left +alone. Many a time I have stood right out at the back door while Jane +Cross has gone for it." + +I began to think her an idiot. If Jane Cross was another, why, perhaps +she had frightened herself into a fit. All the more reason that somebody +should see after her. + +"Come along, Matilda; don't be foolish; we'll both get over the wall." + +It was a calm, still summer evening, almost dark now. All the lot of us +went out to the back garden, I whispering to them what the girl had said +to me. + +"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Todhetley, who had a sort of fellow-feeling for +ghosts. "It has been very lonely for the young women; and if Jane Cross +is subject to fits, she may be lying in one at this moment." + +The wall between the gardens was nothing like as high as the outer one. +Susan brought out a chair, and Matilda could have got over easily. But +when she reached the top, she stuck there. + +"I can't go on by myself; I dare not," she said, turning her frightened +face towards us. "If Mr. Edmund is there----" + +"Don't be a goose, girl!" interrupted the Squire, in doubt whether to +laugh or scold. "Here, I'll go with you. Get on down. Hold the chair +tight for me, Johnny." + +We hoisted him over without damage. I leaped after him, and Susan, +grinning with delight, came after me. She supposed that Jane Cross had +slipped out somewhere during Matilda's absence. + +The door faced the garden, and the Squire and Susan were the first +to enter. There seemed to be no light anywhere, and the Squire went +gingerly picking his way. I turned round to look for Matilda, who had +hung back, and found her with her hand on the trellis-work of the porch, +and the beer splashing over in her fear. + +"I say, look here, Matilda; you must be a regular goose, as the Squire +says, to put yourself into this fright before you know whether there's +any cause for it. Susan says she has only stepped out somewhere." + +She put up her hand and touched my arm, her lips the colour of chalk. + +"Only last night that ever was, Mr. Johnny, as we were going up the +staircase to bed, we heard a sound in the room as we passed it. It was +just like a groan. Ask Jane Cross, else, sir." + +"What room?" + +"Mr. Edmund's; where he did it. She has heard him to-night, or seen him, +or something, and has fallen into a fit." + +The kitchen was on the right of the passage. Susan, knowing the ways of +the house, soon lighted a candle. On a small round table was spread a +white cloth, some bread and cheese, and two tumblers. A knife or two had +seemingly been flung on it at random. + +"Jane Cross! Jane Cross!" shouted the Squire, going forward towards the +front hall, Susan following with the candle. It was a good-sized hall; +I could see that, with a handsome well-staircase at this end of it. + +"Halloa! What's this? Johnny! Susan!--all of you come here! Here's +somebody lying here. It must be the poor girl. Goodness bless my heart! +Johnny, help me to raise her!" + +Still and white she was lying, underneath the opening of the staircase. +Upon lifting her head, it fell back in a curious manner. We both backed +a little. Susan held the candle nearer. As its light fell on the +upturned face, the girl shrieked. + +"She is in a fit," cried Matilda. + +"God help her!" whispered the Squire. "I fear this is something worse +than a fit. We must have a doctor." + +Susan thrust the candlestick into my hand, and ran out at the back door, +saying she'd fetch Mr. Lockett. Back she came in a moment: the garden +gate was locked, and the key not in it. + +"There's the front door, girl," stuttered the Squire, angry with her for +returning, though it was no fault of hers. He was like one off his head, +and his nose and cheeks had turned blue. + +But there could be no more exit by the front door than by the back. It +was locked, and the key gone. Who had done these things? what strange +mystery was here? Locking the poor girl in the house to kill her! + +Matilda, who had lighted another candle, found the key of the back gate +lying on the kitchen dresser. Susan caught it up, and flew away. It was +a most uncomfortable moment. There lay Jane Cross, pale and motionless, +and it seemed that we were helpless to aid her. + +"Ask that stupid thing to bring a pillow or a cushion, Johnny! Ghosts, +indeed! The idiots that women are!" + +"What else has done it? what else was there to hurt her?" remonstrated +Matilda, bringing up the second candle. "She wouldn't fall into a fit +for nothing, sir." + +And now that more light was present, we began to see other features of +the scene. Nearly close to Jane Cross lay a work-basket, overturned, a +flat, open basket, a foot and a half square. Reels of cotton, scissors, +tapes, small bundles of work tied up, and such-like things lay scattered +around. + +The Squire looked at these, and then at the opening above. "Can she have +fallen down the well?" he asked, in a low tone. And Matilda, catching +the words, gave a cry of dismay, and burst into tears. + +"A pillow, girl! A pillow, or a cushion!" + +She went into one of the sitting-rooms and brought out a sofa-cushion. +The Squire, going down on his knees, for he was not good at stooping, +told me to slip it under while he raised the head. + +A sound of feet, a sudden flash of light from a bull's-eye, and a +policeman came upon the scene. The man was quietly passing on his beat +when met by Susan. In her excitement she told him what had happened, and +sent him in. We knew the man, whose beat lay at this end of Saltwater; +a civil man, named Knapp. He knelt down where the Squire had just been +kneeling, touching Jane Cross here and there. + +"She's dead, sir," he said. "There can be no mistake about that." + +"She must have fallen down the well of the staircase, I fear," observed +the Squire. + +"Well--yes; perhaps so," assented the man in a doubtful tone. "But what +of this?" + +He flung the great light in front of poor Jane Cross's dress. A small +portion of the body, where the gown fastened in front, had been torn +away, as well as one of the wristbands. + +"It's no fall," said the man. "It's foul play--as I think." + +"Goodness bless me!" gasped the Squire. "Some villains must have got in. +This comes of that other one's having left the front door on the latch." +But I am not sure that any of us, including himself, believed she could +be really dead. + +Susan returned with speed, and was followed by Mr. Lockett. He was +a young man, thirty perhaps, pale and quiet, and much like what I +remembered of his brother. Poor Jane Cross was certainly dead, he +said--had been dead, he thought, an hour. + +But this could scarcely have been, as we knew. It was not, at the very +utmost, above twenty-five minutes since Matilda went out to fetch the +beer, leaving her alive and well. Mr. Lockett looked again, but thought +he was not mistaken. When a young doctor takes up a crotchet, he likes +to hold to it. + +A nameless sensation of awe fell upon us all. Dead! In that sudden +manner! The Squire rubbed up his head like a helpless lunatic; Susan's +eyes were round with horror; Matilda had thrown her apron over her face +to hide its grief and tears. + +Leaving her for the present where she was, we turned to go upstairs. I +stooped to pick up the overturned basket, but the policeman sharply told +me to let all things remain as they were until he had time to look into +them. + +The first thing the man did, on reaching the landing above, was to open +the room doors one by one, and throw his bull's-eye light into them. +They were all right, unoccupied, straight and tidy. On the landing of +the upper floor lay one or two articles, which seemed to indicate that +some kind of struggle had taken place there. A thimble here, a bodkin +there, also the bit that had been torn out of the girl's gown in front, +and the wristband from the sleeve. The balustrades were very handsome, +but very low; on this upper landing, dangerously low. These bedrooms +were all in order; the one in which the two servants slept, alone +showing signs of occupation. + +Downstairs went Knapp again, carrying with him the torn-out pieces, to +compare them with the gown. It was the print gown I had often seen Jane +Cross wear, a black gown with white zigzag lines running down it. +Matilda was wearing the fellow to it now. The pieces fitted in exactly. + +"The struggle must have taken place upstairs: not here," observed the +doctor. + +Matilda, questioned and cross-questioned by the policeman, gave as +succinct an account of the evening as her distressed state allowed. We +stood round the kitchen while she told it. + +Neither she nor Jane Cross had gone out at all that day. Monday was +rather a busy day with them, for they generally did a bit of washing. +After tea, which they took between four and five o'clock, they went +up to their bedroom, it being livelier there than in the kitchen, the +window looking down the side road. Matilda sat down to write a letter +to her brother, who lived at a distance; Jane Cross sat at the window +doing a job of sewing. They sat there all the evening, writing, working, +and sometimes talking. At dusk, Jane remarked that it was getting +blind man's holiday, and that she should go on downstairs and lay the +supper. Upon that, Matilda finished her letter quickly, folded and +directed it, and followed her down. Jane had not yet laid the cloth, +but was then taking it out of the drawer. "You go and fetch the beer, +Matilda," she said: and Matilda was glad to do so. "You can't go that +way: I have locked the gate," Jane called out, seeing Matilda turning +towards the back; accordingly she went out at the front door, leaving it +on the latch. Such was her account; and I have given it almost verbatim. + +"On the latch," repeated the policeman, taking up the words. "Does that +mean that you left it open?" + +"I drew it quite to, so that it looked as if it were shut; it was a +heavy door, and would keep so," was Matilda's answer. "I did it, not to +give Jane the trouble to open it to me. When I got back I found it shut +and could not get in." + +The policeman mused. "You say it was Jane Cross who locked the back door +in the wall?" + +"Yes," said Matilda. "She had locked it before I got downstairs. We +liked to lock that door early, because it could be opened from the +outside--while the front door could not be." + +"And she had not put these things on the table when you went out for the +beer?"--pointing to the dishes. + +"No: she was only then putting the cloth. As I turned round from taking +the beer-jug from its hook, the fling she gave the cloth caused the air +to whiffle in my face like a wind. She had not begun to reach out the +dishes." + +"How long were you away?" + +"I don't know exactly," she answered, with a moan. "Rather longer than +usual, because I took my letter to the post before going to the Swan." + +"It was about ten minutes," I interposed. "I was at the window next +door, and saw Matilda go out and come back." + +"Ten minutes!" repeated the policeman. "Quite long enough for some +ruffian to come in and fling her over the stairs." + +"But who would do it?" asked Matilda, looking up at him with her poor +pale face. + +"Ah, that's the question; that's what we must find out," said Knapp. +"Was the kitchen just as it was when you left it?" + +"Yes--except that she had put the bread and cheese on the table. And the +glasses, and knives," added the girl, looking round at the said table, +which remained as we had found it, "but not the plates." + +"Well now, to go to something else: Did she bring her work-basket +downstairs with her from the bedroom when she remarked to you that she +would go and put the supper on?" + +"No, she did not." + +"You are sure of that?" + +"Yes. She left the basket on the chair in front of her where it had been +standing. She just got up and shook the threads from off her gown, and +went on down. When I left the room the basket was there; I saw it. And +I think," added the girl, with a great sob, "I think that while laying +the supper she must have gone upstairs again to fetch the basket, and +must have fallen against the banisters with fright, and overbalanced +herself." + +"Fright at what?" asked Knapp. + +Matilda shivered. Susan whispered to him that they were afraid at night +of seeing the ghost of Mr. Edmund Peahern. + +The man glanced keenly at Matilda for a minute. "Did you ever see it?" +he asked. + +"No," she shuddered. "But there are strange noises, and we think it is +in the house." + +"Well," said Knapp, coughing to hide a comical smile, "ghosts don't tear +pieces out of gowns--that ever I heard of. I should say it was something +worse than a ghost that has been here to-night. Had this poor girl any +sweetheart?" + +"No," said Matilda. + +"Have you one?" + +"No." + +"Except Owen the milkman." + +A red streak flashed into Matilda's cheeks. I knew Owen: he was Mrs. +Blair's milkman also. + +"I think Owen must be your sweetheart or hers," went on Knapp. "I've +seen him, often enough, talking and laughing with you both when bringing +the afternoon's milk round. Ten minutes at a stretch he has stayed in +this garden, when he need not have been as many moments." + +"There has been no harm: and it's nothing to anybody," said Matilda. + +The key of the front door was searched for, high and low; but it could +not be found. Whoever locked the door, must have made off with the key. +But for that, and for the evidences of the scuffle above and the pieces +torn out of the gown, we should have thought Matilda's opinion was +correct: that Jane Cross had gone upstairs for her basket, and through +some wretched accident had pitched over the balustrades. Matilda could +not relinquish the notion. + +"It was only a week ago that ever was--a week ago this very day--that +Jane Cross nearly fell over there. We were both running upstairs, trying +in sport which should get first into our bedroom; and, in jostling one +another on the landing, she all but overbalanced herself. I caught hold +of her to save her. It's true--if it were the last word I had to speak." + +Matilda broke down, with a dreadful fit of sobbing. Altogether she +struck me as being about as excitable a young woman as one could meet in +a summer day's journey. + +Nothing more could be made out of it this evening. Jane Cross had met +her death, and some evil or other must have led to it. The police took +possession of the house for the night: and Matilda, out of compassion, +was brought to ours. To describe the Mater's shock and Mary Blair's, +when they heard the news, would be beyond me. + +All sorts of conjectures arose in the neighbourhood. The most popular +belief was that some person must have perceived the front door open, +and, whether with a good or a bad intention, entered the house; that he +must have stolen upstairs, met Jane Cross on the top landing, and flung +her down in a scuffle. That he must then have let himself out at the +front door and locked it after him. + +Against this theory there were obstacles. From the time of Matilda's +leaving the house till her return, certainly not more than ten minutes +had elapsed, perhaps not quite as much, and this was a very short space +of time for what had been done in it. Moreover the chances were that I, +sitting at the next window, should have seen any one going in or out; +though it was not of course certain. I had got up once to ring the bell, +and stayed a minute or two away from the window, talking with Mary Blair +and the Mater. + +Some people thought the assassin (is it too much to call him so?) had +been admitted by Jane Cross herself; or he might have been in hiding in +the garden before she locked the door. In short, the various opinions +would fill a volume. + +But suspicion fell chiefly upon one person--and that was Thomas Owen the +milkman. Though, perhaps, "suspicion" is too strong a word to give to +it--I ought rather to say "doubt." These Owens were originally from +Wales, very respectable people. The milk business was their own; and, +since the father's death, which happened only a few months before, the +son had carried it on in conjunction with his mother. He was a young man +of three or four and twenty, with a fresh colour and open countenance, +rather superior in manners and education. The carrying out the milk +himself was a temporary arrangement, the boy employed for it being ill. +That he had often lingered at No. 7, laughing with the two young women, +was well known; he had also been seen to accost them in the street. Only +the previous day, he and Matilda had stayed talking in the churchyard +after morning service when everybody else had left it; and he had +walked up nearly as far as Seaboard Terrace with Jane Cross in the +evening. A notion existed that he had entered the house on the Monday +evening, for who else was it likely to have been, cried everybody. +Which was, of course, logic. At last a rumour arose--arose on the +Tuesday--that Owen had been _seen_ to leave the house at dusk on the +fatal evening; that this could be proved. If so, it looked rather black. +I was startled, for I had liked the man. + +The next day, Wednesday, the key was found. A gardener who did up the +gardens of the other end house, No. 1, every Wednesday, was raking the +ground underneath some dwarf pines that grew close against the front +railings, and raked out a big door-key. About a dozen people came +rushing off with it to No. 7. + +It was the missing key. It fitted into the door at once, locked and +unlocked it. When the villain had made his way from the house after +doing the mischief, he must have flung the key over amidst the pines, +thinking no doubt it would lie hidden there. + +The coroner and jury assembled; but they could not make more of the +matter than we had made. Jane Cross had died of the fall down the +well-staircase, which had broken her neck; and it was pretty evident she +had been flung down. Beyond the one chief and fatal injury, she was not +harmed in any way; not by so much as a scratch. Matilda, whose surname +turned out to be Valentine, having got over the first shock, gave her +testimony with subdued composure. She was affected at parts of it, and +said she would have saved Jane Cross's life with her own: and no one +could doubt that she spoke the truth. She persisted in asserting her +opinion that there had been no scuffle, in spite of appearances; but +that the girl had been terrified in some way and had accidentally fallen +over. + +When Matilda was done with, Thomas Owen took her place. He was all +in black, having dressed himself to come to the inquest and wearing +mourning for his father; and I must say, looking at him now, you'd never +have supposed he carried out milk-pails. + +Yes, he had known the poor young woman in question, he readily said in +answer to questions; had been fond of chaffing with the two girls a bit, +but nothing more. Meant nothing by it, nothing serious. Respected both +of them; regarded them as perfectly well-conducted young women.--Was +either of them his sweetheart? Certainly not. Had not courted either of +them. Never thought of either of them as his future wife: should not +consider a servant eligible for that position--at least, his mother +would not. Of the two, he had liked Jane Cross the best. Did not know +anything whatever of the circumstances attending the death; thought it a +most deplorable calamity, and was never more shocked in his life than +when he heard of it. + +"Is there any truth in the report that you were at the house on Monday +evening?" asked the coroner. + +"There is no truth in it." + +"I see him come out o' No. 7: I see him come out o' the side door in the +garden wall," burst forth a boy's earnest voice from the back of the +room. + +"You saw me _not_ come out of it," quietly replied Thomas Owen, turning +round to see who it was that had spoken. "Oh, it is you, is it, Bob +Jackson! Yes, you came running round the corner just as I turned from +the door." + +"You _were_ there, then?" cried the coroner. + +"No, sir. At the door, yes; that's true enough; but I was not inside +it. What happened was this: on Monday I had some business at a +farmhouse near Munpler, and set out to walk over there early in the +evening. In passing down the side road by No. 7, I saw the two maids +at the top window. One of them--I think it was Jane Cross--called out +to ask me in a joking kind of way whether I was about to pay them +a visit; I answered, not then, but I would as I came back if they +liked. Accordingly, in returning, I rang the bell. It was not +answered, and I rang again with a like result. Upon that, I went +straight home to my milk books, and did not stir out again, as my +mother can prove. That is the truth, sir, on my oath; and the whole +truth." + +"What time was this?" + +"I am not quite sure. It was getting dusk." + +"Did you see anything of the young women this second time?" + +"Not anything." + +"Or hear anything?--Any noise?" + +"None whatever. I supposed that they would not come to the door to me +because it was late: I thought nothing else. I declare, sir, that this +is all I know of the matter." + +There was a pause when he concluded. Knapp, the policeman, and another +one standing by his side, peered at Owen from under their eyebrows, +as if they did not put implicit faith in his words: and the coroner +recalled Matilda Valentine. + +She readily confirmed the statement of his having passed along the side +road, and Jane Cross's joking question to him. But she denied having +heard him ring on his return, and said the door-bell had not rung at all +that night. Which would seem to prove that Owen must have rung during +the time she had gone out for the beer. + +So, you perceive, the inquest brought forth no more available light, and +had to confess itself baffled. + +"A fine termination this is to our pleasure," cried the Squire, +gloomily. "I don't like mysteries, Johnny. And of all the mysteries I +have come across in my life, the greatest mystery is this at No. 7." + + + + +THE MYSTERY AT NUMBER SEVEN + + +II.--OWEN, THE MILKMAN + +It was a grand sea to-day: one of the grandest that we had seen at +Saltwater. The waves were dancing and sparkling like silver; the blue +of the sky was deeper than a painter's ultramarine. But to us, looking +on it from Mrs. Blair's house in Seaboard Terrace, its brightness and +beauty were dimmed. + +"For you see, Johnny," observed the Squire to me, his face and tone +alike gloomy--outward things take their impress from the mind--"with +that dreadful affair at the next door jaundicing one's thoughts, the sea +might as well be grey as blue, and the sky lowering with thunder-clouds. +I repeat that I don't like mysteries: they act on me like a fit of +indigestion." + +The affair just was a mystery; to us, as to all Saltwater. More than a +week had elapsed since the Monday evening when it took place, and poor +Jane Cross now lay buried in the windy graveyard. On this said Monday +evening, the two servant maids, Jane Cross and Matilda Valentine (left +in the house, No. 7, Seaboard Terrace, during the absence of the family +abroad), had been pursuing their ordinary occupations. While Jane Cross +was laying the cloth for supper in the kitchen, Matilda went out to +fetch the usual pint of ale. On her return she could not get in. When +admittance was obtained, Jane Cross lay dead in the hall, having fallen +down the well of the staircase. Evidences of a scuffle on the upper +landing could be traced, making it apparent that the fall was not +accidental; that she had been flung down. Some doubt attached to Owen, +the milkman, partly from his previous intimacy with the girls, chiefly +because he had been seen leaving the back door of the house somewhere +about the time it must have occurred. What Owen said was, that he had +rung twice at the door, but his ring was not answered. + +Matilda was to be pitied. The two young women had cared a good deal for +one another, and the shock to Matilda was serious. The girl, now staying +in our house, had worn a half-dazed look ever since, and avoided No. 7 +as though it had the plague. Superstition in regard to the house had +already been rife in both the servants' minds, in consequence of the +unhappy death in it of their master's son, Edmund Peahern, some weeks +back: and if Matilda had been afraid of seeing one ghost before (as she +had been) she would now undoubtedly expect to see two of them. + +On this same morning, as I stood with the Squire looking at the sea from +the drawing-room window of No. 6, Matilda came in. Her large dark eyes +had lost their former sparkle, her clear olive skin its freshness. She +asked leave to speak to Mrs. Todhetley: and the Mater--who sat at the +table adding up some bills, for our sojourn at Saltwater was drawing +towards its close--told her, in a kindly tone, to speak on. + +"I am making bold to ask you, ma'am, whether you could help me to find a +place in London," began Matilda, standing between the door and the table +in her black dress. "I know, ma'am, you don't live in London, but a long +way off it; Mrs. Blair has told me so, Master Johnny Ludlow also: but +I thought perhaps you knew people there, and might be able to hear of +something." + +The Mater looked at Matilda without answering, and then round at us. +Rather strange it was, a coincidence in a small way, that we had had a +letter from London from Miss Deveen that morning, which had concluded +with these lines of postscript: "Do you chance to know of any nice, +capable young woman in want of a situation? One of my housemaids is +going to leave." + +Naturally this occurred to the Mater's mind when Matilda spoke. "What +kind of situation do you wish for?" she asked. + +"As housemaid, ma'am, or parlour-maid. I can do my duty well in either." + +"But now, my girl," spoke up the Squire, turning from the window, "why +need you leave Saltwater? You'd never like London after it. This is a +clear, fresh, health-giving place, with beautiful sands and music on +them all day long; London is nothing but smoke and fogs." + +Matilda shook her head. "I could not stay here, sir." + +"Nonsense, girl. Of course what has happened _has_ happened, and it's +very distressing; and you, of all people, must feel it so: but you will +forget it in time. If you don't care to go back to No. 7 before Mr. and +Mrs. Peahern come home----" + +"I can never go back to No. 7, sir," she interrupted, a vehemence that +seemed born of terror in her subdued voice. "Never in this world. I +would rather die." + +"Stuff and nonsense!" said the Squire, impatiently. "There's nothing the +matter with No. 7. What has happened in it won't happen again." + +"It is an unlucky house, sir; a haunted house," she contended with +suppressed emotion. "And it's true that I would rather die outright than +go back to live in it; for the terror of being there would slowly kill +me. And so, ma'am," she added quickly to Mrs. Todhetley, evidently +wishing to escape the subject, "I should like to go away altogether from +Saltwater; and if you can help me to hear of a place in London, I shall +be very grateful." + +"I will consider of it, Matilda," was the answer. And when the girl had +left the room the Mater asked us what we thought about recommending her +to Miss Deveen. We saw no reason against it--not but that the Squire put +the girl down as an idiot on the subject of haunted houses--and Miss +Deveen was written to. + +The upshot was, that on the next Saturday Matilda bade farewell to +Saltwater and departed for Miss Deveen's, the Squire sarcastically +assuring her that _that_ house had no ghosts in it. We should be +leaving, ourselves, the following Tuesday. + +But, before that day came, it chanced that I saw Owen, the milkman. It +was on the Sunday afternoon. I had taken little Joe Blair for a walk +across the fields as far as Munpler (their Montpellier-by-Sea, you +know), and in returning met Thomas Owen. He wore his black Sunday +clothes, and looked a downright fine fellow, as usual. There was +something about the man I could not help liking, in spite of the doubt +attaching to him. + +"So Matilda Valentine is gone, sir," he observed, after we had exchanged +a few sentences. + +"Yes, she went yesterday," I answered, putting my back against the +field fence, while young Joe went careering about in chase of a yellow +butterfly. "And for my part, I don't wonder at the girl's not liking to +stay at Saltwater. At least, in Seaboard Terrace." + +"I was told this morning that Mr. and Mrs. Peahern were on their way +home," he continued. + +"Most likely they are. They'd naturally want to look into the affair for +themselves." + +"And I hope with all my heart they will be able to get some light out +of it," returned Owen, warmly. "I mean to do _my_ best to bring out the +mystery, sir; and I sha'n't rest till it's done." + +His words were fair, his tone was genuine. If it was indeed himself +who had been the chief actor in the tragedy, he carried it off well. +I hardly knew what to think. It is true I had taken a bit of a fancy +to the man, according to my usual propensity to take a fancy, or the +contrary; but I did not know much about him, and not anything of +his antecedents. As he spoke to me now, his tone was marked, rather +peculiar. It gave me a notion that he wanted to say more. + +"Have you any idea that you will be able to trace it out?" + +"For my own sake I should like to get the matter cleared up," he added, +not directly answering my question. "People are beginning to turn the +cold shoulder my way: one woman asked me to my face yesterday whether I +did it. No, I told her, I did not do it, but I'd try and find out who +did." + +"You are sure you heard and saw nothing suspicious that night when you +rang the bell and could not get in, Owen?" + +"Not then, sir; no. I saw no light in the house and heard no noise." + +"You have not any clue to go by, then?" + +"Not much, sir, yet. But I can't help thinking somebody else has." + +"Who is that?" + +"Matilda." + +"Matilda!" I repeated, in amazement. "Surely you can't suspect that +she--that she was a party to any deed so cruel and wicked!" + +"No, no, sir, I don't mean that; the young women were too good friends +to harm one another: and whatever took place, took place while Matilda +was out of the house. But I can't help fancying that she knows, or +suspects, more of the matter than she will say. In short, that she is +screening some one." + +To me it seemed most unlikely. "Why do you judge so, Owen?" + +"By her manner, sir. Not by much else. But I'll tell you something that +I saw. On the previous Wednesday when I left the afternoon milk at that +tall house just beyond Seaboard Terrace, the family lodging there told +me to call in the evening for the account, as they were leaving the next +day. Accordingly I went; and was kept waiting so long before they paid +me that it was all but dark when I came out. Just as I was passing the +back door at No. 7, it was suddenly drawn open from the inside, and a +man stood in the opening, whispering with one of the girls. She was +crying, for I heard her sobs, and he kissed her and came out, and the +door was hastily shut. He was an ill-looking man; so far at least as his +clothes went; very shabby. His face I did not see, for he pulled his +slouching round hat well over his brows as he walked away rapidly, and +the black beard he wore covered his mouth and chin." + +"Which of the maids was it?" + +"I don't know, sir. The next day I chaffed them a bit about it, but +they both declared that nobody had been there but the watchmaker, Mr. +Renninson, who goes every Wednesday to wind up the clocks, and that it +must have been him I saw, for he was late that evening. I said no more; +it was no business of mine; but the man I saw go out was just about as +much like Renninson as he was like me." + +"And do you fancy----" + +"Please wait a minute, sir," he interrupted, "I haven't finished. Last +Sunday evening, upon getting home after service, I found I had left my +prayer-book in church. Not wishing to lose it, for it was the one my +father always used, I went back for it. However, the church was shut up, +so I could not get in. It was a fine evening, and I took a stroll round +the churchyard. In the corner of it, near to Mr. Edmund Peahern's tomb, +they had buried poor Jane Cross but two days before--you know the spot, +sir. Well, on the flat square of earth that covers her grave, stood +Matilda Valentine, the greatest picture of distress you can imagine, +tears streaming down her cheeks. She dried her eyes when she saw me, and +we came away together. Naturally I fell to talking of Jane Cross and the +death. 'I shall do as much as lies in my power to bring it to light,' +I said to Matilda; 'or people may go on doubting me to the end. And I +think the first step must be to find out who the man was that called in +upon you the previous Wednesday night.' Well, sir, with that, instead of +making any answering remark as a Christian would, or a rational being, +let us say, Matilda gives a smothered shriek and darts away out of the +churchyard. I couldn't make her out; and all in a minute a conviction +flashed over me, though I hardly know why, that she knew who was the +author of the calamity, and was screening him; or at any rate that she +had her suspicions, if she did not actually know. And I think so still, +sir." + +I shook my head, not seeing grounds to agree with Owen. He resumed: + +"The next morning, between nine and ten, I was in the shop, putting a +pint of cream which had been ordered into a can, when to my surprise +Matilda walked in, cool and calm. She said she had come to tell me that +the man I had seen leave the house was her brother. He had fallen into +trouble through having become security for a fellow workman, had had all +his things sold up, including his tools, and had walked every step of +the way--thirty miles--to ask her if she could help him. She did help +him as far as she could, giving him what little money she had by her, +and Jane Cross had added ten shillings to it. He had got in only +at dusk, she said, had taken some supper with them, and left again +afterwards, and that she was letting him out at the gate when I must +have been passing it. She did not see me, for her eyes were dim with +crying: her heart felt fit to break in saying farewell. That was the +truth, she declared, and that her brother had had no more to do with +Jane's death than she or I had; he was away again out of Saltwater the +same night he came into it." + +"Well? Did you not believe her?" + +"No, sir," answered Owen, boldly. "I did not. If this was true, why +should she have gone off into that smothered shriek in the churchyard +when I mentioned him, and rush away in a fright?" + +I could not tell. Owen's words set me thinking. + +"I did not know which of the two girls it was who let the man out that +Wednesday night, for I did not clearly see; but, sir, the impression on +my mind at the moment was, that it was Jane Cross. Jane Cross, and not +Matilda. If so, why does she tell me this tale about her brother, and +say it was herself?" + +"And if it was Jane Cross?" + +Owen shook his head. "All sorts of notions occur to me, sir. Sometimes +I fancy that the man might have been Jane's sweetheart, that he might +have been there again on the Monday night, and done the mischief in +a quarrel; and that Matilda is holding her tongue because it is her +brother. Let the truth be what it will, Matilda's manner convinces me of +one thing: that there's something she is concealing, and that it is half +frightening her wits out of her.----You are going to leave Saltwater, I +hear, sir," added the young man in a different tone, "and I am glad to +have the opportunity of saying this, for I should not like you to carry +away any doubt of me. I'll bring the matter to light if I can." + +Touching his hat, he walked onwards, leaving my thoughts all in a +whirligig. + +Was Owen right in drawing these conclusions?--or was he purposely giving +a wrong colouring to facts, and seeking craftily to throw suspicion +off himself? It was a nice question, one I could make neither top nor +tail of. But, looking back to the fatal evening, weighing this point, +sifting that, I began to see that Matilda showed more anxiety, more +terror, than she need have shown _before_ she knew that any ill had +happened. Had she a prevision, as she stood at the door with the jug of +ale in her hand, that some evil might have chanced? Did she leave some +individual in the house with Jane Cross when she went to the Swan to get +the ale?--and was it her brother? Did she leave OWEN in the house, and +was she screening him? + + * * * * * + +"Why, Matilda! Is it you?" + +It was fourteen months later, and autumn weather, and I had just arrived +in London at Miss Deveen's. My question to Matilda, who came into my +dressing-room with some warm water to wash off the travelling dust, was +not made in surprise at seeing _her_, for I supposed she was still in +service at Miss Deveen's, but at seeing the change in her. Instead of +the healthy and, so to say, handsome girl known at Saltwater, I saw a +worn, weary, anxious-looking shadow, with a feverish fire in her wild +dark eyes. + +"Have you been ill, Matilda?" + +"No, sir, not at all. I am quite well." + +"You have grown very thin." + +"It's the London air, sir. I think everybody must get thin who lives in +it." + +Very civilly and respectfully, but yet with an unmistakable air of +reticence, spoke she. Somehow the girl was changed, and greatly changed. +Perhaps she had been grieving after Jane Cross? Perhaps the secret of +what had happened (if in truth Matilda knew it) lay upon her with too +heavy a weight? + +"Do you find Matilda a good servant?" I asked of Miss Deveen, later, +she and I being alone together. + +"A very good servant, Johnny. But she is going to leave me." + +"Is she? Why?" + +Miss Deveen only nodded, in answer to the first query, passing over the +last. I supposed she did not wish to say. + +"I think her so much altered." + +"In what way, Johnny?" + +"In looks: looks and manner. She is just a shadow. One might say she had +passed through a six months' fever. And what a curious light there is in +her eyes!" + +"She has always impressed me with the idea of having some great care +upon her. None can mistake that she is a sorrowful woman. I hear that +the other servants accuse her of having been 'crossed in love,'" added +Miss Deveen, with a smile. + +"She is thinner even than Miss Cattledon." + +"And that, I daresay you think, need not be, Johnny! Miss Cattledon, by +the way, is rather hard upon Matilda just now: calls her a 'demon.'" + +"A demon! Why does she?" + +"Well, I'll tell you. Though it is only a little domestic matter, one +that perhaps you will hardly care to hear. You must know (to begin with) +that Matilda has never made herself sociable with the other servants +here; in return they have become somewhat prejudiced against her, and +have been ready to play her tricks, tease her, and what not. But you +must understand, Johnny, that I knew nothing of the state of affairs +below; such matters rarely reach me. My cook, Hall, was especially at +war with Matilda: in fact, I believe there was no love lost between +the two. The girl's melancholy--for at times she does seem very +melancholy--was openly put down by the rest to the assumption that she +must have had some love affair in which the swain had played her false. +They were continually worrying her on this score, and it no doubt +irritated Matilda; but she rarely retorted, preferring rather to leave +them and take refuge in her room." + +"Why could they not let her alone?" + +"People can't let one another alone, as I believe, Johnny. If they did, +the world would be pleasanter to live in than it is." + +"And I suppose Matilda got tired at last, and gave warning?" + +"No. Some two or three weeks ago it appears that, by some means or +other, Hall obtained access to a small trunk; one that Matilda keeps +her treasures in, and has cautiously kept locked. If I thought Hall +had opened this trunk with a key of her own, as Matilda accuses her of +doing, I would not keep the woman in my house another day. But she +declares to me most earnestly--for I had her before me here to question +her--that Matilda, called suddenly out of her chamber, left the trunk +open there, and the letter, of which I am about to tell you, lying, also +open, by its side. Hall says that she went into the room--it adjoins her +own--for something she wanted, and that all she did--and she admits this +much--was to pick up the letter, carry it downstairs, read it to the +other servants, and make fun over it." + +"What letter was it?" + +"Strictly speaking, it was only part of a letter: one begun but not +concluded. It was in Matilda's own hand, apparently written a long time +ago, for the ink was pale and faded, and it began 'Dearest Thomas Owen. +The----'" + +"Thomas Owen!" I exclaimed, starting in my chair. "Why, that is the +milkman at Saltwater." + +"I'm sure I don't know who he is, Johnny, and I don't suppose it +matters. Only a few lines followed, three or four, speaking of some +private conversation that she had held with him on coming out of church +the day before, and of some reproach that she had then made to him +respecting Jane Cross. The words broke suddenly off there, as if the +writer had been interrupted. But why Matilda did not complete the letter +and send it, and why she should have kept it by her all this time, must +be best known to herself." + +"Jane Cross was her fellow-servant at Mr. Peahern's. She who was killed +by falling down the staircase." + +"Yes, poor thing, I remembered the name. But, to go on. In the evening, +after the finding of this letter, I and Miss Cattledon were startled by +a disturbance in the kitchen. Cries and screams, and loud, passionate +words. Miss Cattledon ran down; I stayed at the top of the stairs. She +found Hall, Matilda, and one of the others there, Matilda in a perfect +storm of fury, attacking Hall like a maniac. She tore handfuls out of +her hair, she bit her thumb until her teeth met in it: Hall, though +by far the bigger person of the two, and I should have thought the +stronger, had no chance against her; she seemed to be as a very reed in +her hands, passion enduing Matilda with a strength perfectly unnatural. +George, who had been out on an errand, came in at the moment, and by his +help the women were parted. Cattledon maintains that Matilda, during the +scene, was nothing less than a demon; quite mad. When it was over, the +girl fell on the floor utterly exhausted, and lay like a dead thing, +every bit of strength, almost of life, gone out of her." + +"I never could have believed it of Matilda." + +"Nor I, Johnny. I grant that the girl had just cause to be angry. How +should we like to have our private places rifled, and their contents +exhibited to and mocked at by the world; contents which to us seem +sacred? But to have put herself into that wild rage was both unseemly +and unaccountable. Her state then, and her state immediately afterwards, +made me think--I speak it with all reverence, Johnny--of the poor people +in holy writ from whom the evil spirits were cast out." + +"Ay. It seems to be just such a case, Miss Deveen." + +"Hall's thumb was so much injured that a doctor had to come daily to it +for nine or ten days," continued Miss Deveen. "Of course, after this +climax, I could not retain Matilda in my service; neither would she +have remained in it. She indulged a feeling of the most bitter hatred +to the women servants, to Hall especially--she had not much liked them +before, as you may readily guess--and she said that nothing would induce +her to remain with them, even had I been willing to keep her. So she has +obtained a situation with some acquaintances of mine who live in this +neighbourhood, and goes to it next week. That is why Matilda leaves me, +Johnny." + +In my heart I could not help being sorry for her, and said so. She +looked so truly, terribly unhappy! + +"I am very sorry for her," assented Miss Deveen. "And had I known the +others were making her life here uncomfortable, I should have taken +means to stop their pastime. Of the actual facts, with regard to the +letter, I cannot be at any certainty--I mean in my own mind. Hall is a +respectable servant, and I have never had cause to think her untruthful +during the three years she has lived with me: and she most positively +holds to it that the little trunk was standing open on the table and +the letter lying open beside it. Allowing that it was so, she had, of +course, no right to touch either trunk or letter, still less to take the +letter downstairs and exhibit it to the others, and I don't defend her +conduct: but yet it is different from having rifled the lock of the +trunk and taken the letter out." + +"And Matilda accuses her of doing that?" + +"Yes: and, on her side, holds to it just as positively. What Matilda +tells me is this: On that day it chanced that Miss Cattledon had paid +the women servants their quarter's wages. Matilda carried hers to her +chamber, took this said little trunk out of her large box, where she +keeps it, unlocked it and put the money into it. She disturbed nothing +in the trunk; she says she had wrapped the sovereigns in a bit of +paper, and she just slipped them inside, touching nothing else. She was +shutting down the lid when she heard herself called to by me on the +landing below. She waited to lock the box but not to put it up, leaving +it standing on the table. I quite well remembered calling to the girl, +having heard her run upstairs. I wanted her in my room." + +Miss Deveen paused a minute, apparently thinking. + +"Matilda has assured me again and again that she is quite sure she +locked the little trunk, that there can be no mistake on that point. +Moreover, she asserts that the letter in question was lying at the +bottom of the trunk beneath other things, and that she had not taken +it out or touched it for months and months." + +"And when she went upstairs again--did she find the little trunk open +or shut?" + +"She says she found it shut: shut and locked just as she had left it; +and she replaced it in her large box, unconscious that any one had been +to it." + +"Was she long in your room, Miss Deveen?" + +"Yes, Johnny, the best part of an hour. I wanted a little sewing done +in a hurry, and told her to sit down there and then and do it. It was +during this time that the cook, going upstairs herself, saw the trunk, +and took the opportunity to do what she did do." + +"I think I should feel inclined to believe Matilda. Her tale sounds the +more probable." + +"I don't know that, Johnny. I can hardly believe that a respectable +woman, as Hall undoubtedly is, would deliberately unlock a +fellow-servant's box with a false key. Whence did she get the key to +do it? Had she previously provided herself with one? The lock is of +the most simple description, for I have seen the trunk since, and Hall +might possess a key that would readily fit it: but if so, as the woman +herself says, how could she know it? In short, Johnny, it is one +woman's word against another's: and, until this happened, I had deemed +each of them to be equally credible." + +To be sure there was reason in that. I sat thinking. + +"Were it proved to have been as Matilda says, still I could not keep +her," resumed Miss Deveen. "Mine is a peaceable, well-ordered household, +and I should not like to know that one, subject to insane fits of +temper, was a member of it. Though Hall in that case would get her +discharge also." + +"Do the people where Matilda is going know why she leaves?" + +"Mrs. and Miss Soames. Yes. I told them all about it. But I told them +at the same time, what I had then learnt--that Matilda's temper had +doubtlessly been much tried here. It would not be tried in their house, +they believed, and took her readily. She is an excellent servant, +Johnny, let who will get her." + +I could not resist the temptation of speaking to Matilda about this, an +opportunity offering that same day. She came into the room with some +letters just left by the postman. + +"I thought my mistress was here, sir," she said, hesitating with the +tray in her hand. + +"Miss Deveen will be here in a minute: you can leave the letters. So you +are going to take flight, Matilda! I have heard all about it. What a +silly thing you must be to put yourself into that wonderful tantrum!" + +"She broke into my box, and turned over its contents, and stole my +letter to mock me," retorted Matilda, her fever-lighted eyes taking a +momentary fierceness. "Who, put in my place, would not have gone into +a tantrum, sir?" + +"But she says she did not break into it." + +"As surely as that is heaven's sun above us, she _did it_, Mr. Johnny. +She has been full of spite towards me for a long time, and she thought +she would pay me out. I did but unlock the box, and slip the little +paper of money in, and I locked it again instantly and brought the key +away with me: I can never say anything truer than that, sir: to make a +mistake about it is not possible." + +No pen could convey the solemn earnestness with which she spoke. Somehow +it impressed me. I hoped Hall would get served out. + +"Yes, the wrong has triumphed for once. As far as I can see, sir, it +often does triumph. Miss Deveen thinks great things of Hall, but she is +deceived in her; and I daresay she will find her out sometime. It was +Hall who ought to have been turned away instead of me. Not that I would +stay here longer if I could." + +"But you like Miss Deveen?" + +"Very much indeed, sir; she is a good lady and a kind mistress. She +spoke very well indeed of me to the new family where I am going, and +I daresay I shall do well enough there.--Have you been to Saltwater +lately, sir?" she added, abruptly. + +"Never since. Do you get news from the place?" + +She shook her head. "I have never heard a word from any soul in it. I +have written to nobody, and nobody has written to me." + +"And nothing more has come out about poor Jane Cross. It is still a +mystery." + +"And likely to be one," she replied, in a low tone. + +"Perhaps so. Do you know what Owen the milkman thought?" + +She had spoken the last sentence or two with her eyes bent, fiddling +with the silver waiter. Now they were raised quickly. + +"Owen thought that you could clear up the mystery if you liked, Matilda. +At least, that you possessed some clue to it. He told me so." + +"Owen as good as said the same to me before I left," she replied, after +a pause. "He is wrong, sir: but he must think it if he will. Is he--is +he at Saltwater still?" + +"For all I know to the contrary. This letter, that the servants here +got at, was one you were beginning to write to Owen. Did----" + +"I would rather not talk of that letter, Mr. Johnny: my private affairs +concern myself only," she interrupted--and went out of the room like a +shot. + + * * * * * + +Had anyone told me that during this short visit of mine in London I +should come across the solution of the mystery of that tragedy enacted +at No. 7, I might have been slow to credit it. Nevertheless, it was to +be so. + +Have you ever noticed, in going through life, that events seem to carry +a sequence in themselves almost as though they bore in their own hands +the guiding thread that connects them from beginning to end? For a time +this thread will seem to be lost; to lie dormant, as though it had +snapped, and the course of affairs it was holding to have disappeared +for good. But lo! up peeps a little end when least expected, and we +catch hold of it, and soon it grows into a handful; and what we had +thought lost is again full of activity and gradually works itself out. +Not a single syllable, good or bad, had we heard of that calamity at +Saltwater during the fourteen months which had passed since. The thread +of it lay dormant. At Miss Deveen's it began to steal up again: Matilda, +and her passion, and the letter she had commenced to Thomas Owen were to +the fore: and before that visit of mine came to an end, the thread had, +strange to say, unwound itself. + +I was a favourite of Miss Deveen's: you may have gathered that from past +papers. One day, when she was going shopping, she asked me to accompany +her and not Miss Cattledon: which made that rejected lady's face all the +more like vinegar. So we set off in the carriage. + +"Are we going to Regent Street, Miss Deveen?" + +"Not to-day, Johnny. I like to encourage my neighbouring tradespeople, +and shall buy my new silk here. We have excellent shops not far off." + +After a few intricate turnings and windings, the carriage stopped before +a large linendraper's, which stood amidst a colony of shops nearly a +mile from Miss Deveen's. George came round to open the door. + +"Now what will you do, Johnny?" said Miss Deveen. "I daresay I shall be +half an hour in here, looking at silks and calico; and I won't inflict +that penalty on you. Shall the carriage take you for a short drive the +while, or will you wait in it?--or walk about?" + +"I will wait in the street here," I said, "and come in to you when I am +tired. I like looking at shops." And I do like it. + +The next shop to the linendraper's was a carver and gilder's: he had +some good pictures displayed in his window; at any rate, they looked +good to me: and there I took up my station to begin with. + +"How do you do, sir? Have you forgotten me?" + +The words came from a young man who stood at the next door, close to me, +causing me to turn quickly to him from gazing at the pictures. No, I had +not forgotten him. I knew him instantly. It was Owen, the milkman. + +After a few words had passed, I went inside. It was a large shop, well +fitted up with cans and things pertaining to a milkman's business. The +window-board was prettily set off with moss, ferns, a bowl containing +gold and silver fish, a miniature fountain, and a rush basket of fresh +eggs. Over the door was his own name, Thomas Owen. + +"You are living here, Owen?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"But why have you left Saltwater?" + +"Because, Mr. Johnny, the place looked askance at me. People, in their +own minds, set down that miserable affair at No. 7 to my credit. Once or +twice I was hooted at by the street boys, asking what I had done with +Jane Cross. My mother couldn't stand that, and I couldn't stand it, so +we just sold our business at Saltwater, and bought this one here. And +a good change it has been, in a pecuniary point of view: this is an +excellent connection, and grows larger every day." + +"I'm sure I am glad to hear it." + +"At first, mother couldn't bear London: she longed for the country air +and the green fields: but she is reconciled to it now. Perhaps she'll +have an opportunity soon of going back to see her own old Welsh +mountains, and of staying there if it pleases her." + +"Then I should say you are going to be married, Owen." + +He laughed and nodded. "You'll wish me good luck, won't you, sir? She's +the only daughter at the next door, the grocer's." + +"That I will. Have you discovered anymore of that mysterious business, +Owen?" + +"At Saltwater? No, sir: not anything at all that could touch the matter +itself. But I have heard a good bit that bears upon it." + +"Do you still suspect that Matilda could tell if she chose?" + +"I suspect more than that, sir." + +The man's words were curiously significant. He had a bit of fern in his +hand, and his fresh, open, intelligent face was bent downwards, as if he +wanted to see what the leaf was made of. + +"I am not sure, sir. It is but suspicion at the best: but it's an +uncommonly strong one." + +"Won't you tell me what you mean? You may trust me." + +"Yes, I am sure I may," he said, promptly. "And I think I will tell +you--though I have never breathed it to mortal yet. I think Matilda did +it herself." + +Backing away from the counter in my surprise, I upset an empty milk-can. + +"Matilda!" I exclaimed, picking up the can. + +"Mr. Johnny, with all my heart I believe it to have been so. I have +believed it for some time now." + +"But the girls were too friendly to harm one another. I remember you +said so yourself, Owen." + +"And I thought so then, sir. No suspicion of Matilda had occurred to me, +but rather of the man I had seen there on the Wednesday. I think she +must have done it in a sudden passion; not of deliberate purpose." + +"But now, what are your reasons?" + +"I told you, sir, as I daresay you can recall to mind, that I should +do what lay in my power to unravel the mystery--for it was not at all +agreeable to have it laid at my door. I began, naturally, with tracing +out the doings of that night as connected with No. 7. Poor Jane Cross +had not been out of doors that night, and so far as I knew had spoken to +no one save to me from the window; therefore of her there seemed nothing +to be traced: but of Matilda there was. Inquiring here and there, I bit +by bit got a few odds and ends of facts together. I traced out the exact +time, almost to a minute, that I rang twice at the door-bell at No. 7, +and was not answered; and the time that Matilda entered the Swan to get +the supper beer. Pretty nearly half an hour had elapsed between the +first time and the second." + +"Half an hour!" + +"Not far short of it. Which proved that Matilda must have been indoors +when I rang, though she denied it before the coroner, and it was taken +for granted that I had rung during her absence to fetch the beer. And +you knew, sir, that her absence did not exceed ten minutes. Now why did +not Matilda answer my ring? Why did she not candidly say that she had +heard the ring, but did not choose to answer it? Well, sir, that gave +rise to the first faint doubt of her: and when I recalled and dwelt on +her singular manner, it appeared to me that the doubt might pass into +grave suspicion. Look at her superstitious horror of No. 7. She never +would go into the house afterwards!" + +I nodded. + +"Two or three other little things struck me, all tending to strengthen +my doubts, but perhaps they are hardly worth naming. Still, make the +worst of it, it was only suspicion, not certainty, and I left Saltwater, +holding my tongue." + +"And is this all, Owen?" + +"Not quite, sir. Would you be so good as to step outside, and just look +at the name over the grocer's door?" + +I did so, and read Valentine. "John Valentine." The same name as +Matilda's. + +"Yes, sir, it is," Owen said, in answer to me. "After settling here we +made acquaintance with the Valentines, and by-and-by learnt that they +are cousins of Matilda's. Fanny--my wife that is to be--has often talked +to me about Matilda; they were together a good bit in early life; and +by dint of mentally sifting what she said, and putting that and that +together, I fancy I see daylight." + +"Yes. Well?" + +"Matilda's father married a Spanish woman. She was of a wild, +ungovernable temper, subject to fits of frenzy; in one of which fits +she died. Matilda has inherited this temper; she is liable to go into +frenzies that can only be compared to insanity. Fanny has seen her +in two only; they occur at rare intervals; and she tells me that she +truly believes the girl is mad--mad, Mr. Johnny--during the few minutes +that they last." + +The history I had heard of her mad rage at Miss Deveen's flashed over +me. Temporarily insane they had thought her there. + +"I said to Fanny one day when we were talking of her," resumed Owen, +"that a person in that sort of uncontrollable passion, might commit any +crime; a murder, or what not. 'Yes,' Fanny replied, 'and not unlikely to +do it, either: Matilda has more than once said that she should never die +in her bed.' Meaning----" + +"Meaning what?" I asked, for he came to a pause. + +"Well, sir, meaning, I suppose, that she might sometime lay violent +hands upon herself, or upon another. I can't help thinking that +something must have put her into one of these rages with Jane Cross, +and that she pushed or flung the poor girl over the stairs." + +Looking back, rapidly recalling signs and tokens, I thought it might +have been so. Owen interrupted me. + +"I shall come across her sometime, Mr. Johnny. These are things that +don't hide themselves for ever: at least, not often. And I shall tax +her with it to her face." + +"But--don't you know where she is?" + +"No, I don't sir. I wish I did. It was said that she came up to take +a situation in London, and perhaps she is still in it. But London's a +large place, I don't know what part of it she was in, and one might as +well look for a needle in a bundle of hay. The Valentines have never +heard of her at all since she was at Saltwater." + +How strange it seemed;--that she and they were living so near one +another, and yet not to be aware of it. Should I tell Owen? Only for +half a moment did the question cross me. _No_: most certainly not. It +might be as he suspected; and, with it all, I could only pity Matilda. +Of all unhappy women, she seemed the unhappiest. + +Miss Deveen's carriage bowled past the door to take her up at the +linendraper's. Wishing Owen good-day, I was going out, but drew back to +make room for two people who were entering: an elderly woman in a close +bonnet, and a young one with a fair, pretty and laughing face. + +"My mother and Fanny, sir," he whispered. + +"She is very pretty, very nice, Owen," I said, impulsively. "You'll be +sure to be happy with her." + +"Thank you, sir; I think I shall. I wish you had spoken a word or two to +her, Mr. Johnny: you'd have seen how nice she is." + +"I can't stay now, Owen. I'll come again." + +Not even to Miss Deveen did I speak of what I had heard. I kept thinking +of it as we drove round Hyde Park, and she told me I was unusually +silent. + + * * * * * + +The thread was unwinding itself more and more. Once it had begun to +lengthen, I suppose it had to go on. Accident led to an encounter +between Matilda and Thomas Owen. Accident? No, it was this same thread +of destiny. There's no such thing as accident in the world. + +During the visit to the linendraper's, above spoken of, Miss Deveen +bought a gown for Matilda. Feeling in her own heart sorry for the girl, +thinking she had been somewhat hardly done by in her house, what with +Hall and the rest of them, she wished to make her a present on leaving, +as a token of her good-will. But the quantity of stuff bought proved not +to be sufficient: Miss Deveen had doubted the point when it was cut off, +and told Matilda to go herself and get two yards more. This it was, this +simple incident, that led to the meeting with Owen. And I was present at +it. + +The money-order office of the district was situated amidst this colony +of shops. In going down there one afternoon to cash an order, I overtook +Matilda. She was on her way to buy the additional yards of stuff. + +"I suppose I am going right, sir?" she said to me. "I don't know much +about this neighbourhood." + +"Not know much about it! What, after having lived in it more than a +year!" + +"I have hardly ever gone out; except to church on a Sunday," she +answered. "And what few articles I've wanted in the dress line, I have +mostly bought at the little draper's shop round the corner." + +Hardly had the words left her lips, when we came face to face with +Thomas Owen. Matilda gave a sort of smothered cry, and stood still, +gazing at him. What they said to one another in that first moment, I did +not hear. Matilda had a frightened look, and was whiter than death. +Presently we were all walking together towards Thomas Owen's, he having +invited Matilda to go and see his home. + +But there was another encounter first. Standing at the grocer's door +was pretty Fanny Valentine. She and Matilda recognized each other, and +clasped hands. It appeared to me that Matilda did it with reluctance, +as though it gave her no pleasure to meet her relatives. She must have +known how near they lived to Miss Deveen's, and yet she had never sought +them out. Perhaps the very fact of not wishing to see them had kept her +from the spot. + +They all sat down in the parlour behind the shop--a neat room. Mrs. Owen +was out; her son produced some wine. I stood up by the bookcase, telling +them I must be off the next minute to the post-office. But the minutes +passed, and I stayed on. + +How he led up to it, I hardly know; but, before I was prepared for +anything of the kind, Thomas Owen had plunged wholesale into the subject +of Jane Cross, recounting the history of that night, in all its minute +details, to Fanny Valentine. Matilda, sitting back on the far side of +the room in an armchair, looked terror-stricken: her face seemed to be +turning into stone. + +"Why do you begin about that, Thomas Owen?" she demanded, when words at +length came to her. "It can have nothing to do with Fanny." + +"I have been wishing to tell it her for some little time, and this seems +to be a fitting opportunity," he answered, coolly resolute. "You, being +better acquainted with the matter than I, can correct me if I make any +blunders. I don't care to keep secrets from Fanny: she is going to be my +wife." + +Matilda's hands lifted themselves with a convulsive movement and fell +again. Her eyes flashed fire. + +"_Your wife?_" + +"If you have no objection," he replied. "My dear old mother goes into +Wales next month, and Fanny comes here in her place." + +With a cry, faint and mournful as that of a wounded dove, Matilda put +her hands before her face and leaned back in her chair. If she had in +truth loved Thomas Owen, if she loved him still, the announcement must +have caused her cruel pain. + +He resumed his narrative; assuming as facts what he had in his own mind +conceived to have been the case, and by implication, but not directly, +charging Matilda with the crime. It had a dreadful effect upon her; her +agitation increased with every word. Suddenly she rose up in the chair, +her arms lifted, her face distorted. One of those fits of passion had +come on. + +We had a dreadful scene. Owen was powerful, I of not much good, but we +could not hold her. Fanny ran sobbing into her own door and sent in two +of the shopmen. + +It was the climax in Matilda Valentine's life. One that perhaps might +have been always looked for. From that hour she was an insane woman, +her ravings interspersed with lucid intervals. During one of these, she +disclosed the truth. + +She had loved Thomas Owen with a passionate love. Mistaking the gossip +and the nonsense that the young man was fond of chattering to her and +Jane Cross, she believed her love was returned. On the day preceding the +tragedy, when talking with him after morning service, she had taxed him +with paying more attention to Jane Cross than to herself. Not a bit +of it, he had lightly answered; he would take her for a walk by the +seashore that evening if she liked to go. But, whether he had meant it, +or not, he never came, though Matilda dressed herself in readiness. On +the contrary, he went to church, met Jane there, and walked the best +part of the way home with her. Matilda jealously resented this; her mind +was in a chaos; she began to suspect that it was Jane Cross he liked, +not herself. She said a word or two upon the subject to Jane Cross the +next day, Monday; but Jane made sport of it--laughed it off. So the +time went on to evening, when they were upstairs together, Jane sewing, +Matilda writing. Suddenly Jane Cross said that Thomas Owen was coming +along, and Matilda ran to the window. They spoke to him as he passed, +and he said he would look in as he returned from Munpler. After +Matilda's letter to her brother was finished, she began a note to Thomas +Owen, intending to reproach him with not keeping his promise to her +and for joining Jane Cross instead. It was the first time she had ever +attempted to write to him; and she stuck her work-box with the lid open +behind the sheet of paper that Jane Cross might not see what she was +doing. When it grew dusk, Jane Cross remarked that it was blind man's +holiday and she would go on down and lay the supper. In crossing the +room, work-basket in hand, she passed behind Matilda, glanced at her +letter, and saw the first words of it, "Dearest Thomas Owen." In sport, +she snatched it up, read the rest where her own name was mentioned, and +laughingly began, probably out of pure fun, to teaze Matilda. "Thomas +Owen your sweetheart!" she cried, running out on to the landing. "Why, +he is mine. He cares more for my little finger than for----" Poor girl! +She never finished her sentence. Matilda, fallen into one of those +desperate fits of passion, had caught her up and was clutching her like +a tiger-cat, tearing her hair, tearing pieces out of her gown. The +scuffle was brief: almost in an instant Jane Cross was falling headlong +down the well of the staircase, pushed over the very low balustrades by +Matilda, who threw the work-basket after her. + +The catastrophe sobered her passion. For a while she lay on the landing +in a sort of faint, all strength and power taken out of her as usual by +the frenzy. Then she went down to look after Jane Cross. + +Jane was dead. Matilda, not unacquainted with the aspect of death, saw +that at once, and her senses pretty nearly deserted her again with +remorse and horror. She had never thought or wished to kill Jane Cross, +hardly to harm her, she liked her too well: but in those moments of +frenzy she had not the slightest control over her actions. Her first act +was to run and lock the side door in the garden wall, lest anyone should +come in. How she lived through the next half-hour, she never knew. Her +superstitious fear of seeing the dead Edmund Peahern in the house was +strong--and now there was another! But, with all her anguish and her +fear, the instinct of self-preservation was making itself heard. What +must she do? How could she throw the suspicion off herself? She could +not run out of the house and say, "Jane Cross has fallen accidentally +over the stairs; come and look to her"--for no one would have believed +it to be an accident. And there were the pieces, too, she had clutched +out of the gown! Whilst thus deliberating the gate-bell rang, putting +her into a state of the most intense terror. It rang again. Trembling, +panting, Matilda stood cowering in the kitchen, but it did not ring a +third time. This was, of course, Thomas Owen. + +Necessity is the mother of invention. Something she _must_ do, and her +brain hastily concocted the plan she should adopt. Putting the cloth and +the bread and cheese on the table, she took the jug and went out at the +front door to fetch the usual pint of ale. A moment or two she stood +at the front door, peering up and down the road to make sure that no +one was passing. Then she slipped out, locking the door softly; and, +carrying the key concealed in the hollow of her hand, she threw it +amidst the shrubs at No 1. _Now_ she could not get into the house +herself; she would not have entered it alone for the world: people must +break it open. All along the way to the post-office, to which she really +did go, and then to the Swan, she was mentally rehearsing her tale. And +it succeeded in deceiving us all, as the reader knows. With regard to +the visit of her brother on the Wednesday, she had told Thomas Owen the +strict truth; though, when he first alluded to it in the churchyard, her +feelings were wrought up to such a pitch that she could only cry out +and escape. But how poor Matilda contrived to live on and carry out her +invented story, how she bore the inward distress and repentance that +lay upon her, we shall never know. A distress, remorse, repentance that +never quitted her, night or day; and which no doubt contributed to +gradually unhinge her mind, and throw it finally off its balance. + +Such was the true history of the affair at No. 7, which had been so +great a mystery to Saltwater. The truth was never made public, save to +the very few who were specially interested in it. Matilda Valentine is +in an asylum, and likely to remain there for life; whilst Thomas Owen +and his wife flourish in sunshine, happy as a summer day is long. + + + + +CARAMEL COTTAGE + + +I.--EDGAR RESTE + + +I + +It was early in August, and we were at Dyke Manor, for the Squire had +let us go home from school for the Worcester races. We had joined him +at Worcester the previous day, Tuesday, driving home with him in the +evening. To-morrow, Thursday, he would drive us over to the course +again; to-day, Wednesday, the horses would have rest; and on Friday we +must return to school. + +Breakfast was over, the Squire gone out, and the few minutes' +Bible-reading to us--which Mrs. Todhetley never forgot, though Tod did +not always stay in for it, but he did this morning--came to an end. +Hannah appeared at the door as she closed the Book. + +"Miss Barbary's come, ma'am," she said. + +"Run, my dear," cried Mrs. Todhetley to Lena. + +"I don't want to," said Lena, running to the open window instead, and +nearly pitching head-foremost through it: upon which Hannah captured +her and carried her off. + +"Who on earth is Miss Barbary?" questioned Tod. "Any relation to the man +at Caramel Cottage?" + +"His daughter," said Mrs. Todhetley. "She comes to teach Lena French." + +"Hope she's less of a shady character than her father!" was Tod's free +comment. + +A year or two before this, a stranger had made his appearance at Church +Dykely, and put up at the Silver Bear. He was a gentlemanly-looking man +of perhaps forty years, tall, slender, agile, with thin, distinguished +features, an olive skin, black hair, and eyes of a peculiar shade of +deep steel-blue. People went into raptures over his face, and called it +beautiful. And so it was; but to my thinking it had a look in it that +was the opposite of beautiful; any way, the opposite of good. They said +it was my fancy at home: but Duffham owned to the same fancy. His name, +as he wrote it down one day at the Silver Bear, was Pointz Barbary. +After a week's stay at the inn, he, finding, I suppose, that the +neighbourhood suited him, looked out for a little place to settle down +upon, and met with it in Caramel Cottage, a small dwelling near to us, +on the property called Caramel's Farm. The cottage was then to be let, +and Mr. Barbary went into it. + +Some items of his past history came out by degrees; it is hard to say +how, for he told none himself. Now and then some former friend or other +came to pay him a short visit; and it may be that these strangers talked +about him. + +Pointz Barbary, a gentleman by descent, and once of fairly good +substance, had been a great traveller, had roved pretty nearly all over +the world. The very few relatives he possessed lived in Canada--people +of condition, it was said--and his own property (what was left of it) +was also there. He had been married twice. First to a young lady in +France; her friends (English) having settled there for economy's sake. +She died at the end of the year, leaving him a little girl, that the +mother's people at once took to. Next he married a Miss Reste, daughter +of Colonel Reste, in her Majesty's service. A few years later she also +died--died of consumption--leaving him a widower and childless. It's +true he had his first wife's daughter, but she lived in France with her +mother's sister, so he did not get much benefit from her. + +Mr. Barbary was poor. No mistake about that. The interest of his first +wife's money brought him in fifty-two pounds yearly, and this he would +enjoy till his death, when it went to his daughter. Miss Reste had +brought him several thousand pounds; but he and she had lived away, and +not a stiver remained of it. His own means had also been spent lavishly; +and, so far as was known, he had but the two and fifty pounds a year to +live upon at Caramel Cottage, with a chance remittance from Canada now +and again. + +He made no acquaintance at Church Dykely, and none was made with him. +Civilly courteous in a rather grand and haughty way when he met people, +so far as a few remarks went, touching the weather or the crops, and +similar safe topics, he yet kept the world at a distance. As the time +went on it was thought there might be a reason for this. Whispers +began to circulate that Mr. Barbary's doings were not orthodox. He was +suspected of poaching, both in game and fish, and a strong feeling of +shyness grew up against him. + +Some few months prior to the present time--August--his daughter came +to Caramel Cottage. Her aunt in France was dead, and she had no home +henceforth but her father's. That I and Tod had not seen or heard of +her until now, was owing to the midsummer holidays having been spent at +Crabb Cot. The vacation over, and Mrs. Todhetley back at Dyke Manor, she +found herself called upon by Miss Barbary. Hearing that Mrs. Todhetley +wished her little girl to begin French, she had come to offer herself as +teacher. The upshot was that she was engaged, and came for a couple of +hours every morning to drill French into Lena. + +"What's she like?" asked Tod of the mother, upon her explaining this. +"Long and thin and dark, like Barbary, and disagreeable with a +self-contained reticence?" + +"She is not the least like him in any way," was Mrs. Todhetley's +answer. "She is charmingly simple--good, I am sure, and one of the most +open-natured girls I ever met. 'I wish to do it for the sake of earning +a little money,' she said to me, when asking to come. 'My dear father +is not rich, and if I can help him in ever so small a way I shall be +thankful.' The tears almost came into her eyes as she spoke," added Mrs. +Todhetley; "she quite won my heart." + +"She seems to think great things of that respectable parent of hers!" +commented Tod. + +"Oh, yes. Whatever may be the truth as to his failings, _she_ sees none +in him. And, my dears, better that it should be so. She earns a little +money of me, apart from teaching Lena," added Mrs. Todhetley. + +"What at?" asked Tod. "Teaching _you_?" + +The mother shook her head with a smile. "I found out, Joseph, that she +is particularly skilful at mending old lace. I have some that needs +repairing. She takes it home and does it at her leisure--and you cannot +imagine how grateful she is." + +"How old is she?" + +"Nineteen--close upon twenty, I think she said," replied the mother. +And there the conversation ended, for Mrs. Todhetley had to go to the +kitchen to give the daily orders. + +The morning wore on. We went to Church Dykely and were back again +by twelve o'clock. Tod had got Don on the lawn, making him jump for +biscuit, when the dog rushed off, barking, and we heard a scream. A +young lady in a straw hat and a half-mourning cotton dress was running +away from him, she and Lena having come out of the house together. + +"Come here, Don," said Tod in his voice of authority, which the good +Newfoundland dog never disobeyed. "How dare you, sir? Johnny, lad, I +suppose that's Miss Barbary." + +I had forgotten all about her. A charming girl, as the mother had said, +slight and graceful, with a face like a peach blossom, dimpled cheeks, +soft light-brown hair and dark-blue eyes. Not the hard, steel-blue eyes +that her father had: sweet eyes, these, with a gentle, loving look in +them. + +"You need not be afraid of the dog," cried Tod, advancing to where she +stood, behind the mulberry tree. "Miss Barbary, I believe?"--lifting his +cap. + +"Yes," she said in a frank tone, turning her frank face to him; "I am +Katrine Barbary. It is a very large dog--and he barks at me." + +Large he was, bigger than many a small donkey. A brave, faithful, +good-tempered dog, he, and very handsome, his curly white coat marked +out with black. Gentle to friends and respectable strangers, Don was at +mortal enmity with tramps and beggars: we could not cure him of this, so +he was chained up by day. At night he was unchained to roam the yard at +will, but the gate was kept locked. Had he got out, he might have pinned +the coat of any loose man he met, but I don't believe he would have +bitten him. A good fright Don would give, but not mortal injury. At +least, we had never yet known him to do that. + +Lena ran up in her short pink frock, her light curls flying. "Miss +Barbary is always afraid when she hears Don bark," she said to us. "She +will not go near the yard; she thinks he'll bite her." + +"I will teach you how to make friends with him," said Tod: "though he +would never hurt you, Miss Barbary. Come here and pat his head whilst +I hold him; call him by his name gently. Once he knows you, he would +protect you from harm with his life." + +She complied with ready obedience, though the roses left her cheeks. +"There," said Tod, loosing the dog, and letting her pat him at leisure, +"see how gentle he is; how affectionately he looks up at you!" + +"Please not to think me very silly!" she pleaded earnestly, as though +beseeching pardon for a sin. "I have never been used to dogs. We do not +keep dogs in France. At least very few people do. Oh dear!" + +Something that she carried in her left hand wrapped in paper had dropped +on to the lawn. Don pounced upon it. "Oh, please take it from him! +please, please!" she cried in terror. Tod laughed, and extricated the +little parcel. + +"It has some valuable old lace in it of Mrs. Todhetley's," she explained +as she thanked him. "I am taking it home to mend." + +"You mend old lace famously, I hear," said Tod, as we walked with her to +the entrance gate. + +"Yes, I think I do it nearly as well as the nuns who taught me." + +"Have you been in a convent?" + +"Only for my education. I was an externe--a daily pupil. My aunt lived +next door to it. I went every morning at eight o'clock and returned home +at six in the evening to supper." + +"Did you get no dinner?" asked Tod. + +She took the question literally. "I had dinner and collation at school; +breakfast and supper at home. That was the way in our town with the +externes at the convent. We were Protestants, you see, so my aunt liked +me to be at home on Sundays. Thank you for teaching Don to know me: and +now I will say good morning to you." + +I was holding the gate open for her to pass out, when Ben Gibbon went +by, a gun carelessly held over his shoulder. He touched his hat to us, +and we gave him a slight nod in reply. Miss Barbary said "Good day, Mr. +Gibbon." + +Tod drew down his displeased lips. He had already taken a liking to +the girl--so had I, for that matter--she was a true lady, and Mr. Ben +Gibbon, a brother to the gamekeeper at Chavasse Grange, could not boast +of a particularly shining character. + +"Do you know _him_, Miss Barbary?" asked Tod. "Be quiet, Don!" he cried +to the dog, which had begun to growl when he saw Gibbon. + +"He comes to our house sometimes to see papa. Please pardon me for +keeping you waiting," she added to me, as I still held back the gate. +"That gun is pointed this way and it may go off." + +Tod was amused. "You seem to dread guns as much as you dread dogs, Miss +Barbary. I will walk home with you," he said, as she at last came +through, the gun having got to a safe distance. + +"Oh, but----" she was beginning, and then stopped in confusion, blushing +hotly, and looking at both of us. "I should like it; but----would it be +proper?" + +"Proper!" echoed Tod, staring, and then bursting into a fit of laughter +long and loud. "Oh dear! why, Miss Barbary, you must be French all over! +Johnny, you can come, too. Lena, run back again; you have not any hat +on." + +Crossing the road to take the near field way, we went along the path +that led beside the hedge, and soon came in view of Caramel Cottage; +it was only a stone's throw, so to say, from our house. An uncommonly +lonely look it had, buried there amidst many trees, with the denser +trees of the Grove close beyond it. We asked her whether she did not +find it dull here. + +"At first I did, very; I do still a little: it is so different from the +lively town I have lived in, where we knew all the people, and they knew +us. But we shall soon be more lively," she resumed, after a pause. "A +cousin is coming to stay with us." + +"Indeed," said Tod. "Is it a lady or a gentleman?" + +"Oh, it is a gentleman--Edgar Reste. He is not my cousin by kin; not +really related to me; but papa says he will be as my cousin, as my +brother even, and that he is very nice. Papa's last wife was Miss Reste, +and he is her nephew. He is a barrister in London, and he has been much +overworked, and he is coming here to-morrow for rest and country air." + +Within the low green gate of the little front garden of Caramel Cottage +stood Mr. Barbary, in his brown velveteen shooting coat and breeches of +the same, that became him and his straight lithe limbs so well. Every +time I saw him the beauty of his face struck me afresh; but so did the +shifty expression of his eyes. + +"There's papa!" exclaimed the girl, her dimples lighting up. "And--why, +there's a gentleman with him--a stranger! I wonder who it is?" + +I saw him as he came from the porch down the narrow garden-path. A +slight, slender young man of middle height and distinguished air, with a +pale, worn, nice-looking face, and laughing, luminous dark brown eyes. +Yes, I saw Edgar Reste for the first time at this his entrance at +Caramel Cottage, and it was a thing to be thankful for that I could not +then foresee the nameless horror his departure from it (I may as well +say his disappearance) was to shadow forth. + +"How do you do?" said Mr. Barbary to us, courteously civil. "Katrine, +here's a surprise for you: your cousin is come. Edgar, this is my little +girl.--Mr. Reste," he added, by way of introduction generally. + +Mr. Reste lifted his hat, bowed slightly, and then turned to Katrine +with outstretched hand. She met it with a hot blush, as if strange young +men did not shake hands with her every day. + +"We did not expect you quite so soon," she gently said, to atone for her +first surprise. + +"True," he answered. "But I felt unusually out of sorts yesterday, and +thought it would make no difference to Mr. Barbary whether I came to-day +or to-morrow." + +His voice had a musical ring; his manner was open and honest. He might +be Pointz Barbary's nephew by marriage, but I am sure he was not by +nature. + +"They'll fall in love with one another, those two; you'll see," said +Tod to me as we went home. "Did you mark his pleased face when he spoke +to her, Johnny--and how she blushed?" + +"Oh, come, Tod! they tell me I am fanciful. What are you?" + +"Not fanciful with your fancies, lad. As to you, Mr. Don"--turning to +the dog, which had done nothing but growl while we stood before +Barbary's gate, "unless you mend your manners, you shall not come out +again. What ails you, sir, to-day?" + + +II + +If love springs out of companionship, why then, little wonder that it +found its way into Caramel Cottage. They were with each other pretty +nearly all day and every day, that young man and that young woman; and +so--what else was to be expected? + +"We must try and get you strong again," said Mr. Barbary to his guest, +who at first, amidst other adverse symptoms, could eat nothing. No +matter what dainty little dish old Joan prepared, Mr. Reste turned from +it. + +Mr. Barbary had taken to old Joan with the house. A little, dark, active +woman, she, with bright eyes and a mob-cap of muslin. She was sixty +years old; quick, capable, simple and kindly. We don't get many such +servants now-a-days. One defect Joan had--deafness. When a voice was +close to her, it was all right; at a distance she could not hear it at +all. + +"How long is it that you have been ailing, Cousin Edgar?" asked Miss +Barbary, one day when they were sitting together. + +"Oh, some few weeks, Cousin Katrine," he answered in a tone to imitate +hers--and then laughed. "Look here, child, don't call me 'Cousin Edgar!' +For pity's sake, don't!" + +"I know you are not my true cousin," she said, blushing furiously. + +"It's not that. If we were the nearest cousins that can be, it would +still be silly." Objectionable, was the word he had all but used. "It is +bad taste; has not a nice sound to cultivated ears--as I take it. I am +Edgar, if you please; and you are Katrine." + +"In France we say 'mon cousin,' or 'ma cousine,' when speaking to one," +returned Katrine. + +"But we are not French; we are English." + +"Well," she resumed, as her face cooled down--"why did you not take rest +before? and what is it that has made you ill?" + +He shook his head thoughtfully. The parlour window, looking to the +front, was thrown up before them. A light breeze tempered the summer +heat, wafting in sweetness from the homely flowers and scented shrubs. +The little garden was crowded with them, as all homely gardens were +then. Roses, lilies, columbines, stocks, gillyflowers, sweet peas, sweet +Williams, pinks white and red, tulips, pansies (or as they were then +generally called, garden-gates), mignonette, bachelor's buttons, and +lots of others, sweet or not sweet, that I can't stay to recall: and +clusters of marjoram and lavender and "old-man" and sweet-briar, and +jessamines white and yellow, and woodbine, and sweet syringa; and +the tall hollyhock, and ever true but gaudy sunflower--each and all +flourished there in their respective seasons. Amidst the grand +"horticulture," as it is phrased, of these modern days, it is a pleasure +to lose one's self in the memories of these dear old simple gardens. +Sometimes I get wondering if we shall ever meet them again--say in +Heaven. + +They sat there at the open window enjoying the fragrance. Katrine had +made a paper fan, and was gently fluttering it to and fro before her +flushed young face. + +"I have burnt the candle at both ends," continued Mr. Reste. "That is +what's the matter with me." + +"Y--es," hesitated she, not quite understanding. + +"At law business all day, and at literary work the best part of the +night, year in and year out--it has told upon me, Katrine." + +"But why should you do both?" asked Katrine. + +"Why? Oh, because--because my pocket is a shallow pocket, and has, +moreover, a hole in it." + +She laughed. + +"Not getting briefs showered in upon me as one might hope my merits +deserve--I know not any young barrister who does--I had to supplement my +earnings in that line by something else, and I took to writing. _That_ +is up-hill work, too; but it brings in a few shillings now and again. +One must pay one's way, you know, Katrine, if possible; and with some of +us it is apt to be a rather extravagant way." + +"Is it with you?" she asked, earnestly. + +"It _was_. I squandered money too freely at first. My old uncle gave me +a fair sum to set up with when my dinners were eaten and I was called; +and I suppose I thought the sum would never come to an end. Ah! we buy +our experience dearly." + +"Will not the old uncle give you more?" + +"Not a stiver--this long while past. He lives in India, and writing to +ask him does no good. And he is the only relative left to me in the +world." + +"Except papa." + +Edgar Reste lifted his eyebrows. "Your father is not my relative, young +lady. His late wife was my aunt; my father's sister." + +"Did your father leave you no money, when he died?" + +"Not any. He was a clergyman with a good benefice, but he lived up to +his income and did not save anything. No, I have only myself to lean on. +Don't know whether it will turn out to be a broken reed." + +"If I could only help you!" breathed Katrine. + +"You are helping me more than I can say," he answered, impulsively. +"When with you I have a feeling of rest--of peace. And that's what I +want." + +Which avowal brought a hot blush again to Miss Katrine's cheek and a +curious thrill somewhere round about her heart. + + * * * * * + +Time went on. Before much of it had elapsed, they were in love with one +another for ever and for ever, with that first love that comes but once +in a lifetime. That is, in secret; it was not betrayed or spoken of by +either of them, or intended to be. Mr. Reste, Barrister-at-law (and +briefless), could as soon have entertained thoughts of setting up a +coach-and-four, as of setting up a wife. He had not a ghost of the means +necessary at present, he saw not the smallest chance yet of attaining +them. Years and years and years might go by before that desirable +pinnacle in the social race was reached; and it might never be reached +at all. It would be the height of dishonour, as he considered, to +persuade Katrine Barbary into an engagement, which might never be +fulfilled. How could he condemn her to wear out her heart and her life +and her days in loneliness, sighing for him, never seeing him--he at +one end of the world, she at the other? for that's how, lover-like, he +estimated the distance between this and the metropolis. So he never let +a word of his love escape him, and he guarded his looks, and treated +Katrine as his little cousin. + +And she? Be you sure, she was as reticent as he. An inexperienced young +maiden, scrupulously and modestly brought up, she kept her secret +zealously. It is true she could not help her blushes, or the tell-tale +thrilling of her soft voice; but Edgar Reste was not obliged to read +them correctly. + +Likely enough he could penetrate, as the weeks wore on, some of the ins +and outs in the private worth of Mr. Barbary. In fact, he _did_ do so. +He found that gentleman rather addicted to going abroad at night when +reasonable people were in bed and asleep. Mr. Barbary gave him his views +upon the subject. Poaching, he maintained, was a perfectly legitimate +and laudable occupation. "It's one to be proud of, instead of the +contrary," he asserted, one September day, when they were in the +gun-room together. "_Proud of_, Edgar." + +"For a gentleman?" laughed Mr. Reste, who invariably made light of the +subject. And he glanced at his host curiously from between his long dark +eyelashes and straight, fine eyebrows; at the dark, passive, handsome +face, at the long slender fingers, busy over the lock of his favourite +gun. + +"For a gentleman certainly. Why should common men usurp all its benefit? +The game laws are obnoxious laws, and it behoves us to set them at +naught." + +Another amused laugh from Mr. Reste. + +"Who hesitates to do a bit of smuggling?" argued the speaker. "Answer +me that, Reste. Nobody. Nobody, from a prince to a peasant, from poor +Jack Tar to his superfine commander, but deems it meritorious to cheat +the Customs. When a man lands here or yonder with a few contraband +things about him, and gets them through safely, do his friends and +acquaintances turn the cold shoulder upon him? Not a bit of it; they +regard it as a fine feather in his cap." + +"Oh, no doubt." + +"Poaching is the same thing. It is also an amusement. Oh, it is grand +fun, Edgar Reste, to be out on a fine night and dodge the keepers!" +continued Mr. Barbary, with enthusiasm. "The spice of daring in it, of +danger, if you choose to put it that way, stimulates the nerves like +wine." + +"Not quite orthodox, though, mon ami." + +"Orthodox be hanged. Stolen pleasures are sweetest, as we all know. You +shall go out with me some night, Edgar, and judge for yourself." + +"Don't say but I will--just to look on--if you'll ensure my getting back +in safety," said the barrister, in a tone that might be taken for jest +or earnest, assent or refusal. + +"Back in safety!" came the mocking echo, as if to get back in safety +from midnight poaching were a thing as sure as the sun. "We'll let a +week or two go on; when shooting first comes in the keepers are safe +to be on the alert; and then I'll choose a night for you." + +"All right. I suppose Katrine knows nothing of this?" + +Mr. Barbary lodged his gun in the corner against the wainscot, and +turned to look at the barrister. "Katrine!" he repeated, in surprised +reproach. "Why, _no_. And take care that you don't tell her." + +Mr. Reste nodded. + +"She is the most unsuspicious, innocent child in regard to the ways of +the naughty world that I've ever met with," resumed Barbary. "I don't +think she as much as knows what poaching means." + +"I wonder you should have her here," remarked the younger man, +reflectively. + +"How can I help it? There's nowhere else for her to be. She is too +old to be put to school; and if she were not, I have not the means to +pay for her. It does not signify; she will never suspect anything," +concluded Mr. Barbary. + +Please do not think Caramel Cottage grand enough to possess a regular +"gun-room." Mr. Barbary called it so, because he kept his two guns in +it, also his fishing-tackle and things of that sort. Entering at the +outer porch and over the level door-sill, to the narrow house-passage, +the parlour lay on the left, and was of pretty good size. The gun-room +lay on the right; a little square room with bare boards, unfurnished +save for a deal table, a chair or two, and a strong cupboard let into +the wall, which the master of the house kept locked. Behind this room +was the kitchen, which opened into the back yard. This yard, on the +kitchen side, was bounded by dwarf wooden palings, having a low gate in +their midst. Standing at the gate and looking sideways, you could see +the chimneys of Dyke Manor. On the opposite side, the yard was enclosed +by various small outbuildings and adjuncts belonging to a cottage +homestead. A rain-water barrel stood in the corner by the house; an +open shed next, in which knives were cleaned and garden tools kept; +then came the pump; and lastly, a little room called the brewhouse, used +for washing and brewing, and for cooking also during the worst heat of +summer. A furnace was built beside the grate, and its floor was paved +with square red bricks. Beyond this yard, quite open to it, lay a long +garden, well filled with vegetables and fruit trees, and enclosed by a +high hedge. Upstairs were three bed chambers. Mr. Barbary occupied the +largest and best, which was over the parlour; the smaller one over the +gun-room had been assigned to Edgar Reste, both of them looking front; +whilst Katrine's room was above the kitchen, looking to the yard and the +garden. Old Joan slept in a lean-to loft in the roof. There is a reason +for explaining all this. + + +III + +He had looked like a ghost when we went to school after the races; he +looked like a hale, hearty man when we got home from the holidays at +Michaelmas and to eat the goose. Of course he had had pretty near eight +weeks' spell of idleness and country air at Caramel Cottage. To say the +truth, we felt surprised at his being there still. + +"Well, it _is_ longer than I meant to stay," Mr. Reste admitted, when +Tod said something of this, "The air has done wonders for me." + +"Why longer? The law courts do not open yet." + +"I had thoughts of going abroad. However, that can stay over for next +year." + +"Have you had any shooting?" + +"No. I don't possess a licence." + +It was on the tip of Tod's tongue, as I could well see, to ask why he +did not take out a licence, but he checked it. This little colloquy was +held at the Manor gate on Saturday, the day after our return. Miss +Barbary was leaving Lena at the usual time, and he had come strolling +across the field to meet her. They went away together. + +"What did I tell you, Johnny?" said Tod, turning to me, as soon as they +were out of hearing. "It is a regular case of over-head-and-ears: cut +and dried and pickled." + +"I don't see what you judge by, Tod." + +"_Don't you!_ You'll be a muff to the end, lad. Fancy a fine young +fellow like Reste, a man of the world, staying on at that pokey little +place of Barbary's unless he had some strong motive to keep him there! +I dare say he pays Barbary well for the accommodation." + +"I dare say Barbary could not afford to entertain him unless he did." + +"He stops there to make love to her. It must be a poor look-out, though, +for Katrine, pretty little dimpled girl! As much chance of a wedding, +I should say, as of a blue moon." + +"Why not?" + +"Why not! Want of funds. I'd start for London, if I were you, Johnny, +and set the Thames on fire. A man must be uncommonly hard up when he +lets all the birds go beside him for want of taking out a licence." + +They were walking onwards slowly, Mr. Reste bending to talk to her. +And of course it will be understood that a good deal of that which I +have said, and am about to say, is only related from what came to my +knowledge later on. + +"Is it true that you had meant to go abroad this year?" Katrine was +asking him. + +"Yes, I once thought of it," he answered. "I have friends living at +Dieppe, and they wanted me to go to them. But I have stayed on here +instead. Another week of it, ten days perhaps, and then I must leave +Worcestershire and you, Katrine." + +"But why?" + +"Why, to work, my dear little girl. That is getting in arrears +shamefully. We are told that all work and no play makes Jack a dull +boy; but all play and no work would have worse results for Jack than +dullness. Ah, Katrine, what a world this might be if we could only do +as we like in it!" + +"When shall you come again?" + +"Perhaps never," he answered, incautiously. + +"Never!" she repeated, her face turning white before she could hide it +from him. It was a great shock. + +"Katrine, my dear," he said with some emotion, his tones low and +earnest, "I could stay at Caramel Cottage for my whole life and never +wish to quit it, unless I carried somebody else away from it with me. +But there are things which a poor man, a man without money in the +present or prospect of it in the future, may not as much as glance at: +he must put the temptation from him and hold it at arm's length. I +had a dream the other night," he added, after a pause: "I thought I +was a Q.C. and stood in my silk, haranguing a full bench of judges at +Westminster--who listened to me with attentive suavity. When I awoke I +burst out laughing." + +"At the contrast it presented to reality?" she breathed. + +"Just at that. If I were only making enough to set up a snug little nest +of a home, though ever so small, it would be--something: but I am not. +And so, Katrine, you see that many things I would do I cannot do; cannot +even think of. And there it lies, and there it ends." + +"Yes, I see, Edgar," she answered, softly sighing. + +"Shall you miss me when I am gone?" + +Some queer feeling took her throat; she could not speak. Mr. Reste +stopped to pick a little pale blue-bell that grew under the hedge. + +"I do not know how I shall bear with the loneliness then," she said in +answer, seemingly more to herself than to him, or to the blue sky right +before her, on which her eyes were fixed. "And I shall be more afraid +when you are no longer in the house." + +"Afraid!" he exclaimed, turning to her in blank surprise. "What are you +afraid of, Katrine?" + +"It--it is all so solitary for me.... Old Joan is too deaf to be talked +to much; and papa is either at work in the garden or shut up in the +gun-room, busy with his things. Please don't laugh at my childishness!" + +She had paused, just to get over her embarrassment, the avowal having +slipped from her unwittingly. The fact was, poor Katrine Barbary had +been rudely awakened from her state of innocent security. Some days +back, when in the cottage hut of Mary Standish, for Katrine liked to go +about and make friends with the people, that ill-doing husband of +Mary's, Jim, chanced to be at home. Jim had just been had up before the +magistrates at Alcester on some suspicion connected with snares and +gins, but there was no certain proof forthcoming, and he had to be +discharged. Katrine remarked that if she were Jim she should leave +off poaching, which must be a very dreadful thing, and frightfully +hazardous. Mr. Jim replied that it was not a dreadful thing, nor +hazardous either, for them that knew what they were about, and he +referred her to her father for confirmation of this assertion. One word +led to another. Jim Standish, his ideas loose and lawless, never thought +to hurt the young lady by what he disclosed, for he was kind enough when +he had no motive to be the contrary, but when Katrine left the hut, she +carried with her the terrible knowledge that her father was as fond of +poaching as the worst of them. Since then she had lived in a state of +chronic terror. + +"Yes, it must be very solitary for you," assented Mr. Reste in a grave +tone, and he had no idea that her answer was an evasive one, or its +lightness put on; "but I cannot help you, Katrine. Should you ever need +counsel, or--or protection in any way, apply for it to your friends at +Dyke Manor. They seem kind, good people, and would be strong to aid." + +Turning in at the little side gate as he spoke, they saw Mr. Barbary at +work in the garden. He was digging up a plot of ground some seven or +eight feet square under the branches of the summer-apple tree, which +grew at this upper end of the garden, nearly close to the yard. + +"What is he going to plant there, I wonder?" listlessly spoke Mr. Reste, +glancing at the freshness of the turned-up mould. + +"Winter cabbages, perhaps; but I am sure I don't know," returned +Katrine. "I do not understand the seasons for planting vegetables as +papa does." + +This, as I have just said, was on Saturday. We saw Mr. Reste and Katrine +at church the next day: a place Barbary did not often trouble with +his presence; and walked with them, on coming out, as far as the two +ways lay. Our people liked the look of Edgar Reste, but had not put +themselves forward to make much acquaintance with him, on account of +Barbary. One Tuesday, when the Squire was driving to Alcester, he had +overtaken Mr. Reste walking thither to have a look at the market, and +he invited him to a seat in the carriage. They drove in and drove back +together, and had between the times a snack of bread and cheese at the +Angel. The Squire took quite a fancy to the young barrister, and openly +said to him he wished he was staying anywhere but at Caramel Cottage. + +"You are thinking of leaving soon, I hear," said the Squire, as we +halted in a group when parting, on this same walk from church. + +"In about a week," replied Mr. Reste. "I may go on Saturday next; +certainly not later than the following Monday." + +"Shall you like a drive to Evesham between this and then?" went on the +Squire. "I am going over there one of these days." + +"I shall like it very much indeed." + +"Then I will let you know which day I go. Good-bye." + +"Good-bye," answered Mr. Reste, lifting his hat in salute to us all, as +he walked on with Katrine. + +Am I lingering over these various trifling details? I suppose it will +seem so. But the truth is, a dreadful part of the story is coming on (as +poor Katrine said of the poaching) and my pen holds back from it. + + * * * * * + +A day or two had gone on. It was Tuesday morning, warm and bright with +sunshine. Katrine sat in the parlour at Caramel Cottage, pouring out the +coffee at the breakfast-table. + +"Will you take some ham, Katrine?" + +"No, thank you, papa; I have no appetite." + +"No appetite! nonsense!" and Mr. Barbary put a slice of ham on her +plate. "Do you feel inclined for a walk as far as Church Leet this +morning, Edgar?" + +"I don't mind," said Mr. Reste. "About three miles, is it not?" + +"Three miles across the fields as straight as the crow flies. I want to +see a man who lives there. He--why, that's Pettipher coming here!--the +postman," broke off Mr. Barbary. Letters were not written every day +then, and very few found their way to Caramel Cottage. + +Old Joan went to the door, and then came in. She was like a picture. A +dark-blue linsey gown down to her ancles, neat black stockings and low, +tied shoes, a check apron, and a bow of black ribbon perched in front +behind the flapping border of her white muslin mob-cap. + +"Pettipher says 'tis for the gentleman," said Joan, putting the letter, +a thick one, on the table by Mr. Reste. + +"Why, it is from Amphlett!" he exclaimed, as he took it up, looking at +the great sprawling writing. "What on earth has he got to say?" + +Opening the letter, a roll of bank-notes fell out. Mr. Reste stared at +them with intense curiosity. + +"Is it your ship come in?" asked Katrine gaily: for he was wont to say +he would do this or that when "his ship came home." + +"No, Katrine; not much chance of that. Let me see what he says." + +"'Dear Reste,--I enclose you my debt at last. The other side have come +to their senses, and given in, and paid over to me instalment the first. +Thank you, old friend; you are a good fellow never to have bothered me. +Let me know your movements when you write back; I ask it particularly. +Ever yours, W. A.' + +"Well, I never expected that," cried Mr. Reste, as he read the words +aloud. + +"Money lent by you, Edgar?" asked Mr. Barbary. + +"Yes; three or four years ago. I had given it up as a bad job. Never +thought he would gain his cause." + +"What cause? Who is he?" + +"Captain Amphlett, of the Artillery, and an old friend of mine. As to +the cause, it was some injustice that his avaricious relatives involved +him in, and he had no resource but to bring an action. I am glad he has +gained it; he is an honest fellow, no match for them in cunning." + +Mr. Reste was counting the notes while he spoke; six of them for ten +pounds each. Katrine happened to look at her father, and was startled +at the expression of his face--at the grasping, covetous, _evil_ regard +he had fixed upon the notes. She felt frightened, half sick, with some +vague apprehension. Mr. Reste smoothed the notes out one by one, and +laid them open on the breakfast cloth in a little stack. While doing +this, he caught Mr. Barbary's covetous look. + +"You'd like such a windfall yourself," he said laughingly to his host. + +"I should. For _that_ a man might be tempted to smother his +grandmother." + +Katrine instinctively shuddered, though the avowal was given in a half +jesting tone. A prevision of evil seized her. + + + + +CARAMEL COTTAGE + + +II.--DISAPPEARANCE + + +I + +October was setting in beautifully. Some people say it is the most +lovely month in the year when the skies are blue and genial. + +Seated at the breakfast-table at Caramel Cottage that Tuesday morning, +with the window thrown open to the warm, pleasant air, the small party +of three might have enjoyed that air, but for being preoccupied with +their own reflections. Edgar Reste was thinking of the bank-notes which +the postman had just brought him in Captain Amphlett's letter; Katrine +Barbary sat shrinking from the vague fear imparted to her by the curious +avowal her father had made in language not too choice, as his covetous +eyes rested on the money: "For that, a man might be tempted to smother +his grandmother." While Mr. Barbary had started instantly up and flung +the window higher, as if in the silence that followed the words, they +had struck back upon himself unpleasantly, and he sought to divert +attention from them. + +"A grand day for the outlying crops," he remarked, his lithe, slender +form, his pale, perfect features showing out well in the light of the +brilliant morning. "But most of the grain is in, I think. We shall have +a charming walk to Church Leet, Edgar." + +"Yes," assented Mr. Reste, as he folded the notes together and placed +them in his pocket-book. There were six of them for £10 each. + +Breakfast over, Katrine set off for Dyke Manor that morning as usual, to +talk to Lena in French, and teach her to read it. She stayed luncheon +with us. Chancing to say that her father and his guest were gone to +Church Leet, Mrs. Todhetley kept her. + +At four o'clock, when Katrine went home, she found they had returned, +and were then shut up in the gun-room. Katrine could hear the hum of +their voices, with now and again a burst of merry laughter from Edgar +Reste. + +"Have they had dinner?" she enquired of Joan. + +"Ay, sure they have, Miss Katrine. They got back at two o'clock, and I +prepared the dinner at once." + +I had lent Katrine that afternoon the "Vicar of Wakefield,"--which she +said she had never read; one could hardly believe such a thing of an +English girl, but I suppose it was through her having lived over in +France. Taking it into the back garden, she sat down on a rustic bench, +one or two of which stood about. By-and-by Edgar Reste came out and sat +down beside her. + +"Had you a nice walk to-day?" she asked. + +"Very," he answered. "What a quaint little village Church Leet is! +Hardly to be called a village, though. Leet Hall is a fine old place." + +"Yes, I have heard so. I have not seen it." + +"Not seen it! Do you mean to say, Katrine, that you have never been to +Church Leet?" + +"Not yet. Nobody has ever invited me to go, and I cannot walk all that +way by myself, you know." + +He was sitting sideways, his left arm leaning on the elbow of the bench, +his kindly, luminous brown eyes fixed on her fair pretty face, all +blushes and dimples. Ah, if fortune had but smiled upon him!--if he +might but have whispered to this young girl, who had become so dear to +him, of the love that filled his whole heart! + +"Suppose you walk over with me one of these fine days before I leave?" +he continued. "It won't be too far for you, will it?" + +"Oh no. I should like to go." + +"There is the prettiest churchyard you ever saw, to rest in. And such +a quaint little church, covered with ivy. The Rectory, standing by, is +quite a grand mansion in comparison with the church." + +"And the church has a history, I believe." + +"Ay, as connected with the people of the Hall and the Rectory; and with +its own chimes, that never played, I hear, but disaster followed. We +will go then, Katrine, some afternoon between now and Saturday." + +Her face fell; she turned it from him. "_Must_ you leave on Saturday, +Edgar?" + +"My dear little cousin, yes. Cousins in name, you know we are, though +not in reality." + +"You did say you might stay until Monday." + +"Ay, my will would be good to stay till Monday, and many a Monday after +it: but you see, Katrine, I have neglected my work too long, and I +cannot break into another week. So you must please make the most of me +until Saturday," he added playfully, "when I shall take the evening +train." + +"You English do not care to travel on a Sunday, I notice." + +"We English! Allow me to remind Mademoiselle that she is just as much +English as are the rest of us." + +Katrine smiled. + +"My good mother instilled all kinds of old-world notions into me, +Katrine. Amongst them was that of never doing week-day work on a Sunday +unless compelled by necessity." + +"Do you never work on a Sunday--at your reviews and writings, and all +that?" + +"Never. I am sure it would not bring me luck if I did. Suppose we fix +Thursday for walking to Church Leet?" + +"That will do nicely. Unless--Squire Todhetley invited you to go with +him to Evesham one day, you know," broke off Katrine. "He may just fix +upon Thursday." + +"In that case we will take our walk on Friday." + +A silence ensued. Their hearts were very full, and that makes speech +reticent. Katrine glanced now and again at the pages of the "Vicar of +Wakefield," which lay in her lap, but she did not read it. As to the +barrister, he was looking at her; at the face that had become so dear to +him. They might never meet again, nothing on earth might come of the +present intimacy and the sweet burning longings, but he knew that he +should remember her to the end of time. A verse of one of Moore's +melodies passed through his mind: unconsciously he began to hum it: + + "O, that hallowed form is ne'er forgot + Which first love traced; + Still it, lingering, haunts the greenest spot + On memory's waste." + +"Here comes Joan to say tea is ready," interrupted Katrine. + +They strolled indoors slowly, side by side. The tea-tray waited in the +parlour. Mr. Barbary came in from the gun-room, and they all sat down to +the table. + +After tea he went back to the gun-room, Mr. Reste with him, leaving +Katrine alone. She had the candles lighted and began to mend a piece of +Mrs. Todhetley's valuable old lace. Presently Joan came in to ask a +question. + +"Miss Katrine, is it the brace of partridges or the pheasants that are +to be cooked for supper? Do you know?" + +"No, that I don't," said Katrine. "But I can ask." + +Putting down her work, she went to the gun-room and gently opened the +door. Upon which, she heard these remarkable words from Mr. Reste: + +"I wouldn't hesitate at all if it were not for the moon." + +"The moon makes it all the safer," contended Mr. Barbary. "Foes can't +rush upon one unawares when the moon's shining. I tell you this will be +one of the best possible nights for you." + +"Papa, papa," hurriedly broke in Katrine, speaking through the dusk of +twilight, "is Joan to cook the pheasants or the partridges?" + +"The pheasants," he answered sharply. "Shut the door." + +So the pheasants were dressed for supper, and very nice they proved with +their bread-sauce and rich gravy. Mr. Barbary especially seemed to enjoy +them; his daughter did not. + +Poor Katrine's senses were painfully alert that night, as she lay +listening after getting to bed. The words she had overheard in the +gun-room seemed to her to bear but one meaning--that not only was her +father going abroad into the wilds of danger, but Edgar Reste also. They +had gone to their respective rooms early, soon after she went to hers; +but that might be meant as a blind and told nothing. + +By-and-by, she caught a sound as of the stairs creaking. Mr. Reste and +her father were both creeping down them. Katrine flew to her window and +peeped behind the blind. + +They went out together by the back door. The bright moonbeams lay full +upon the yard. Mr. Reste seemed to be attired like her father, in high +leggings and a large old shooting-coat, no doubt borrowed plumes. Each +of them carried a gun, and they stole cautiously out at the little side +gate. + +"Oh," moaned the unhappy Katrine, "if papa would but take better care +of himself! If he would but leave off doing this most dreadful and +dangerous thing!" + +Whether Katrine fell asleep after that, or not, she could never decide: +it appeared as though but a short time had elapsed, when she was +startled by a sharp sound outside, close to the house. It might have +been the report of a gun, but she was not sure. This was followed by +some stir in the yard and covert talking. + +"They are bringing in the game they have shot," thought Katrine, "but +oh, I am thankful they have got back safely!" And she put the pillow +over her head and ears, and lay shivering. + + * * * * * + +Squire Todhetley was as good and lenient a man at heart as could be +found in our two counties, Warwickshire and Worcestershire; fonder of +forgiving sins and sinners than of bringing them to book, and you have +not read of him all these years without learning it. But there was one +offence that stirred his anger up to bubbling point, especially when +committed against himself. And that was poaching. + +So that, when we got downstairs to breakfast at Dyke Manor on the +following morning, Wednesday, and were greeted with the news that some +poachers had been out on our land in the night, and had shot at the +keepers, it was no wonder the Squire went into a state of commotion, +and that the rest of us partook of it. + +"Johnny, tell Mack to fetch Jones; to bring him here instantly," fumed +he. "Those Standishes have been in this work!" + +I went to carry the orders to Mack in the yard. In passing back, after +giving them, I saw that the dog-kennel was empty and the chain lying +loose. + +"Where's Don?" I asked. "Who has taken him out?" + +"Guess he have strayed out of hisself, Master Johnny," was Mack's +answer. "He was gone when I come on this morning, sir, and the gate +were standing wide open." + +"Gone then?--and the gate open? Where's Giles?" + +But, even as I put the question, I caught sight of Giles at the stable +pump, plunging his head and face into a pail of water. So I knew what +had been the matter with _him_. Giles was a first-rate groom and a good +servant, and it was very seldom indeed that he took more than was good +for him, but it did happen at intervals. + +Old Jones arrived in obedience to the summons, and stood on his fat +gouty legs in the hall while the Squire talked to him. The faith he put +in that old constable was surprising, whose skill and discernment were +about suited to the year One. + +His tale of the night's doings, as confirmed by other tales, was not +very clear. At least, much satisfaction could not be got out of it. Some +poachers congregated on a plot of land called Dyke's Neck--why it should +have been so named nobody understood--were surprised by the keepers +early in the night. A few stray shots were interchanged, no damage +being done on either side, and the poachers made off, escaping not only +scot-free but unrecognised. This last fact bore the keenest sting of +all, and the Squire paced the hall in a fury. + +"You must unearth them," he said to Jones: "don't tell me. They can't +have buried themselves, the villains!" + +"No need to look far for 'em, Squire," protested Jones. "It's them +jail-birds, the three Standishes. If it's not, I'll eat my head." + +"Then why have you not taken up the three Standishes?" retorted the +Squire. "Of course it is the Standishes." + +"Well, your honour, because I can't get at 'em," said Jones helplessly. +"Jim, he is off somewhere; and Dick, he swears through thick and thin +that he was never out of his bed last night; and t'other, Tom, ain't +apperiently at home at all just now. I looked in at their kitchen on my +way here, and that was all I could get out of Mary." + +It was at this juncture that Katrine arrived, preparatory to her +morning's work with Lena. Old Jones and the Squire, still in the hall, +were chanting a duet upon the poachers' iniquity, and she halted by me +to listen. I was sitting on the elbow of the carved-oak settle. Katrine +looked pale as a sheet. + +Girls, thought I, do not like to hear of these things. For I knew +nothing then of her fears that the offenders had been her father and Mr. +Reste. + +"If the poachers had been taken, sir--what then?" she said tremblingly +to the Squire, in a temporary lull of the voices. + +"What then, Miss Barbary? Why then they would have been lodged in gaol, +and the neighbourhood well rid of them," was the impulsive answer. + +"Snug and safe, miss," put in old Jones, shuffling on his gouty legs in +his thick white stockings, "a-waiting to stand their trial next spring +assizes at Worcester. Which it would be transportation for 'em, I +hope--a using o' their guns indeed!" + +"Were they known at all?" gasped Katrine. "And might not the gamekeepers +have shot _them_? Perhaps have killed them?" + +"Killed 'em or wounded 'em, like enough," assented Jones, "and it would +be a good riddance of such varmint, as his worship says, miss. And a +misfortin it is that they be _not_ known. Which is an odd thing to my +mind, sir, considering the lightness o' the night: and I'd like to find +out whether them there keepers did their duty, or didn't do it." + +"I can't see the dog anywhere, father," interrupted Tod, dashing in at +this moment in a white heat, for he had been racing about in search of +Don. + +"What, is the dog off?" exclaimed old Jones. + +"Yes, he is," said Tod. "And if those poachers have stolen him, I'll try +and get them hanged." + +Leaving us to our commotion, Katrine Barbary passed on to the nursery +with Lena, where the lessons were taken. This straying away of Don made +one of the small calamities of the day. Giles, put to the torture of +confession, admitted that he remembered unchaining Don the past night +as usual, but could not remember whether or not he locked the gate. Of +course the probability was that he left it wide open, Mack having found +it so in the morning. So that Mr. Don, finding himself at liberty, might +have gone out promenading as early in the night as he pleased. Giles was +ready to hang himself with vexation. The dog was a valuable animal; a +prize for any tramp or poacher, for he could be sold at a high price. + +We turned out on our different quests; old Jones after the poachers, I +and Tod after Don: and the morning wore on. + +Katrine went home at midday. This news of the night encounter between +the keepers and the poachers had thrown her into a state of anxious +pain--though of course the reader fully understands that I am, so far, +writing of what I knew nothing about until later. That her father and +Edgar Reste had been the poachers of the past night she could not doubt, +and a dread of the discovery which might ensue lay upon her with a sick +fear. The Standishes might have been included in the party; more than +likely they were; Ben Gibbon also. Mr. Jim Standish had contrived to let +Katrine believe that they were all birds of a feather, tarred with the +same brush. But how could Edgar Reste have allowed himself to be drawn +into it even for one night? She could not understand that. + +Entering Caramel Cottage by its side gate, Katrine found Joan seated +in the kitchen, slicing kidney beans for dinner. Her father was in his +favourite den, the gun-room, Mr. Reste was out. When she left in the +morning, neither of them had quitted his respective chamber, an entirely +unusual thing. + +"How late you are with those beans, Joan!" listlessly observed Katrine. + +"The master sent me to the Silver Bear for a bottle of the best brandy, +and it hindered me," explained Joan. "They were having a fine noise +together when I got back," she added, dropping her voice. + +"Who were?" quickly cried Katrine. + +"The master and Mr. Reste. Talking sharply at one another, they were, +like two savages. I could hear 'em through my deafness. Ben Gibbon was +here when I went out, but he'd gone when I came in with the brandy." + +What with one thing and another, Katrine felt more uncomfortable than an +oyster out of its shell. Mr. Reste came in at dinner-time, and she saw +nothing amiss then, except that he and her father were both unusually +silent. + +Afterwards they went out together, and Katrine hoped that the +unpleasantness between them was at an end. + +She was standing at the front gate late in the afternoon, looking up and +down the solitary road, which was no better than a wide field path, when +Tod and I shot out of the dark grove by Caramel's Farm, and made up to +her. + +"You look hot and tired," she said to us. + +"So would you, Miss Barbary, if you had been scouring the fields in +search of Don, as we have," answered Tod, who was in a desperate mood. + +At that moment Mr. Barbary came swinging round the corner of the short +lane that led to the high-road, his guest following him. They nodded to +us and went in at the gate. + +"You do not happen to have seen anything of our Newfoundland dog to-day, +I suppose, Mr. Barbary?" questioned Tod. + +"No, I have not," he answered. "My daughter mentioned to me that he had +strayed away." + +"Strayed away or been stolen," corrected Tod. "The dog was a favourite, +and it has put my father out more than you'd believe. He thinks the +Standishes may have got him: especially if it is they who were out in +the night." + +"Shouldn't wonder but they have," said Mr. Barbary. + +Standing by in silence, I had been wondering what had come to Mr. Reste. +He leaned against the porch, listening to this, arms folded, brow +lowering, face dark, not a bit like his own pleasant self. + +"I am about the neighbourhood a good deal; I'll not fail to keep a +look-out," said Mr. Barbary, as we were turning away. "He was a fine +dog, and might prove a temptation to the Standishes; but I should be +inclined to think it more likely that he has strayed to a distance than +that they have captured him. They might find a difficulty in concealing +a large, powerful dog such as he is." + +"Not they; they are deep enough for any wicked action," concluded Tod, +as we went onwards. + +It was tea-time then at Caramel Cottage, and they sat down to take it. +Mr. Barbary was sociable and talked of this and that; Edgar Reste spoke +hardly a word; Katrine busied herself with the teapot and cups. At dusk +Ben Gibbon came in, and Katrine was sent to bear Joan company in the +kitchen. Brandy and whisky were put upon the table, Joan being called to +bring in hot and cold water. They sat drinking, as Katrine supposed, and +talking together in covert tones for two hours, when Gibbon left; upon +which Katrine was graciously told by her father she might return to the +parlour. Her head ached badly, she felt ill at ease, and when supper was +over went up to bed. But she could not get to sleep. + +About eleven o'clock, as she judged it to be, loud and angry sounds +arose. Her father and Mr. Reste had renewed their dispute--whatever its +cause might be. By-and-by, when it was at its height, she heard Mr. +Reste dash out at the back door; she heard her father dash after him. In +the yard there seemed to be a scuffle, more hot words, and then a sudden +silence. Katrine rose and stole to the window to look. + +She could not see either of them. But a noise in the kitchen beneath, +as if the fire-irons were thrown down, seemed to say they had come back +indoors. Another minute and her father came out with a lighted lantern +in his hand; she wondered why, as it was moonlight. He crossed the yard +and went into the back kitchen, or brewhouse, as it was more often +called, and Katrine, hoping the quarrel was over, got into bed again. +Presently the back door was shut with a bang that shook the room, and +footsteps were heard ascending the stairs, and afterwards all was quiet +until morning. + +As on the past morning, so it was on this. When Katrine got downstairs +she found that neither her father nor Mr. Reste was up. She breakfasted +alone, and set off for the Manor afterwards. + +But, as it chanced, she was to have partial holiday that day. Lena +complained of a sore throat; she was subject to sore throats; so Miss +Barbary was released when the lesson was half over, and returned home. + +Going to her room to take her bonnet off, she found Joan busy there. +From the window she saw her father at work at the far end of the garden. +This was Thursday, the day of the projected walk to Church Leet, and +very lovely weather. But Mr. Reste had not said anything about it since +the Tuesday afternoon. + +"Is Mr. Reste gone out, Joan?" + +"Mr. Reste is gone, Miss Katrine." + +"Gone where?" asked she. + +"Gone away; gone back to London," said Joan. Upon which Katrine, staring +at the old woman, inquired what she meant. + +It appeared that Mr. Barbary had left his chamber close upon Katrine's +departure, and sat down to breakfast. When he had finished he called +Joan to take the things away. She inquired whether they had not better +be left for Mr. Reste. He answered that Mr. Reste was gone. "What, gone +away back to London?" Joan cried, in surprise; and her master said, +"Yes." "You might just have knocked me down with a feather, Miss +Katrine, I was that took to," added Joan now, in relating this. "Never +to say good-bye to me, nor anything!" + +Katrine, thinking there was somebody else he had not said good-bye to, +could hardly speak from amazement. "When did he go, Joan? Since +breakfast? Or was he gone when I went out?" + +"Well, I don't know," pondered Joan; "it seems all a moither in my head; +as if I couldn't put this and that together. I never saw nor heard +anything of him at all this morning, and I find his bed has not been +slept in, which looks as if he went last night. It's odd, too, that he +didn't say he was going, and it's odd he should start off to London at +midnight. Your papa is in one of his short tempers, Miss Katrine, and +I've not dared to ask him about it." + +Katrine, as she listened, felt perfectly bewildered. Why had he taken +his departure in this strange manner? What for? What had caused him to +do it? Joan had told all she knew, and it was of no use questioning her +further. + +Mr. Reste's chamber door stood open; Katrine halted at it and looked in. +Why! he seemed to have taken nothing with him! His coats were hanging +up; trifles belonging to him lay about on chairs; on the side shelf +stood his little portable desk--and she had heard him say that he never +travelled without that desk, it went with him wherever he went. Opening +a drawer or two, she saw his linen, his neckties, his handkerchiefs. +What was the meaning of it all? Could he have been recalled to London in +some desperate hurry? But no letter or summons of any kind had come to +Caramel Cottage, so far as she knew, except the letter from Captain +Amphlett on Tuesday morning, and that one had not recalled him. + +"There be two pairs of his boots in the kitchen," said Joan. "He has +took none with him but them he's got on." + +"I _must_ ask papa about it," cried the puzzled Katrine. + +Mr. Barbary was at the bottom of the garden working away at the celery +bed in his shirt sleeves; his coat lay across the cucumber-frame. + +"What brings you home now?" he cried out, looking up as Katrine drew +near. + +"The little girl is not well. Papa," she added, her voice taking a +timid, shrinking tone, she hardly knew why, "Joan says Mr. Reste is +gone." + +"Well?" + +"But why has he left so suddenly, without saying anything about it?" + +"He could do so if he pleased. He was at liberty to go or stay." + +Katrine could not dispute that. She hardly liked to say more, her +father's answers were so curt and cross. + +"He must have gone unexpectedly, papa." + +"Unexpectedly! Not at all. He has been talking of going all the week." + +Katrine paused. "Is he coming back, papa?" + +"Not that I know of." + +"But he has not taken any of his things." + +"I am going to pack his things and send them after him." + +"But----_when_ did he go, papa?" + +Mr. Barbary, who had kept on working, drew himself bolt upright. Letting +his hands rest on the handle of his spade, he looked sternly into +Katrine's face. + +"He went last night." + +"He----he never told me he was going. He never said anything about it." + +"And why should he tell you?" demanded Mr. Barbary. "It was enough that +he told me. He thought he had been quite long enough away from his work, +and that it was high time to go back to it. I thought the same. That's +all, Katrine; you need not inquire further. And now you can go indoors." + +She walked slowly up the narrow path, conscious that some mystery must +lie behind this. Joan was standing in the yard, outside the back-kitchen +door, trying to pull it open. + +"This here back'us door's locked!" exclaimed Joan, in her country +vernacular. "I want the spare jack out; t'other's given way at last." + +"It can't be locked," dissented Katrine. "It never is." + +"Well, I've never known the door locked afore; but 'tis now, Miss +Katrine. I noticed it was shut to all day yesterday, but I didn't try +it." + +"It is only stuck," said Katrine, laying hold of the high old-fashioned +bow handle which served to lift the latch inside; and she shook it well. + +"What's that? What are you about?" called out Mr. Barbary, dashing up +the path like a flash of lightning. "Let the door alone." + +"Joan says it is locked, papa," said Katrine, frightened by his manner. + +"And what if it is? I have locked up some--some wine there that came in. +How dare you meddle with the places I choose to keep closed?" + +"It's the other jack I want out, sir," said Joan, hearing imperfectly. + +"You can't have the other jack." + +"But, master, the old jack's broke clean in two, and it's time to put +the lamb down." + +"Cut it into chops," he cried, waving them both off, and standing, +himself, before the door, as if to guard it, with a white, imperious, +passionate face. + +Single-minded old Joan went indoors, marvelling a little--such a bit of +a trouble for him to have opened the back'us door and given her out the +jack! Katrine followed, marvelling very much. She did not believe in the +wine: felt sure no wine had come in; they never had any; what was it +that was locked up there? All in a moment a thought flashed over her +that it might be game: poached game: pheasants and partridges and hares. +But, upon that thought came another: why should the spoil have been +brought in on Tuesday night when it had never (as she believed) been +brought before? Just a little came in for their own use, nothing more. + + +II + +That day, Thursday, we had news of Don. And we had it in this way. +Tobias Jellico--who had a small draper's shop at Evesham, and went about +the country with a pack, out of which he seduced unwary ladies to buy +finery, more particularly some of our ladies living in Piefinch Cut--was +at Church Dykely to-day on one of his periodical visitations. We did not +like the man or his trade; but that's neither here nor there. Hearing +that the Squire's dog was lost, he at once said he had seen Dick +Standish that morning in Bengeworth (a portion of Evesham) with a large +Newfoundland dog. White-and-brown, he called it; which was a mistake, +for Don was white and black; but Jellico might not know colours. It was +Mr. Duffham who brought us this news in the afternoon: he had been sent +for to Lena, whose throat was getting worse. Duffham heard it from +Perkins the butcher, to whom Jellico told it. + +I don't know which item pleased the Squire most: that Don was found, or +that the guilt of Tuesday night was traced home to the Standishes; for +the three brothers had in general a certain gentleman's own luck, and +were rarely caught. + +"Don went out roaming, through that villain Giles unloosing him and +leaving the yard gate open," decided the Squire, in his excitement. "The +dog must have sprung upon them; he has a mortal enmity to tramps and +poachers, you know, Duffham; and the Standishes captured him. I'll send +a message to the police at Evesham at once, to look after Mr. Dick, and +go over myself in the morning." + +"Anyway, I'm glad the dog's found," said Duffham. "But what an idiot +Dick Standish must be to allow himself to be seen with the dog in the +public streets." + +"Johnny," said the Squire, turning to me as he was leaving the room to +send a man galloping on horseback to the Evesham police, "you run over +to Caramel Cottage. Make my compliments to young Reste; say that I am +going to drive to Evesham to-morrow morning, and shall be happy to take +him if he likes to accompany me. I offered to drive him over some day +before he left, but this bother has caused me to delay it. Shall start +at nine o'clock, tell him." + +About the time the Squire was charging me with this message, Katrine +Barbary was sitting in the homely garden at Caramel Cottage, amidst the +fruit trees, the vegetables, and the late flowers. The October sunlight +fell on her pretty face, that somehow put you in mind of a peach with +its softest bloom upon it. + +Katrine was striving to see daylight out of a mass of perplexity, of +which I then knew nothing, and she could not discern a single ray. Why +should that fine young barrister, Edgar Reste, staying with them so +peacefully for several weeks past, and fully intending to stay this +week out--why should he have run away by night, leaving behind him an +atmosphere of mystery? This question would never leave Katrine's mind by +night or by day. + +Sitting there in the afternoon sun, she was running over mentally, for +the tenth time or so, the details of the affair. One or two of them +might have looked somewhat shady to a suspicious observer; to Katrine +they presented only a web of perplexity. She felt sure that when she +went to bed on the Wednesday night he had no thought of leaving; and yet +it seemed that he did leave. When Joan rose in the early morning, he had +disappeared--vanished, as may be said. The puzzle that Katrine could not +solve was this: why had he gone away in haste so great that he could not +take his clothes with him? and why had he gone at all in an unexpected, +stealthy way, saying nothing to anybody? + +"It looks just as though he had run away to escape some imminent danger, +with not a minute to spare," mused Katrine. + +At this moment Katrine met with an interruption to her thoughts in the +shape of me. Catching a glimpse of her print frock through the hedge, I +went straight in at the little side gate, without troubling the front +door. + +"Sit down, Johnny," she said, holding out her hand, and making room for +me on the bench. And as I took the seat, I said what I had come for--to +deliver the Squire's message to Mr. Reste. + +"Mr. Reste has left us," said Katrine. "He went away last night." + +"Went away last night!" I exclaimed, the news surprising me uncommonly. +"What took him off so suddenly?" + +Open-natured as the day, Katrine told me the particulars (which proved +that she had no dark fears about it as yet), of course saying nothing +about the poaching. And she did mention the quarrel. + +"It is so strange that he should leave all his things behind him--don't +you see that, Johnny?" she said. "Even that little desk, full of private +papers, is left, and he never travels without it; his boots are left." + +"He must have had some news to call him away. A letter perhaps." + +"The only letter he has had lately came on Tuesday morning," returned +Katrine. "It had a good deal of money in it in bank-notes; sixty pounds; +but it did not call him away. _Nothing_ called him away, that I can +discover. You can't think how it is worrying me; it seems just a +mystery." + +"Look here, Katrine," I said, after mentally twisting the matter this +way and that, "I've known the most unaccountable problems turn out to be +the simplest on explanation. When you hear from him, as you most likely +will in a day or two, I dare say he will tell you he was called away +unexpectedly, and had to go at once. Does not Mr. Barbary know why he +went?" + +"Well, yes; I fancy he does: he is indoors now, packing Mr. Reste's +things: but he does not tell me." + +After talking a little longer, we strolled up the path together, and had +reached the yard when Mr. Barbary suddenly opened the kitchen door to +shake the dust from a coat that seemed covered with it. His handsome +face took a haughty expression, and his slender, shapely form was drawn +up in pride as he looked sternly at me, as much as to say, "What do you +want here?" + +I turned, on my way to the side gate, to explain: that Don had been seen +at Evesham in the company of Dick Standish, that the Squire would be +driving thither on the morrow, and had thought Mr. Reste might like to +go with him. + +"Very kind of Mr. Todhetley," drawled Barbary in his stand-off manner. +"Tell him, with my compliments and thanks for his courtesy, that my +nephew has left for London." + +"Left for good, I suppose?" I said. + +"For the present, at any rate. A pressing matter of business recalled +him, and he had to attend to it without delay." + +I glanced at Katrine: there was the explanation. + +"So the dog is at Evesham!" remarked Mr. Barbary. "The Standishes are +great rogues, all three of them, and Dick's the worst. But--I think--had +you gone after him to-day, instead of delaying it until to-morrow, there +might have been more certainty of finding him. Mr. Dick may give you +leg-bail in the night." + +"The police will see he does not do that; the Squire has sent a +messenger to warn them," I replied. "I suppose you have not heard any +more rumours about the poaching on Tuesday night, Mr. Barbary?" + +"I've heard no more than was said at first--that the keepers reported +some poachers were out, and they nearly came to an encounter with the +rascals. Wish they had--and that I had seen the fun. Reste and I had +walked to Church Leet and back that day; we were both tired and went +upstairs betimes." + +To hear him coolly assert this, to see his good-looking face raised +unblushingly to the sun as he said it, must have been as a bitter farce +to Katrine, who had believed him, until a few days back, to be next door +to a saint for truth and goodness. _I_ put faith in it, not being then +behind the scenes. + +Mr. Barbary did his packing leisurely. Tea was over, and dusk set in +before the portmanteau was shut up and its direction fastened to it. +Katrine read the card. "Edgar Reste, Esq., Euston Square Station, +London. _To be left till called for._" + +Very lonely felt Katrine, sitting by herself that evening, working a +strip of muslin for a frill. _He_ was not there to talk to her in his +voice of music--for that's what she had grown to think it, like other +girls in love. She wondered whether they should ever meet again--ever, +ever? She wondered how long it would be before a letter came from him, +and whether he would write to _her_. + +Mr. Barbary appeared at supper-time, ate some cold lamb in silence, +seeming to be buried in thought, and went back to the gun-room when he +had finished. Katrine got to her work again, did a little, then put it +away for the night, and turned to the book-shelf to get a book. + +Standing to make a choice of one, Katrine was seized with consternation. +On the lower shelf, staring her right in the face, was Mr. Reste's +Bible. It had been given him by his dead father, and he set store by it. +He must have left it downstairs the previous Sunday, and Joan had put it +away on the shelves amongst the other books. + +"I wonder if papa would mind opening the portmanteau again?" thought +Katrine, as she hastened to the gun-room, and entered. + +"Papa! papa! here's Mr. Reste's Bible left out," she cried, impulsively. +"Can you put it into the portmanteau?" + +Mr. Barbary stood by the small safe in the wall, the door of which was +open. In his hand lay some bank-notes; he was holding them towards the +candle on the deal table, and seemed to be counting them. Katrine, +thinking of the Bible and of nothing else, went close to him, and her +eye fell on the notes. He flung them into the cupboard in a covert +manner, gave the door a slam, turned an angry face on Katrine, and a +sharp tongue. + +"Why do you come bursting in upon me in this boisterous fashion? I won't +have it. What? Will I undo the portmanteau to put in a Bible? No, I +won't. Keep it till he chooses to come for it." + +She shrank away frightened, softly closing the door behind her. Those +bank-notes belonged to Mr. Reste: they were the same she had seen him +put into his pocket-book two days ago. Why had he not taken them with +him?--what brought them in her father's possession? The advance shadow +of the dark trouble, soon to come, crept into Katrine Barbary's heart. + +In no mood for reading now, she went to bed, and lay trying to think it +out. What did it all mean? Had her father conjured the pocket-book by +sleight-of-hand out of Mr. Reste's keeping and _stolen_ the notes? She +strove to put the disgraceful thought away from her, and could not. The +distress brought to her by the poaching seemed as nothing to this, bad +though that was.--And would he venture abroad to-night again? + +Joan's light foot-fall passed her door, going up to her bed in the roof. +Once there, nothing ever disturbed the old servant or her deafness until +getting-up time in the morning. Katrine lay on, no sleep in her eyes; +half the night it would have seemed, but that she had learned how slowly +time passes with the restless. Still, it was a good while past twelve, +she thought, when curious sounds, as of _digging_, seemed to arise from +the garden. Sounds too faint perhaps to have been heard in the day-time, +but which penetrated to her ear unless she was mistaken, in the deep, +uncanny, undisturbed silence of the night. She sat up in bed to listen. + +There, it came again! What could it be? People did not dig up gardens at +midnight. Slipping out of bed, she drew the blind aside and peeped out. + +The night was light as day, with a bright, clear, beautiful moon: the +hunters' moon. Underneath the summer-apple tree, close at this end of +the garden, bent Mr. Barbary, digging away with all his might, his large +iron spade turning up the earth swiftly and silently. Katrine's eyes +grew wide with amazement. He had dug up that same plot of ground only a +few days ago, in readiness to plant winter greens: she and Edgar Reste +had stood looking on for a time, talking with him as to the sort of +greens he meant to put in. Why was he digging up the same ground +again?--and why was he doing it at this unearthly hour? + +It appeared to be a hole that was being dug now, for he threw the +spadefuls of mould up on each side pretty far. The ground seemed quite +soft and pliant; owing perhaps to its having been so recently turned. +As the hole grew larger; wider and longer and deeper; an idea flashed +over Katrine that it looked just as though it were meant for a grave. +Not that she thought it. + +Putting a warm shawl on her shoulders and slippers on her feet, she +sat down before the window, drew the blind up an inch or two, and kept +looking out, her curiosity greatly excited. The moon shone steadily, the +time passed, and the hole grew yet larger. Suddenly Mr. Barbary paused +in his work, and held up his head as if to listen. Did he fear, or +fancy, a noise in the field pathway outside, or in the dark grove to the +right near Caramel's Farm? Apparently so: and that he must not be seen +at his work. For he got out of the hole, left the spade in it, came with +noiseless, swift, stealthy movement up the yard, and concealed himself +in the dark tool-shed. Presently, he stole across to the little gate, +looked well about him to the right and left, and then resumed his +digging. + +Quite six feet long it soon looked to Katrine, and three or more feet +wide, and how deep she knew not. _Was it for a grave?_ The apprehension +really stole across her, and with a sick faintness. If so, if so--? A +welcome ray of possibility dawned then. Had her father (warned by this +stir that was going on, the search for poachers and their spoil) a lot +of contraband game in his possession that must be hidden away out of +sight? Perhaps so. + +It seemed to be finished now. The moon had sailed ever so far across the +sky by this time, but was still shining full upon it. Mr. Barbary crept +again to the gate and stood listening and looking up and down in the +silence of the night. Then he crossed to the brewhouse, took the key +from his pocket, unlocked it, and went inside. Katrine could see the +flash of the match as he struck a light. + +When he emerged from the brewhouse he was dragging a weight along +the ground with two strong cords. A huge, unshapely, heavy substance +enveloped in what looked like matting or sacking. Dragging it straight +over the yard to the grave, Mr. Barbary let it fall carefully in, cords +and all, and began to shovel in the mould upon it with desperate haste. + +Terror seized on Katrine. What was in that matting? All in an instant, +a little corner of the veil--that had obscured from her understanding +so much which had seemed mysterious and unfathomable--lifted itself, +bringing to her an awful conviction. Was it Edgar Reste that was being +put out of the way; buried for ever from the sight of man? Her father +must have killed him; must have done it in a passion! Katrine Barbary +cried out with a loud and bitter cry. + +Fascinated by the sight of terror, she was unable to draw her eyes away. +But the next moment they had caught sight of another object, bringing +equal terror, though of a different nature: some one, who had apparently +crept in at the gate unheard, was standing at the corner of the garden +hedge, looking on. Was it an officer of the law, come to spy upon her +father and denounce his crime? But, even as she gazed, the figure drew +back to make its exit by the gate again, and to Katrine it seemed to +take my form. + +"It is Johnny Ludlow!" she gasped. "Oh, I pray that it may be! I think +_he_ would not betray him." + +Katrine watched on. She saw the grave filled in; she saw her father +stamp it down; she saw him carry the superfluous mould to a place under +the wall, near the manure bed, and she saw him stamp that down, and then +cover it loosely with some of the manure, so that it might look like a +part of the heap. Then he seemed to be coming in, and Katrine thought it +must be nearing the dawn. + +Creeping into bed, she hid her face, that never again ought to show +itself amidst honest men, under the clothes. Some covert stir yet seemed +to be going on in the yard, as of pumping and scrubbing. Turning from +hot to cold, from cold to hot, Katrine was seized with a shivering fit. + +"And who really was it watching?" she moaned. "It looked like Johnny, +yet I can't be sure; he stood in the shade." + +But it was _me_, as the schoolboys say. And the reason of my being +there at the small, unearthly hours of the morning, together with the +conclusion of this appalling story, will be found in the next chapter. + + + + +CARAMEL COTTAGE + + +III.--DON THE SECOND + + +I + +We have a saying in England, "It never rains but it pours," as applied, +not to the rain, but to the occurrences of daily life. Dyke Manor was +generally quiet enough, but on Thursday evening--the Thursday already +told of--we were destined to have visitors. First of all, arrived Mr. +Jacobson, our neighbour at Elm Farm, with his nephew, young Harry Dene; +he had his gig put up, meaning to make an evening of it. It turned out +to be a night, or nearly so, as you will soon find. Close upon that, +Charles Stirling of the Court (my place) came in; and Mrs. Todhetley +went to the kitchen to say that we should require supper. The stirring +events of the week had brought them over--namely, the encounter on +our land between the poachers and the keepers, and the flight of the +valuable yard dog, Don, a Newfoundland. + +That afternoon, Thursday, we had heard, as may be remembered, that Don +was at Evesham, under the keeping of Mr. Dick Standish; and I had been +told by Katrine Barbary that Mr. Reste had suddenly and unexpectedly +disappeared from Caramel Cottage. Old Jacobson predicted that Dick +Standish would come to be hanged; Charles Stirling said he ought to be +transported. + +"Of course you will prosecute him, Squire?" said Charles Stirling. + +"Of course I shall," replied the Squire, warmly. "The police have him +already safe enough if they've done their duty, and I shall be over at +Evesham in the morning." + +After a jolly supper they got to their pipes, and the time went by on +wings. At least, that's what the master of Elm Farm said when the clocks +struck eleven, and he asked leave to order his gig. + +It was brought round by Giles, the groom; and we were all assembled in +the hall to speed the departure, when old Jones, the constable, burst in +upon us at the full speed of his gouty legs, his face in a white heat. + +Private information had reached Jones half an hour ago that the poachers +intended to be out again that night, but he could not learn in which +direction. + +Then commotion arose. The Squire and his friend Jacobson were like two +demented wild Indians, uncertain what was best to be done to entrap the +villains. The gig was ordered away again. + +Some time passed in discussion. In these moments of excitement one +cannot always bring one's keenest wits to the fore. Charles Stirling +offered to go out and reconnoitre; we, you may be quite sure, were eager +to second him. I went with Charles Stirling one way; Tod and Harry Dene +went another--leaving the Squire and Mr. Jacobson at the gate, listening +for shots, and conferring in whispers with old Jones. + +How long we marched about under the bright moonlight, keeping under the +shade of the trees and hedges, I cannot tell you; but when we all four +met at Dyke Neck, which lay between the Manor and the Court, we had seen +nothing. Mr. Stirling went straight home then, but we continued our +ramblings. A schoolboy's ardour is not quickly damped. + +Beating about fresh ground together for a little while, we then +separated. I went across towards the village: the other two elsewhere. +It was one of the loveliest of nights, the full moon bright as day, the +air warm and soft. But I neither saw nor heard signs of any poachers, +and I began to suspect that somebody had played a trick on the old +constable. + +I turned short back at the thought, and made, as the Americans say, +tracks for home. My nearest way was through the dense grove of trees at +the back of Caramel Farm, and I took it, though it was not the liveliest +way by any means. + +But no sooner was I beyond the grove than sounds struck on my ear in +the stillness of the night. They seemed to come from the direction of +Caramel Cottage. Darting under the side hedge, and then across the side +lane, and so under the hedge again that bound the cottage, I stole on +the grass as softly as a mouse. Poachers could not be at work there; +but an idea flashed across me that somebody had got into Mr. Barbary's +well-stocked garden, and was robbing it. + +Peering through the hedge, I saw Barbary himself. He was coming out of +the brewhouse, dragging behind him, with two cords, a huge sack of some +kind, well-filled and heavy. Opposite the open door, on the furnace, +shone a lighted horn lantern. Mr. Barbary pushed-to the door behind him, +thereby shutting out the light, dragged his burden over the yard to the +garden, and let it fall into what looked like--a freshly dug grave. + +Astonishment kept me intensely still. What did it all mean? Hardly +daring to breathe, I stole in at the gate and under the shade of the +hedge. Whatever it might contain, that sacking lay perfectly quiet, and +Mr. Barbary began to shovel in the spadefuls of earth upon it, as one +does upon a coffin. + +This was nothing for me to interfere with, and I went away silently. +It looked like a mystery, and a dark one; any way it was being done in +secret in the witching hours of the night. What the time might be I knew +not, the Squire having ordered our watches taken off before starting: +perhaps one, or two, or three o'clock. + +Tod and Harry Dene reached the gate of Dyke Manor just as I did; and we +were greeted, all three, with a storm of reproaches by the Squire and +Mr. Jacobson. What did we mean by it?--scampering off like that for +hours?--for _hours_!--Three times had the gig been brought out and put +up again! Harry was bundled headforemost into the gig, and Mr. Jacobson +drove off. + +And it turned out that my suspicion touching old Jones was right. Some +young men had played the trick upon him. I need not have mentioned it at +all, but for seeing what I did see in Barbary's garden. + +How Katrine Barbary passed that night you have seen: for, like many +another story-teller, I have had to carry you back a few hours. +Shivering and shaking, now hot, now cold, she lay, striving to reason +with herself that _it could not be_; that so dreadful a thing was not +possible; that she was the most wicked girl on earth for imagining it: +and she strove in vain. All the events of the past day or two kept +crowding into her mind one upon another in flaring colours, like the +figures in some hideous phantasmagoria. The unexpected arrival of the +bank-notes for Mr. Reste; her father's covetous look at them and his +dreadful joke; their going out together that night poaching; their +quarrelling together the next morning; their worse quarrelling at night, +and their dashing out to the yard (as if in passion) one after the +other. And, so far as Katrine could trace it, that was the very last +seen or heard of Edgar Reste. The next morning he was gone; gone in a +mysterious manner, leaving all his possessions behind him. Her father +was reticent over it; would not explain. Then came the little episode of +the locked-up brewhouse, which had never been locked before in Joan's +memory. Mr. Barbary refused to unlock it, said he had put some wine +there; told Joan she must do without the jack. What had really been +hidden in that brewhouse? Katrine felt faint at the thought. _Not wine._ +And the terrible farce of packing Mr. Reste's effects and addressing +them to Euston Square Station, London! Would they lie there for +ever--unclaimed? Alas, alas! The proofs were only too palpable. Edgar +Reste had been put out of the world for ever. She had been the shivering +witness to his secret burial. + + * * * * * + +"What's the matter, Katrine? Are you ill?" + +The inquiry was made by Mr. Barbary next day at breakfast. Sick unto +death she looked. The very bright night had given place to a showery +morning, and the rain pattered against the window-panes. + +"I have a headache," answered Katrine, faintly. + +"Better send Joan to the Manor to say you cannot attend to-day." + +"Oh, I would rather go; I must go," she said hastily. For this good girl +had been schooling herself as well as she knew how; making up her mind +to persevere in fulfilling the daily duties of her life in the best way +she should be able; lest, if she fell short abruptly, suspicion might +turn towards her father. She had wildly prayed Heaven to grant her +strength and help to bear up on her course. Not from her must come the +pointing finger of discovery. It is true that he--Edgar--was her first +and dearest love; she should never love another as she had loved him; +but she was her father's child, and held him sacred. + +"Why must you go?" demanded Mr. Barbary, as, having finished a plate of +broiled mushrooms, he began upon a couple of eggs with an appetite that +the night's work did not seem to have spoiled. + +"The air--the walk--may do me good." + +"Well, you know best, child. I suppose Todhetley be off to Evesham +after that dog of theirs," Mr. Barbary went on to remark. "Master Dick +Standish must be a bold sinner to steal the dog one day and parade the +open streets with it the next! If---- What is it now, Joan?" + +For old Joan had come in with a face of surprise. "Sir," she cried, "has +Tom Noah been at work here this morning?" + +"Not that I know of," replied Mr. Barbary. Tom Noah, an industrious +young fellow, son to Noah, the gardener, was occasionally employed by +Mr. Barbary to clean up the yard and clear the garden of its superfluous +rubbish. + +"Our back'us has been scrubbed out this morning, sir," went on Joan, +still in astonishment. "And it didn't want it. Who in the world can have +come in and gone and done it?" + +"Nonsense," said Mr. Barbary. + +"But it has, master; scrubbed clean; the flags are all wet still. And +the rain-water barrel's a'most empty, nearly every drop of water drawn +out of it! I'd not say but the yard has had a bit of a scrubbing, too, +near the garden, as well as the back'us." + +"Nonsense!" repeated Mr. Barbary, his light tone becoming irritable. +"You see it has been raining! the rain has drifted into the brewhouse, +that's all; I left the door open last night. There! go back to your +work." + +Joan was a simple-natured woman, but she was neither silly nor blind, +and she knew that what she said was true. Rapidly turning the matter +over in her mind, she came to the conclusion that Tom Noah had been in +"unbeknown to the master," and so left the subject. + +"I suppose I may take out the spare jack now, sir?" she waited to say. + +"Take out anything you like," replied Mr. Barbary. + +Afraid of her tell-tale face, Katrine had moved to the window, +apparently to look at the weather. Too well she knew who had scrubbed +out the place, and why. + +The rain had ceased when she set off on her short walk--for it was not +much more than a stone's throw to the Manor; the sun was struggling from +behind the clouds, blue sky could be seen. Alone with herself and the +open country, Katrine gave vent to her pent-up spirit, which she had +not dared to do indoors; sighs of anguish and of pain escaped her; she +wondered whether it would be wrong if she prayed to die. But some one +was advancing to meet her, and she composed her countenance. + +It was Ben Gibbon. For the past week or so, since Katrine had been +enlightened as to her father's poaching propensities, she had somehow +feared this man. He was son to the late James Gibbon, the former +gamekeeper at Chavasse Grange, and brother to the present keeper, +Richard. Of course one might expect that Mr. Benjamin would protect game +and gamekeepers; instead of which, he was known to do a little safe +poaching on his own account, and to be an idle fellow altogether. +Katrine did not like his intimacy with her father, and she could not +forget that he had passed part of that fatal evening with him and Edgar +Reste. + +"Showery weather to-day, miss," was Ben Gibbon's salutation. + +"Yes, it is," answered Katrine, with intense civility--for how could she +tell what the man might know? + +"I suppose I shall find Mr. Barbary at home?" + +"Oh, yes," faintly spoke she, and passed on her way. + + +II + +We started for Evesham under a sharp shower, the Squire driving Bob and +Blister in the large phaeton. Tod sat with him, I and the groom behind. +Not a shadow of doubt lay on any one of us that we should bring back +Don in triumph--leaving Dick Standish to be dealt with according to his +merits. But, as the Squire remarked later, we were not a match for Dick +in cunning. + +"Keep your eyes open, lads," the Squire said to us as we approached the +town. "And if you see Dick Standish, with or without the dog, jump out +and pounce upon him. You hear, Giles?" + +"No need to tell me to do it, sir," answered Giles humbly, clenching his +fists; he had been eating humble pie ever since Tuesday night. "I am +ready." + +But Dick Standish was not seen. Leaving the carriage and Giles at the +inn, we made our way to the police station. An officer named Brett +attended to us. It was curious enough, but the first person we saw +inside the station was Tobias Jellico, who had called in on some matter +of business that concerned his shop. + +"We had your message yesterday, sir," said Brett to the Squire, "and we +lost no time in seeing after Standish. But it is not your dog that he +has with him." + +"Not my dog!" repeated the Squire, up in arms at once. "Don't tell me +that, Brett. Whose dog should it be but mine? Come!" + +"Well, sir, I never saw your dog; but Tomkins, one of our men, who has +often been on duty at Church Dykely, knows it well," rejoined Brett. "We +had Standish and the dog up here, and Tomkins at once said it was not +your dog at all, so we let the man go. Mr. Jellico also says it is not +yours; I was talking to him about it now." + +"What I said was this," put in Jellico, stepping forward, and speaking +with meek deprecation. "If Squire Todhetley's dog has been described to +me correctly, the dog I saw with Standish yesterday can't be the same. +It is a great big ugly dog, with tan marks about his white coat----" + +"Ugly!" retorted the Squire, resenting the aspersion, for he fully +believed it to be Don. + +"It is not at all an ugly dog, it's a handsome dog," spoke up Brett. +"Perhaps Mr. Jellico does not like dogs." + +"Not much," confessed Jellico. + +"How came you to say yesterday at Church Dykely that it was the same +dog?" Tod asked the man. + +"If you please, sir, I didn't exactly say it was; I said I made no doubt +of it," returned Jellico, mild as new milk. "It was in this way: Perkins +the butcher was standing at his shop door as I passed down the street. +We began talking, and he told me about the poachers having been out +on the Tuesday night, and that Squire Todhetley had lost his fine +Newfoundland dog; he said it was thought the Standishes were in both +games. So then I said I had met Dick Standish with just such a dog that +morning as I was a-coming out of Evesham. I had never seen the Squire's +dog, you perceive, gentlemen; but neither Mr. Perkins nor me had any +doubt it was his." + +"And it must be mine," returned the Squire, hotly. "Send for the dog, +Brett; I will see it. Send for Standish also." + +"I'll send, sir," replied Brett, rather dubiously, "and get the man here +if he is to be had. The chances are that with all this bother Standish +has left the town and taken the dog with him." + +Brett was a talkative man, with a mottled face and sandy hair. He +despatched a messenger to see after Standish. Jellico went out at the +same time, telling Brett that his business could wait till another day. + +"I know it is my dog," affirmed the Squire to Brett while he waited. +Nothing on earth, except actual sight, would have convinced him that it +was not his. "Those loose men play all sorts of cunning tricks. Dick +Standish is full of them. I shouldn't wonder but he has _painted_ the +dog; done his black marks over with brown paint--or _green_." + +"We've a dyer in this town, Squire," related Brett; "he owns a little +white curly dog, and he dyes him as an advertisement for his colours, +and lets him run about on the pavement before the shop door. To-day the +dog will be a delicate sky-blue, to-morrow a flaming scarlet; the next +day he'll be a beautiful orange, with a green tail. The neighbours' +dogs collect round and stand looking at him from a respectful distance, +uncertain, I suppose, whether he is of the dog species, or not." + +I laughed. + +"Passing the shop the other day, I saw the dog sitting on the +door-step," ran on Brett. "He was bright purple that time. An old lady, +driving by in her chariot, caught sight of the dog and called to the +coachman to pull up. There she sat, that old lady, entranced with +amazement, staring through her eye-glass at what she took to be a +phenomenon in nature. Five minutes, full, she stared, and couldn't tear +herself away. It is true, gentlemen, I assure you." + +Mr. Dick Standish was found, and brought before us. He looked rather +more disreputable than usual, his old fustian coat out at elbows, +a spotted red handkerchief twisted loosely round his neck. The dog +was with him, _and it was not ours_. A large, fine dog, as already +described, though much less handsome than Don, and out of condition, his +curly coat a yellowish white, the marks on it of real tan colour, not +painted. + +Dick's account, after vehemently protesting he had nothing to do with +the poaching affair on Tuesday night, was never for a minute out of his +bed--was this: The dog belonged to one of the stable-helpers at Leet +Hall; but the man had determined to have the dog shot, not being +satisfied with him of late, for the animal had turned odd and uncertain +in his behaviour. Dick Standish heard of this. Understanding dogs +thoroughly, and believing that this dog only wanted a certain course of +treatment to put him right, Standish walked to Church Leet on Wednesday +morning last from Church Dykely, and asked the man, Brazer, to give him +the dog--he would take him and run all risks. Brazer refused at first; +but, after a bit, agreed to let Standish keep the dog for a time. If he +cured the dog, Brazer was to have him back again, paying Standish for +his keep and care; but if not satisfied with the dog, Standish might +keep him for good. Standish brought the dog away, and took him straight +to Evesham, walking the whole way and getting there about nine o'clock +in the evening. He was doctoring the dog well, and hoped to cure him. + +Whether this tale was true or whether it wasn't, none of us could +contradict it. But there was an appearance of fear, of shuffling in the +man's manner, which seemed to indicate that something lay behind. + +"It's every word gospel, ain't it, Rove, and no lie nowhere," cried +Standish, bending to pat the dog, while the corner of his eye was turned +to regard the aspect of the company. "You've blown me up for many things +before now, Squire Todhetley, but there's no call, sir, to accuse me +this time." + +"When did you hear about this dog of Brazer's, and who told you of it?" +inquired Tod, in his haughty way. + +"'Twas Bill Rimmer, sir; he telled me on Tuesday night," replied Dick. +"And I said to him what a shame it was to talk of destroying that there +fine dog, and that Brazer was a soft for thinking on't. And I said, +young Mr. Todhetley, that I'd be over at Church Leet first thing the +next morning, to see if he'd give the dog to me." + +"It is not my dog, I see that," spoke the Squire, breaking the silence +that followed Dick's speech; "and it may be the stableman's at Leet +Hall; that's a thing readily ascertained. Do you know where my dog is, +Dick Standish?" + +"No, I don't know, sir," replied the man in a very eager tone; "and I +never knowed at all, till fetched to this police station yesterday, that +your dog was a-missing. I'll swear I didn't." + +There was nothing more to be done, but to accept the failure, and leave +the station, after privately charging the police to keep an eye on +clever Mr. Dick Standish, his haunts, and his movements. + +In the afternoon we drove back home, not best pleased with the day's +work. A sense of having been _done_, in some way or other not at present +explicable, lay on most of us. + +It appeared that the groom shared this feeling strongly. In passing +through the yard, I came upon him in his shirt sleeves, seated outside +the stable door on an inverted bucket. His elbows on his knees and his +face in his hands, he looked the image of despair. The picture arrested +me. Mack was rubbing down the horses; a duty Giles rarely entrusted to +anybody. He was fond of Don, and had been ready to hang himself ever +since Tuesday night. + +"Why, Giles! what's the matter?" + +"Matter enough, Master Johnny, when a false villyan like that Dick +Standish can take the master, and the police their-selves, and everybody +else, in!" was his answer. "I felt as cock-sure, sir, that we should +bring home Don as I am that the sky above us is shining out blue after +the last shower." + +"But it was not Don, you see, Giles." + +"_He_ wasn't; the dog Standish had to show," returned Giles, with a +peculiar emphasis. "Dick had got up his tale all smooth and sleek, sir." + +"How do you know he had?" + +"Because he told it me over again--the one he said he had been telling +at the police station, Master Johnny. I was standing outside the inn +yard while you were all in at lunch, and Standish came by as bold as +brass, Brazer's dog, Rover, leashed to his hand." + +"I suppose it is Brazer's dog?" + +"Oh, it's Brazer's dog, that'un be," said Giles, with a deep amount of +scorn; "I know _him_ well enough." + +"Then how can it be Don? And we could not bring home another man's dog." + +Giles paused. His eyes had a far-off look in them, as if seeking for +something they could not find. + +"Master Johnny," he said, "I can't rightly grasp things. All the way +home I've been trying to put two and two together, I am trying at it +still, and I can't do it anyhow. Don't it seem odd to you, sir, that +Standish should have got Brazer's dog, Rover, into his hands just at +the very time we are suspecting he has got Don into 'em?" + +I did not know. I had not thought about it. + +"He has that dog of Brazer's as a blind. A blind, and nothing else, +sir. He has captured our dog, safe and sure, and is keeping him hid up +somewhere till the first storm of the search is over, when he'll be able +to dispose of him safely." + +I could not see Giles's drift, or how the one dog could help to conceal +the possession of the other. + +"Well, sir, I can't explain it better," he answered; "I can't fit +the pieces of the puzzle into one another in my mind _yet_. But I am +positive it is so. Dick Standish has made up the farce about Brazer's +dog and got him into his hands to throw dust in our eyes and keep us off +the scent of Don." + +I began to see the groom might be right; and that the Standishes, sly +and crafty, were keeping Don in hiding. + +Mrs. Todhetley had met us with a face of concern. Lena's throat was +becoming very bad indeed, and Mr. Duffham did not like the look of it at +all. He had already come twice that day. + +"I think, Johnny," said the mother to me, "that we had better stop Miss +Barbary's coming to-morrow; Mr. Duffham does not know but the malady may +be getting infectious. Suppose you go now to the cottage and tell her." + +So I went off to do so, and found her ill. On this same Friday +afternoon, having occasion to ask some question of her father, who was +in the garden, she found him planting greens on the plot of ground--the +_grave_--under the summer-apple tree. Before she could speak, a shudder +of terror seized her; she trembled from head to foot, turned back to the +kitchen, and sat down on the nearest chair. + +Old Joan pronounced it to be an attack of ague; Miss Katrine, she said, +must have taken a chill. Perhaps she had. It was just then that I +arrived and found her shivering in the kitchen. Joan ran up to her room +in the garret to bring down some powder she kept there, said to be a +grand remedy for ague. + +It was getting dusk then; the sun had set. To me, Katrine seemed to +be shaking with terror, not illness. Mr. Barbary, in full view of the +window, was planting the winter greens under the summer-apple tree. + +"What is it that you are frightened at?" I said, propping my back +against the kitchen mantelpiece. + +"I _must_ ask you a question, Johnny Ludlow," she whispered, panting and +shivering. "Was it you who came and stood inside the gate there in the +middle of last night?" + +"Yes it was. And I saw what Mr. Barbary was doing--_there_. I could not +make it out." + +Katrine left her chair and placed herself before me. Clasping her +piteous hands, she besought me to be silent; to keep the secret for pity +sake--to be _true_. All kinds of odd ideas stole across me. I would not +listen to them; only promised her that I would tell nothing, would be +true for ever and a day. + +"It must have been an accident, you know," she pleaded; "it must have +been an accident." + +Joan came back, and I took my departure. What on earth could Katrine +have meant? All kinds of fancies were troubling my brain, fit only for +what in these later days are called the penny dreadfuls, and I did my +best to drive them out of it. + +The next morning Katrine was really ill. Her throat was parched, her +body ached with fever. As to Lena, she was worse; and we, who ought to +have gone back to school that day, were kept at home lest we should +carry with us any infection. + +"All right," said Tod. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good." He did +not believe in the infection; told me in private that Duffham was an old +woman. + +Can any one picture, I wonder, Katrine Barbary's distress of mind, +the terrible dread that had taken possession of it? Shuddering dread, +amounting to a panic: dread of the deed itself, dread for her father, +dread of discovery. + +On the following morning, Sunday, a letter was delivered at Caramel +Cottage for Mr. Reste, the postmark being London, the writing in the +same hand as the last--Captain Amphlett's. Mr. Barbary took it away to +his gun-room; Katrine saw it, later in the day, lying on the deal-table +there, unopened. + +The next Thursday afternoon, Lena being then almost well--for children +are dying to-day and running about again to-morrow--I called at the +Cottage to ask after Katrine. We heard she had an attack of fever. The +weather was lovely again; the October sky blue as in summer, the sun hot +and bright. + +Well, she did look ill! She sat in the parlour at the open window, a +huge shawl on, and her poor face about half the size it was before. What +had it been, I asked, and she said ague; but she was much better now and +intended to be at the Manor again on Monday. + +"Sit down please, Johnny. I suppose Lena has been glad of the holiday?" + +"She just has. That young lady believes French was invented for her +especial torment. Have you heard from Mr. Reste, Katrine?----What does +he say about his impromptu flitting?" + +She turned white as a ghost, never answering, looking at me strangely. +I thought a spasm might have seized her. + +"Not yet," she faintly said. "Papa thinks--thinks he may have gone +abroad." + +While I was digesting the words, some vehicle was heard rattling up the +side lane; it turned the corner and stopped at the gate. "Why, Katrine," +I said, "it is a railway fly from Evesham!" + +A little fair man in a grey travelling-suit got out of the fly, came up +the path, and knocked at the door. Old Joan answered it and showed him +into the room. "Captain Amphlett," she said. Katrine looked ready to +die. + +"I must apologize for intruding," he began, with a pleasant voice and +manner. "My friend Edgar Reste is staying here, I believe." + +Katrine was taken with a shivering fit. The stranger looked at her with +curiosity. I said she had been ill with ague, and was about to add that +Edgar Reste had left, when Mr. Barbary came in. Captain Amphlett turned +to him and went on to explain: he was on his way to spend a little time +in one of the Midland shires, and had halted at Evesham for the purpose +of looking up Edgar Reste--from whom he had been expecting to hear more +than a week past; could not understand why he did not. Mr. Barbary, with +all the courtesy of the finished gentleman, told him, in reply to this, +that Edgar Reste had left Caramel Cottage a week ago. + +"Dear me!" cried the stranger, evidently surprised. "And without writing +to tell me. Was his departure unexpected?" + +Mr. Barbary laughed lightly. That man would have retained his calmest +presence of mind when going down in a wreck at sea. "Some matter of +business called him away, I fancy," he replied. + +"And to what part of England was he going?" asked Captain Amphlett, +after a pause. "Did he say?" + +Mr. Barbary appeared to have an impulsive answer on his lips, but closed +them before he could speak it. He glanced at me, and then turned his +head and glanced at Katrine, as if to see whether she was there, for he +was sitting with his back to her. A thought struck me that we were in +the way of his plain speaking. + +"He went to London," said Mr. Barbary. + +"To London!" echoed the Captain. "Why, that's strange. He has not come +to London, I assure you." + +"I can assure you it is where he told me he was going," said Mr. +Barbary, smiling. "And it was to London his luggage was addressed." + +"Well, it is altogether strange," repeated Captain Amphlett. "I went to +his chambers in the Temple yesterday, and Farnham, the barrister who +shares them with him, told me Reste was still in Worcestershire; he had +not heard from him for some time, and supposed he might be returning any +day now. Where in the world can he be hiding himself? Had he come to +London, as you suppose, Mr. Barbary, he would have sought me out the +first thing." + +Whiter than any ghost ever seen or heard of, had grown Katrine as she +listened. I could not take my eyes from her terrified face. + +"I do not comprehend it," resumed Captain Amphlett, looking more +helpless than a rudderless ship at sea. "Are you sure, sir, that there +is no mistake; that he was really going to London?" + +"Not at all sure; only that he said it," returned Mr. Barbary in a half +mocking tone. "One does not inquire too closely, you know, into the +private affairs of young men. We have not heard from him yet." + +"I cannot understand it at all," persisted Captain Amphlett; "or why he +has not written to me; or where he can have got to. He ought to have +written." + +"Ah, yes, no doubt," suavely remarked Mr. Barbary. "He was careless +about letter-writing, I fancy. Can I offer you any refreshment?" + +"None at all, thank you; I have no time to spare," said the other, +rising to depart. "I suppose you do not chance to know whether Reste had +a letter from me last Tuesday week?" + +"Yes, he had one. It had some bank-notes in it. He opened it here at the +breakfast table." + +Quite a relief passed over Captain Amphlett's perplexed face at the +answer. "I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Barbary. By his not +acknowledging receipt of the money, I feared it had miscarried." + +Bidding us good afternoon, and telling Katrine (at whose sick state +he had continued to glance curiously) that he wished her better, the +stranger walked rapidly out to his fly, attended by Mr. Barbary. + +"Katrine," I asked, preparing to take my own departure, "what was there +in Captain Amphlett to frighten you?" + +"It--it was the ague," she answered, bringing out the words with a jerk. + +"Oh--ague! Well, I'd get rid of such an ague as that. Good-bye." + +But it was not ague; it was sheer fear, as common sense told me, and I +did not care to speculate upon it. An uneasy atmosphere seemed to be +hanging over Caramel Cottage altogether; to have set in with Edgar +Reste's departure. + +A day or two later our people departed for Crabb Cot for change of air +for Lena, and we returned to school, so that nothing more was seen or +heard at present of the Barbarys. + + +III + +December weather, and snow on the ground, and Caramel Cottage looking +cold and cheerless. Not so cheerless, though, as poor Katrine, who had a +blue, pinched face and a bad cough. + +"I can't get her to rouse herself, or to swallow hardly a morsel of +food," lamented Joan to Mr. Duffham. "She sits like a statty all day +long, sir, with her hands before her." + +"Sits like a statue, does she?" returned Duffham, who could see it +for himself, and for the hundredth time wondered what it was she had +upon her mind. He did his best, no doubt, in the shape of tonics and +lectures, but he could make nothing of his patient. Katrine vehemently +denied that she was worrying herself over any sweetheart--for that's +how Duffham delicately shaped his questions--and said it was the cold +weather. + +"The voyage will set her up, or--_break_ her up," decided Duffham, +who had never treated so unsatisfactory an invalid. "As to not having +anything on her mind, why she may tell that to the moon." + +Katrine was just dying of the trouble. The consciousness of what +the garden could disclose filled her with horror, whilst the fear of +discovery haunted her steps by day and her dreams by night. She could +not sleep alone, and Joan had brought her mattress down to the room and +lay on the floor. When the sun shone, Mr. Barbary would compel her to +sit or walk in the garden; Katrine would turn sick and faint at sight of +that plot of ground under the apple tree, and the winter greens growing +there. At moments she thought her father must suspect the source of her +illness; but he gave no sign of it. Since Captain Amphlett's visit, no +further inquiry had been made after Edgar Reste. Katrine lived in daily +dread of it. Now and then the neighbours would ask after him. Duffham +had said one day in the course of conversation: "Where's that young +Reste now?" "Oh, in London, working on for his silk gown," Mr. Barbary +lightly answered. Katrine marvelled at his coolness. + +Upon getting back to the Manor for Christmas we heard that Mr. Barbary +was quitting Church Dykely for Canada. "And the voyage will either kill +or cure the child," said Duffham, for it was he who gave us the news; +"she is in a frightfully weak state." + +"Is it ague still?" asked Mrs. Todhetley. + +"It is more like nerves than ague," answered Duffham. "She seems to live +in a chronic state of fear, starting and shrinking at every unexpected +sound. I can't make her out, and that's the truth; she denies having +received any shock.--So you have never found Don, Squire!" he broke off, +leaving the other subject. + +"No," said the Squire angrily. "Dick Standish has been too much for us +this time. The fellow wants hanging. Give him rope enough, and he'll do +it." + +Brazer's dog was returned to him, safe and sound, but our dog had never +come back to us, and the Squire was looking out for another. Dick +Standish protested his innocence yet; but he had gone roving the country +with that other dog, and no doubt had sold Don to somebody at a safe +distance. Perhaps had dyed him a fine gold first; as the dyer dyed his +dog at Evesham. + + * * * * * + +"Now, Miss Katrine, there's not a bit of sense in it!" + +It was Christmas Eve. Katrine was sitting in the twilight by the parlour +fire, and Joan was scolding. She had brought in a tray of tea with some +bread-and-butter; Katrine was glad enough of the tea, but said she could +not eat; she always said so now. + +"Be whipped if I can tell what has got into the child!" stormed Joan. +"Do you want to starve yourself right out?--do you want to----" + +"There's papa," interrupted Katrine, as the house door was heard to +open. "You must bring in more tea now, Joan." + +This door opened next, and some one stood looking in. Not Mr. Barbary. +Katrine gazed with dilating eyes, as the firelight flickered on the +intruder's face: and then she caught hold of Joan with an awful cry. For +he who had come in bore the semblance of Edgar Reste. + +"Why, Katrine, my dear, have you been ill?" + +Katrine burst into hysterical tears as her terror passed. She had been +taking it for Mr. Reste's apparition, you see, whereas it was Mr. Reste +himself. Joan closed the shutters, stirred the fire, and went away +to see what she could do for him in the shape of eatables after his +journey. He sat down by Katrine, and took her poor wan face to his +sheltering arms. + +In the sobbing excitement of the moment, in the strangely wonderful +relief his presence brought, Katrine breathed forth the truth; that she +had seen him, as she believed, _buried_ under the summer-apple tree; had +believed it all this time, and that it had been slowly killing her. Mr. +Reste laughed a little at the idea of his being buried, and cleared up +matters in a few brief words. + +"But why did you never write?" she asked. + +"Being at issue with Mr. Barbary, I would not write to him: and I +thought, Katrine, that the less you were reminded of me the better. I +waited in London until my luggage came up, and then went straight to +Dieppe, without having seen any one I knew; without having even shown +myself at my Chambers----" + +"But why not, Edgar?" she interrupted. Mr. Reste laughed. + +"Well, I had reasons. I had left a few outstanding accounts there, and +was not then prepared to pay them and I did not care to give a clue to +my address to be bothered with letters." + +"You did not even write to Captain Amphlett. He came here to see after +you." + +"I wrote to him from Dieppe; not quite at first, though. Buried under +the apple-tree! that _is_ a joke, Katrine!" + +It was Christmas Eve, I have said. We had gone through the snow, with +Mrs. Todhetley, to help the Miss Pages decorate the church, and the +Squire was alone after dinner, when Mr. Reste was shown in. + +"Is it you!" cried the Squire in hearty welcome. "So you have come down +for Christmas!" + +"Partly for that," answered Mr. Reste. "Partly, sir, to see you." + +"To see me! You are very good. I hope you'll dine with us to-morrow, if +Barbary will spare you." + +"Ah! I don't know about that; I'm afraid not. Anyway, I have a tale to +tell you first." + +Sitting on the other side the fire, opposite the Squire, the wine and +walnuts on the table between them, he told the tale of that past Tuesday +night. + +He had gone out with Barbary in a fit of foolishness, not intending +to do any harm to the game or to join in any harm, though Barbary had +insisted on his carrying a loaded gun. The moon was remarkably bright. +Not long had they been out, going cautiously, when on drawing near Dyke +Neck, they became aware that some poachers were already abroad, and that +the keepers were tracking them; so there was nothing for it but to steal +back again. They had nearly reached Caramel Cottage, and were making for +the side gate, when a huge dog flew up, barking. Barbary called out that +it was the Squire's dog, and---- + +"Bless me!" interjected the Squire at this. + +"Yes, sir, your dog, Don," continued Mr. Reste. "Barbary very foolishly +kicked the dog: he was in a panic, you see, lest the noise of its +barking should bring up the keepers. That kick must have enraged Don, +and he fastened savagely on Barbary's leg. I, fearing for Barbary's +life, or some lesser injury, grew excited, and fired at the dog. It +killed him." + +The Squire drew a deep breath. + +"Not daring to leave the dog at the gate, for it might have betrayed us, +we drew him across the yard to the brewhouse, and locked the door upon +him. But while doing this, Ben Gibbon passed, and thereby learnt what +had happened. The next day, Barbary and I had some bickering together. I +wanted to come to you and confess the truth openly; Barbary forbade it, +saying it would ruin him: we could bury the dog that night or the next, +he said, and nobody would ever be the wiser. In the evening, Gibbon came +in; he was all for Barbary's opinion, and opposed mine. After he left, I +and Barbary had a serious quarrel. I said I would leave there and then; +he resented it, and followed me into the yard to try to keep me. But my +temper was up, and I set off to walk to Evesham, telling him to send my +traps after me, and to direct them to Euston Square Station. I took the +first morning train that passed through Evesham for London, and made +my mind up on the journey to go abroad for a week or two. Truth to +confess," added the speaker, "I felt a bit of a coward about the dog, +not knowing what proceedings you might take if it came to light, and +I deemed it as well to be out of the way for a time. But I don't like +being a coward, Mr. Todhetley, it is a role I have never been used to, +and I came down to-day to confess all. Barbary is going away, so it will +not damage him: besides, it was really I who killed the dog, not he. And +now, sir, I throw myself upon your mercy. What do you say to me?" + +"Well, I'm sure I don't know," said the Squire, who was in a rare good +humour, and liked the young fellow besides. "It was a bad thing to +do--poor faithful Don! But it's Christmas-tide, so I suppose we must say +no more about it. Let bygones be bygones." + +Edgar Reste grasped his hand. + +"Barbary's off to Canada, we are told," said the Squire. "A better +country for him than this. He has not been thought much of in this +place, as you probably know. And it's to be hoped that poor little +maiden of his will get up her health again, which seems, by all +accounts, to be much shattered." + +"I think she'll get that up now," said Mr. Reste, with a curious smile. +"She is not going out with him, sir; she stays behind with me." + +"With you!" cried the Squire, staring. + +"I have just asked her to be my wife, and she says, Yes," said Mr. +Reste. "An old uncle of mine over in India has died; he has left me a +few hundreds a year, so that I can afford to marry." + +"I'm sure I am glad to hear it," said the Squire, heartily. "Poor Don, +though! And what did Barbary do with him?" + +"Buried him in his back garden, under the summer-apple tree." + +Coming home from our night's work at this juncture, we found, to our +surprise, a great dog fastened to the strong iron garden bench. + +"What a magnificent dog!" exclaimed Tod, while the mother sprang back in +alarm. "It is something like Don." + +It was very much like Don. Quite as large, and handsomer. + +"I shall take it in, Johnny; the Pater would like to see it, There, +mother, you go in first." + +Tod unfastened the dog and took it into the dining-room, where sat Mr. +Reste. The dog seemed a gentle creature, and went about looking at us +all with his intelligent eyes. Mrs. Todhetley stroked him. + +"Well, that is a nice dog!" cried the Squire. "Whose is it, lads?" + +"It is yours, sir, if you will accept him from me," said Mr. Reste. "I +came across him in London the other day, and thought you might like him +in place of Don. I have taught him to answer to the same name." + +"We'll call him 'Don the Second'--and I thank you heartily," said the +Squire, with a beaming face. "Good Don! Good old fellow! You shall be +made much of." + + * * * * * + +He married Katrine without much delay, taking her off to London to be +nursed up; and Mr. Barbary set sail for Canada. The bank-notes, you ask +about? Why, what Katrine saw in her father's hands were but _half_ the +notes, for Mr. Reste divided them the day they arrived, giving thirty +pounds to his host, and keeping thirty himself. And Dick Standish, +for once, had not been in the fight; and the Squire, meeting him in +the turnip-field on Christmas Day, gave him five shillings for a +Christmas-box. Which elated Dick beyond telling; and the Squire was glad +of it later, when poor Dick had gone away prematurely to the Better +Land. + +And all the sympathy Katrine had from her father, when he came to hear +about the summer-apple tree, was a sharp wish that she could have had +her ridiculous ideas shaken out of her. + + + + +A TRAGEDY + + +I.--GERVAIS PREEN + + +I + +Crabb Cot, Squire Todhetley's estate in Worcestershire, lay close to +North Crabb, and from two to three miles off Islip, both of which places +you have heard of already. Half way on the road to Islip from Crabb, a +side road, called Brook Lane, branched straight off on the left towards +unknown wilds, for the parts there were not at all frequented. Passing a +solitary homestead here and there, Brook Lane would bring you at the end +of less than two miles to a small hamlet, styled Duck Brook. + +I am not responsible for the name. I don't know who is. It was called +Duck Brook long before my time, and will be, no doubt, long after I have +left time behind me. The village rustics called it Duck Bruck. + +Duck Brook proper contains some twenty or thirty houses, mostly humble +dwellings, built in the form of a triangle, and two or three shops. A +set of old stocks for the correction of the dead-and-gone evil-doers +might be seen still, and a square pound in which to imprison stray +cattle. And I would remark, as it may be of use further on, that the +distance from Duck Brook to either Islip or Crabb was about equal--some +three miles, or so; it stood at right angles between them. Passing down +Brook Lane (which was in fact a fairly wide turnpike road) into the +high road, turning to the right would bring you to Crabb; turning to the +left, to Islip. + +Just before coming to that populous part of Duck Brook, the dwelling +places, there stood in a garden facing the road a low, wide, worn house, +its bricks dark with age, and now partly covered with ivy, which had +once been the abode of a flourishing farmer. The land on which this lay +belonged to a Captain Falkner--some hundred acres of it. The Captain was +in difficulties and, afraid to venture into England, resided abroad. + +A Mr. Preen lived in the house now--Gervais Preen, a gentleman by +descent. The Preens were Worcestershire people; and old Mr. Preen, dead +now, had left a large family of sons and daughters, who had for the most +part nothing to live upon. How or where Gervais Preen had lately lived, +no one knew much about; some people said it was London, some thought it +was Paris; but he suddenly came back to Worcestershire and took up his +abode, much to the general surprise, at this old farmhouse at Duck +Brook. It was soon known that he lived in it rent-free, having +undertaken the post of agent to Captain Falkner. + +"Agent to Captain Falkner--what a mean thing for a Preen to do!" cried +Islip and Crabb all in a breath. + +"Not at all mean; gentlemen must live as well as other people," warmly +disputed the Squire. "I honour Preen for it." And he was the first to +walk over to Duck Brook and shake hands with him. + +Others followed the Squire's example, but Mr. Preen did not seem +inclined to be sociable. He was forty-five years old then; a little +shrimp of a man with a dark face, small eyes like round black beads, and +a very cross look. He met his visitors civilly, for he was a gentleman, +but he let it be known that he and his wife did not intend to visit or +be visited. The Squire pressed him to bring Mrs. Preen to a friendly +dinner at Crabb Cot; but he refused emphatically, frankly saying that +as they could not afford to entertain in return, they should not +themselves go out to entertainments. + +Thus Gervais Preen and his wife began their career at Duck Brook, +keeping themselves to themselves, locked up in lavender, so to say, as +if they did not want the world outside to remember their existence. +Perhaps that was the ruling motive, for he owed a few debts of long +standing. One or two creditors had found him out, and were driving, it +was said, a hard bargain with him, insisting upon payment by degrees if +it could not be handed over in a lump. + +But there was one member of the family who declined to keep herself laid +up in lavender, and that was the only daughter, Jane. She came to Crabb +Cot of her own accord, and made friends with us; made friends with Mrs. +Jacob Chandler and her girls, and with Emma Paul at Islip. She was a +fair, lively, open-natured girl, and welcomed everywhere. + + * * * * * + +Mr. and Mrs. Preen and Jane were seated at the breakfast-table one fine +morning in the earliest days of spring. A space of about two years had +gone by since they first came to Duck Brook. Breakfast was laid, as +usual, in a small flagged room opening from the kitchen. A piece of cold +boiled bacon, three eggs, a home-made loaf and a pat of butter were on +the table, nothing more luxurious. Mrs. Preen, a thin woman, under the +middle height, poured out the coffee. She must once have been very +pretty. Her face was fair and smooth still, with a bright rose tint on +the cheeks, and a peevish look in her mild blue eyes. Jane's face was +very much like her mother's, but her blue eyes had no peevishness in +them as yet. Poor Mrs. Preen's life was one of rubs and crosses, had +been for a long while, and that generally leaves its marks upon the +countenance. When Mr. Preen came in he had a letter in his hand, which +he laid beside his plate, address downwards. He looked remarkably cross, +and did not speak. No one else spoke. Conversation was seldom indulged +in at meal times, unless the master chose to begin it. But in passing +something to him, Jane's eyes chanced to fall on the letter, and saw +that it was of thin, foreign paper. + +"Papa, is that from Oliver?" + +"Don't you see it is?" returned Mr. Preen. + +"And--is anything different decided?" asked Mrs Preen, timidly, as if +she were afraid of either the question or the answer. + +"What is there different to decide?" he retorted. + +"But, Gervais, I thought you wrote to say that he could not come home." + +"And he writes back to say that he must come. I suppose he must. The +house over there is being given up; he can't take up his abode in the +street. There's what he says," continued Mr. Preen, tossing the letter +to the middle of the table for the public benefit. "He will be here +to-morrow." + +A glad light flashed into Jane's countenance. She lifted her +handkerchief to hide it. + +Oliver Preen was her brother; she and he were the only children. He had +been partly adopted by a great aunt, once Miss Emily Preen, the sister +of his grandfather. She had married Major Magnus late in life, and was +left a widow. Since Oliver left school, three years ago now, he had +lived with Mrs. Magnus at Tours, where she had settled down. She was +supposed to be well off; and the Preen family--Gervais Preen and all his +hungry brothers and sisters--had cherished expectations from her. They +thought she might provide slenderly for Oliver, and divide the rest of +her riches among them. But a week or two ago she had died after a short +illness, and then the amazing fact came out that she had nothing to +leave. All Mrs. Magnus once possessed had been sunk in an annuity on her +own life. + +This was bad enough for the brothers and the sisters, but it was nothing +compared with the shock it gave to him of Duck Brook. For you see he +had to take his son back now and provide for him; and Oliver had been +brought up to do nothing. A mild young man, he, we understood, not at +all clever enough to set the Thames on fire. + +Mr. Preen finished his breakfast and left the room, carrying the letter +with him. Jane went at once into the garden, which in places was no +better than a wilderness, and ran about the sheltered paths that were +out of sight of the windows, and jumped up to catch the lower branches +of trees, all in very happiness. She and Oliver were intensely attached +to one another; she had not seen him for three years, and now they were +going to meet again. To-morrow! oh, to-morrow! To-morrow, and he would +be here! She should see him face to face! + +"Jane!" called out a stern voice, "I want you." + +In half a moment Jane had appeared in the narrow front path that led +between beds of sweet but common flowers from the entrance gate in the +centre of the palings to the door of the house, and was walking up +demurely. Mr. Preen was standing at an open window. + +"Yes, papa," she said. And Mr. Preen only answered by looking at her and +shutting down the window. + +The door opened into a passage, which led straight through to the back +of the house. On the left, as you entered, was the parlour; on the right +was the room which Mr. Preen used as an office, in which were kept +the account books and papers relating to the estate. It was a square +room, lighted by two tall narrow windows. A piece of matting covered +the middle of the floor, and on it stood Mr. Preen's large flat +writing-table, inlaid with green leather. Shelves and pigeon-holes +filled one side of the walls, and a few chairs stood about. Altogether +the room had a cold, bare look. + +It was called the "Buttery." When Mr. and Mrs. Preen first came to the +house, the old man who had had charge showed them over it. "This is the +parlour," he said, indicating the room they were then looking at; "and +this," he added, opening the door on the opposite side of the passage, +"is the Buttery." Jane laughed: but they had adopted the name. + +"I want these letters copied, Jane," said Mr. Preen, who was now sitting +at his table, his back to the fire, and the windows in front of him; and +he handed to her two letters which he had just written. + +Jane took her seat at the table opposite to him. Whenever Mr. Preen +wanted letters copied, he called upon her to do it. Jane did not much +like the task; she was not fond of writing, and was afraid of making +mistakes. + +When she had finished the letters this morning she escaped to her +mother, asking how she could help in the preparations for Oliver. They +kept one maid-servant; a capless young lady of sixteen, who wore a frock +and pinafore of a morning. There was Sam as well; a well-grown civil +youth, whose work lay chiefly out of doors. + +The day passed. The next day was passing. From an early hour Jane Preen +had watched for the guest's arrival. In the afternoon, when she was +weary of looking and looking in vain, she put on a warm shawl and her +pink sun-bonnet and went out of doors with a book. + +A little lower down, towards the Islip Road, Brook Lane was flanked on +one side by a grove of trees, too dense to admit of penetration. But +there were two straight paths in them at some distance from each other, +which would carry you to the back of the grove, and to the stream +running parallel with the highway in front; from which stream Duck +Brook derived its name. These openings in the trees were called Inlets +curiously. A few worn benches stood in front of the trees, and also +behind them, and had been there for ages. If you took your seat upon one +of the front benches, you could watch the passing and re-passing (if +there chanced to be any) on the high road; if you preferred a seat at +the back, you might contemplate the pellucid stream and the meads beyond +it, like any knight or fair damsel of romance. + +This was a favourite resort of Jane Preen's, a slight relief from the +dullness at home. She generally sat by the stream, but to-day faced the +road, for she was looking for Oliver. It was not a frequented road at +all, but I think this has been said; sometimes an hour would pass away +and not so much as a farmer's horse and cart jolt by, or a beggar +shambling on foot. + +Jane had brought out a favourite book of the day, one of Bulwer +Lytton's, which had been lent to her by Miss Julietta Chandler. Shall +we ever have such writers again? Compare a work over which a tremendous +fuss is made in the present day with one of those romances or novels of +the past when some of us were young--works written by Scott, and Bulwer, +and others I need not mention. Why, they were as solid gold compared +with silver and tinsel. + +Jane tried to lose herself in the romantic love of Lucy and Paul, or in +the passionate love-letters of Sir William Brandon, written when he was +young; and she could not do so. Her eyes kept turning, first to that way +of the road, then to this: she did not know which way Oliver would come. +By rail to Crabb station she supposed, and then with a fly onwards; +though being strange to the neighbourhood he might pitch upon any +out-of-the-way route and so delay his arrival. + +Suddenly her heart stopped beating and then coursed on to fever heat. A +fly was winding along towards her in the distance, from the direction of +Crabb. Jane rose and waited close to the path. It was not Oliver. Three +ladies and a child sat in the fly. They all stared at her, evidently +wondering who she was and what she did there. She went back to the +bench, but did not open her book again. + +It must be nearing four o'clock: she could tell it by the sun, for she +had no watch: and she thought she would go in. Slowly taking up the +book, she was turning towards home, which was close by, when upon giving +a lingering farewell look down the road, a solitary foot passenger came +into view: a gentlemanly young man, with an umbrella in his hand and a +coat on his arm. + +_Was_ it Oliver? She was not quite sure at first. He was of middle +height, slight and slender: had a mild fair face and blue eyes with a +great sadness in them. Jane noticed the sadness at once, and thought she +remembered it; she thought the face also like her own and her mother's. + +"Oliver?" + +"Jane! Why--is it you? I did not expect to find you under that peasant +bonnet, Jane." + +They clung to each other, kissing fondly, tears in the eyes of both. + +"But why are you walking, Oliver? Did you come to Crabb?" + +"Yes," he said. "I thought I might as well walk; I did not think it was +quite so far. The porter will send on my things." + +There was just a year between them; Oliver would be twenty-one in a +month, Jane was twenty-two, but did not look as much. She took his arm +as they walked home. + +As she halted at the little gate, Oliver paused in surprise and gazed +about: at the plain wooden palings painted green, which shut in the +crowded, homely garden; at the old farmhouse. + +"Is _this_ the place, Jane?" + +"Yes. You have not been picturing it a palace, have you?" + +Oliver laughed, and held back the low gate for her. But as he passed +in after her, a perceptible shiver shook his frame. It was gone in a +moment; but in that moment it had shaken him from head to foot. Jane +saw it. + +"Surely you have not caught a chill, Oliver?" + +"Not at all; I am warm with my walk. I don't know why I should have +shivered," he added. "It was like the feeling you have when people say +somebody's 'walking over your grave.'" + +Mr. Preen received his son coldly, but not unkindly; Mrs. Preen did the +same; she was led by her husband's example in all things. Tea, though +it was so early, was prepared at once, with a substantial dish for the +traveller; and they sat down to it in the parlour. + +It was a long room with a beam running across the low ceiling. A homely +room, with a coarse red-and-green carpet and horse-hair chairs. A few +ornaments of their own (for the furniture belonged to the house), relics +of better days, were disposed about; and Jane had put on the table a +glass of early primroses. The two windows, tall and narrow, answered +to those in the Buttery. Oliver surveyed the room in silent dismay: it +wore so great a contrast to the French salons at Tours to which he was +accustomed. He gave them the details of his aunt's death and of her +affairs. + +When tea was over, Mr. Preen shut himself into the Buttery; Mrs. Preen +retired to the kitchen to look after Nancy, who had to be watched, like +most young servants, as you watch a sprightly calf. Jane and Oliver went +out again, Jane taking the way to the Inlets. This time she sat down +facing the brook. The dark trees were behind them, the clear stream +flowed past in a gentle murmur; nothing but fields beyond. It was a +solitary spot. + +"What do you call this place--the Inlets?" cried Oliver. "Why is it +called so?" + +"I'm sure I don't know: because of those two openings from the road, I +suppose. I like to sit here; it is so quiet. Oliver, how came Aunt Emily +to sink all her money in an annuity?" + +"For her own benefit, of course; it nearly doubled her income. She did +it years ago." + +"And you did not know that she had nothing to leave?" + +"No one knew. She kept the secret well." + +"It is very unfortunate for _you_." + +"Yes--compared with what I had expected," sighed Oliver. "It can't be +helped, Jane, and I try not to feel disappointed. Aunt Emily in life +was very kind to me; apart from all selfish consideration I regret and +mourn her." + +"You will hardly endure this dreary place after your gay and happy life +at Tours, Oliver. Duck Brook is the fag-end of the world." + +"It does not appear to be very lively," remarked Oliver, with a certain +dry sarcasm. "How was it that the Pater came to it?" + +"Well, you know--it was a living, and we had nothing else." + +"I don't understand." + +"When Uncle Gilbert died, there was no other of our uncles, those who +were left, who could help papa; at least they said so; and I assure you +we fell into great embarrassment as the weeks went on. It was impossible +to remain in Jersey; we could pay no one; and what would have been the +ending but for papa's falling in with Captain Falkner, I can't imagine. +Captain Falkner owns a good deal of land about here; but he is in +difficulties himself and cannot be here to look after it; so he offered +papa the agency and a house to live in. I can tell you, Oliver, it was +as a godsend to us." + +"Do you mean to say that my father is an agent?" cried the young man, +his face dyed with a red flush. + +Jane nodded. "That, and nothing less. He looks after the estate and is +paid a hundred pounds a-year salary, and we live rent free. Lately he +has taken something else, something different; the agency of some new +patent agricultural implements." + +Oliver Preen looked very blank. He had been living the life of a +gentleman, was imbued with a gentleman's notions, and this news brought +him the most intense mortification. + +"He will expect you to help him in the Buttery," continued Jane. + +"In the what?" + +"The Buttery," laughed Jane. "It is the room where papa keeps his +accounts and writes his letters. Letters come in nearly every morning +now, inquiring about the new agricultural implements; papa has to answer +them, and wants some of his answers copied." + +"And he has only a hundred a year!" murmured Oliver, unable to get +over that one item of information. "Aunt Emily had from eight to nine +hundred, and lived up to her income." + +"The worst is that we cannot spend all the hundred. Papa has back debts +upon him. Have you brought home any money, Oliver?" + +"None to speak of," he answered; "there was none to bring. Aunt Emily's +next quarter's instalment would have been due this week; but she died +first, you see. She lived in a furnished house; and as to the few things +she had of her own, and her personal trinkets, Aunt Margaret Preen came +down and swooped upon them. Jane, how have you managed to put up with +the lively state of affairs here?" + +"And this lively spot--the fag-end of the world. It was Emma Paul first +called it so. I put up with it because I can't help myself, Oliver." + +"Who is Emma Paul?" + +"The daughter of Lawyer Paul, of Islip." + +"Oh," said Oliver, slightingly. + +"And the nicest girl in the world," added Jane. "But I can tell you this +much, Oliver," she continued, after a pause: "when we came first to +Duck Brook it seemed to me as a haven of refuge. Our life in Jersey had +become intolerable, our life here was peaceful--no angry creditors, no +daily applications for debts that we could not pay. Here we were free +and happy, and it gave me a liking for the place. It is dull, of course; +but I go pretty often to see Emma Paul, or to take tea at Mrs. Jacob +Chandler's, and at Crabb Cot when the Todhetleys are staying there. Sam +brings the gig for me in the evening, when I don't walk home. You will +have to bring it for me now." + +"Oh, there's a gig, is there?" + +"Papa has to keep that for his own use in going about the land: +sometimes he rides." + +"Are the debts in Jersey paid, Jane?" + +A shadow passed over her face, and her voice dropped to a whisper. + +"No. It makes me feel very unhappy sometimes, half-frightened. Of course +papa hopes he shall not be found out here. But he seems to have also two +or three old debts in this neighbourhood, and those he is paying off." + +The sun, setting right before them in a sea of red clouds, fell upon +their faces and lighted up the sadness of Oliver's. Then the red ball +sank, on its way to cheer and illumine another part of the world, +leaving behind it the changes which set in after sunset. The bright +stream became grey, the osiers bordering it grew dark. Oliver shook +himself. The whole place to him wore a strange air of melancholy. It +was early evening yet, for the month was only February; but the spring +had come in with a kindly mood, and the weather was bright. + +Rising from the bench, they slowly walked up the nearest Inlet, side by +side, and gained the high road just as a pony-chaise was passing by, an +elderly gentleman and a young lady in it; Mr. and Miss Paul. + +"Oh, papa, please pull up!" cried the girl. "There's Jane Preen." + +She leaped out, almost before the pony had stopped, and ran to the +pathway with outstretched hands. + +"How pleasant that we should meet you, Jane! Papa has been taking me +for a drive this afternoon." + +Oliver stood apart, behind his sister, looking and listening. The +speaker was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen, with a +blushing, dimpled face, a smiling mouth displaying small white teeth, +shy blue eyes, and bright hair. Her straw hat had blue ribbons and her +dress was one of light silk. Never in his life, thought Oliver, had he +seen so sweet a face or heard so sweet a voice. + +"Have you been for a walk?" she asked of Jane. + +"No," answered Jane. "We have been down the Inlet, and sitting to watch +the sun set. This is my brother, Emma, of whom you have heard. He +arrived this afternoon, and has left Tours. Will you allow me to +introduce him to you? Oliver, this is Miss Paul." + +Mr. Oliver Preen was about to execute a deep bow at a respectful +distance, after the manner of the fashionable blades of Tours, and +swung off his hat to begin with; but Emma Paul, who was not fashionable +at all, but sociable, inexperienced and unpretending, held out her hand. +She liked his looks; a slender young fellow, in deep mourning, with a +fair, mild, pleasing face. + +"Papa," she said, turning to the gig, which had drawn up close to the +foot-path, "this is Mr. Oliver Preen, from France. He has come home, +Jane says." + +John Paul, a portly, elderly gentleman, with iron-grey hair and a face +that looked stern to those who did not know him, bent forward and shook +hands with the stranger. + +Emma began plunging into all sorts of gossip, for she liked nothing +better than to talk. Jane liked it too. + +"I have been telling Oliver we call Duck Brook the fag end of the +world, and that it was you who first said it," cried Jane. + +"Oh, how could you?" laughed Emma, turning her beaming face upon Oliver. +And they might have gone on for ever, if left alone; but Mr. Paul +reminded his daughter that it was growing late, and he wanted to get +home to dinner. So she lightly stepped into the low chaise, Oliver Preen +assisting her, and they drove off, Emma calling to Jane not to forget +that they were engaged to drink tea at North Villa on the morrow. + +"What's Preen going to do with that young fellow?" wondered the lawyer, +as he drove on. + +"I'm sure I don't know, papa," said Emma. "Take him into the Buttery, +perhaps." + +Old Paul laughed a little at the idea. "Not much more work there than +Preen can do himself, I expect." + +"When I last saw Jane she said she thought her brother might be coming +home. It may be only for a visit, you know." + +Old Paul nodded, and touched up the pony. + +Oliver stood in the pathway gazing after the chaise until it was out of +sight. "What a charming girl!" he cried to his sister. "I never saw one +so unaffected in all my life." + + +II + +If the reader has chanced to read the two papers entitled "Chandler and +Chandler," he may be able to recall North Villa, and those who lived in +it. + +It stood in the Islip Road--hardly a stone's throw from Crabb Cot. +Jacob Chandler's widow lived in it with her three daughters. She was +empty-headed, vain, frivolous, always on the high ropes when in company, +wanting to give people the impression that she had been as good as born +a duchess: whereas everyone knew she had sprung from small tradespeople +in Birmingham. The three daughters, Clementina, Georgiana, Julietta, +took after her, and were as fine as their names. + +But you have heard of them before--and of the wrong inflicted by +their father, Jacob Chandler, upon his brother's widow and son. The +solicitor's business at Islip had been made by the elder brother, Thomas +Chandler; he had taken Jacob into partnership, and given him a half +share without cross or coin of recompense: and when Thomas died from an +accident, leaving his only son Tom in the office to succeed him when he +should be of age, Jacob refused to carry out the behest. Ignoring past +obligations, all sense of right or wrong, he made his own son Valentine +his partner in due course of time, condemning Tom, though a qualified +solicitor, to remain his clerk. + +It's true that when Jacob Chandler lay on his death-bed, the full sense +of what he had done came home to him: any glaring injustice we may have +been committing in our lives does, I fancy, often take hold of the +conscience at that dread time: and he enjoined his son Valentine to give +Tom his due--a full partnership. Valentine having his late father's +example before him (for Jacob died), did nothing of the kind. "I'll +raise your salary, Tom," said he, "but I cannot make you my partner." +So Tom, thinking he had put up with injustice long enough, quitted +Valentine there and then. John Paul, the other Islip lawyer, was only +too glad to secure Tom for his own office; he made him his manager and +paid him a good salary. + +About two years had gone on since then. Tom Chandler, a very fine young +fellow, honest and good-natured, was growing more and more indispensable +to Mr. Paul; Valentine was growing (if the expression may be used) +downwards. For Valentine, who had been an indulged son, and only made to +work when he pleased, had picked up habits of idleness, and other habits +that we are told in our copy-books idleness begets. Gay, handsome, +pleasant-mannered, with money always in his pocket, one of those young +men sure to be courted, Valentine had grown fonder of pleasure than of +work: he liked his game at billiards; worse than that, he liked his +glass. When a client came in, ten to one but a clerk had to make a rush +to the Bell Inn opposite, to fetch his master; and it sometimes happened +that Valentine would not return quite steady. The result was, that his +practice was gradually leaving him, to be given to Mr. Paul. All this +was telling upon Valentine's mother; she had an ever-haunting dread +of the poverty which might result in the future, and was only half as +pretentious as she used to be. + +Her daughters did not allow their minds to be disturbed by anxiety as +yet; the young are less anxious than the old. When she dropped a word +of apprehension in their hearing, they good-humouredly said mamma was +fidgety--Valentine would be all right; if a little gay now it was only +what other young men were. It was a pleasant house to visit, for the +girls were gay and hospitable; though they did bedeck themselves like +so many peacocks, and put on airs and graces. + +Jane Preen found it pleasant; had found it so long ago; and she +introduced Oliver to it, who liked it because he sometimes met Emma Paul +there. It took a very short time indeed after that first meeting by the +Inlets for him to be over head and ears in love with her. Thus some +weeks went on. + +More pure and ardent love than that young fellow's for Emma was never +felt by man or woman. It filled his every thought, seemed to sanctify +his dreary days at Duck Brook, and made a heaven of his own heart. He +would meet her at North Villa, would encounter her sometimes in her +walks, now and then saw her at her own house at Islip. Not often--old +Mr. Paul did not particularly care for the Preens, and rarely gave Emma +leave to invite them. + +Emma did not care for _him_. She had not found out that he cared for +her. A remarkably open, pleasant girl in manner, to him as to all the +world, she met him always with frank cordiality--and he mistook that +natural cordiality for a warmer feeling. Had Emma Paul suspected his +love for her she would have turned from it in dismay; she was no +coquette, and all the first love of her young heart was privately given +to someone else. + +At this time there was a young man in Mr. Paul's office named Richard +MacEveril. He was a nephew of Captain MacEveril of Oak Mansion--a pretty +place near Islip. Captain MacEveril--a retired captain in the Royal +Navy--had a brother settled in Australia. When this brother died, his +only son, Richard, came over to his relatives, accompanied by a small +income, about enough to keep him in coats and waistcoats. + +The arrival very much put out Captain MacEveril. He was a good-hearted +man, but afflicted with gout in the feet, and irascible when twinges +took him. Naturally the question arose to his mind--how was he to put +Richard in the way of getting bread and cheese. Richard seemed to have +less idea of how it was to be done than his uncle and aunt had. They +told him he must go back to Australia and find a living there. Richard +objected; said he had only just left it, and did not like Australia. +Upon the captain's death, whenever that should take place, Richard would +come into a small estate of between two and three hundred a-year, of +which nothing could deprive him; for Captain MacEveril had no son; only +a daughter, who would be rich through her mother. + +Richard was a gay-mannered young fellow and much liked, but he was not +very particular. He played billiards at the Bell Inn with Valentine +Chandler, with young Scott, and with other idlers; he hired horses, and +dashed across country on their backs; he spent money in all ways. When +his own ready money was gone he went into debt, and people came to the +Captain to ask him to liquidate it. This startled and angered the old +post-captain as no twinge of gout had ever yet done. + +"Something must be done with Dick," said Mrs. MacEveril. + +"Of course it must," her husband wrathfully retorted; "but what the +deuce is it to be?" + +"Can't you get John Paul to take him into his office as a temporary +thing? It would keep him out of mischief." + +Mrs. MacEveril's suggestion bore fruit. For the present, until something +eligible should "turn up," Dick was placed in the lawyer's office as +a copying clerk. Mr. Paul made a favour of taking him in; but he and +Captain MacEveril had been close friends for many a year. Dick wrote a +bold, clear hand, good for copying deeds. + +He and Oliver became intimate. It is said that a fellow-feeling makes us +wondrous kind, and they could feel for one another. Both were down in +life, both had poverty-stricken pockets. They were of the same age, +twenty-one, and in appearance were not dissimilar--fair of face, slight +in person. + +So that Oliver Preen needed no plea for haunting Islip three or four +times a week. "He went over to see Dick MacEveril," would have been his +answer had any inquisitive body inquired what he did there: while, in +point of fact, he went hoping to see Emma Paul--if by delightful chance +he might obtain that boon. + +Thus matters were going on: Oliver, shut up the earlier part of the day +in the Buttery with his father, answering letters, and what not; in the +latter part of it he would be at Islip, or perhaps with Jane at North +Villa. Sometimes they would walk home together; or, if they could have +the gig, Oliver drove his sister back in it. But for the love he bore +Emma, he would have found his life intolerable; nothing but depression, +mortification, disappointment: but when Love takes up its abode in the +heart the dreariest lot becomes one of sunshine. + + +III + +The garden attached to North Villa was large and very old-fashioned: a +place crowded with trees and shrubs, intersected with narrow paths and +homely flowers. The Malvern hills could be seen in the distance, as +beautiful a sight in the early morning, with the lights and shadows +lying upon them, as the world can show. + +It was summer now, nearly midsummer. The garish day was fading, the +summer moon had risen, its round shield so delicately pale as to look +like silver; and Valentine Chandler was pacing the garden with Jane +Preen in the moonlight. They had been singing a duet together at the +piano, "I've wandered in dreams," and he had taken the accompaniment. He +played well; and never living man had sweeter voice than he. They were +wandering in dreams of their own, those two, had been for some time now. + +Silence between them as they paced the walk; a sort of discomforting, +ominous silence. Valentine broke it. + +"Why don't you reproach me, Jane?" + +"Do I ever reproach you?" she answered. + +"No. But you ought to do so." + +"If you would only keep your promises, Valentine!" + +Young Mr. Valentine Chandler, having stayed his steps while they spoke, +backed against the corner of the latticed arbour, which they were just +then passing. The same arbour in which his aunt, Mrs. Mary Ann Cramp, +had sat in her copper-coloured silk gown to convict her brother Jacob, +Valentine's father, of his sins against Tom Chandler, one Sunday +afternoon, not so very long gone by. + +Val did not answer. He seemed to be staring at the moon, to investigate +what it was made of. In reality he saw no moon; neither moon, nor sky +above, nor any earthly thing beneath; he only saw his own reckless folly +in his mind's clouded mirror. + +"You know you do make promises, Valentine!" + +"And when I make them I fully mean to keep them; but a lot of idle +fellows get hold of me, and--and--I _can't_," said he, in a savage tone. + +"But you might," said Jane. "If I made promises I should keep them to +you--whatever the temptation." + +"I cannot think who it is that comes tattling to you about me, Jane! Is +it Oliver?" + +"Oliver! Never. Oliver does not know, or suspect--anything." + +"Then it must be those confounded girls indoors!" + +"Nor they, either. It is not anyone in particular, Valentine; but I hear +one and another talking about you." + +"I should like to know what they say. You must tell me, Jane." + +Jane caught her breath, as if she did not like to answer. But Valentine +was waiting. + +"They say you are not steady, Val," she spoke in a whisper; "that you +neglect your business; that unless you pull up, you will go to the bad." + +For a few moments Valentine remained quite still; you might have thought +he had gone to sleep. Then he put out his hand, drew Jane gently to him, +and bent down his head to her with a long-drawn sigh. + +"I _will_ pull up, Jane. It is not as bad as story-tellers make out. But +I will pull up; I promise you; and I'll begin from this day." + +Jane Preen did not like to remind him that he had said the same thing +many times before; rather would she trust to his renewed word. When a +girl is in love, she has faith in modern miracles. + +Valentine held her to him very closely. "You believe me, don't you, my +darling?" + +"Yes," she whispered. + +Down came a voice to them from some remote path near the house, that was +anything but a whisper. "Jane! Jane Preen! Are you in the garden? or are +you upstairs with Julietta?" + +Jane stole swiftly forward. "I am here, Clementina--it is cool and +pleasant in the night air. Do you want me?" + +"Your boy is asking how long he is to wait. The horse is fresh this +evening, and won't stand." + +"Has the gig come!" exclaimed Jane, as she met Miss Clementina. "And has +Sam brought it! Why not Oliver?" + +Clementina Chandler shook her head and the yellow ribbons which adorned +it, intimating that she did not know anything about Oliver. It was the +servant boy, Sam, who had brought the gig. + +Jane hastily put on her bonnet and scarf, said good night, and was +helped into the gig by Valentine--who gave her hand a tender squeeze as +they drove off. + +"Where is Mr. Oliver?" she inquired of Sam. + +"Mr. Oliver was out, Miss Jane. As it was getting late, the missis told +me to get the gig ready, and bring it." + +After that, Jane was silent, thinking about Valentine and his renewed +promises. It might be that the air was favourable to love catching: +anyway, both the young Preens had fallen desperately into it; Jane with +Valentine Chandler and Oliver with Emma Paul. + +Duck Brook was soon reached, for the horse was swift that evening. +On the opposite side of the road to the Inlets, was a large field, in +which the grass was down and lying in cocks, the sweet smell of the hay +perfuming the air of the summer night. Leaping across this field and +then over its five-barred gate into the road, came Oliver Preen. Jane, +seeing him, had no need to wonder where he had been. + +For across this field and onwards, as straight as the crow flies, was +a near way to Islip. Active legs, such as Oliver's, might get over the +ground in twenty minutes, perhaps in less. But there was no path, or +right of way; he had to push through hedges and charge private grounds, +with other impediments attending. Thomas Chandler, Conveyancer and +Attorney-at-law, had laughingly assured Oliver that if caught using that +way, he would of a surety be had up before the justices of the peace for +trespass. + +"Stop here, Sam," said Jane. "I will get out now." + +Sam stopped the gig, and Jane got down. She joined her brother, and the +boy drove on to the stables. + +"It was too bad, Oliver, not to come for me!" she cried. + +"I meant to be home in time; I did indeed, Jane," he answered; "but +somehow the evening slipped on." + +"Were you at Mr. Paul's?" + +"No; I was with MacEveril." + +"At billiards, I suppose!--and it's very foolish of you, Oliver, for you +know you can't afford billiards." + +"I can't afford anything, Janey, as it seems to me," returned Oliver, +kicking up the dust in the road as they walked along. "Billiards don't +cost much; it's only the tables: anyway, MacEveril paid for all." + +"Has MacEveril talked any more about going away?" + +"He talks of nothing else; is full of it," answered Oliver. "His uncle +says he is not to go; and old Paul stopped him at the first half-word, +saying he could not be spared from the office. Dick says he shall start +all the same, leave or no leave." + +"Dick will be very silly to go just now, when we are about to be so +gay," remarked Jane, "There's the picnic coming off; and the dance at +Mrs. Jacob Chandler's; and no end of tea-parties." + +For just now the neighbourhood was putting on a spurt of gaiety, induced +to it perhaps by the lovely summer sunshine. Oliver's face wore a look +of gloom, and he made no answer to Jane's remark. Several matters, cross +and contrary, were trying Oliver Preen; not the least of them that he +seemed to make no way whatever with Miss Emma. + + * * * * * + +When we left school for the midsummer holidays that year, Mr. and Mrs. +Todhetley were staying at Crabb Cot. We got there on Friday, the +eleventh of June. + +On the following Monday morning the Squire went to his own small +sitting-room after breakfast to busy himself with his accounts and +papers. Presently I heard him call me. + +"Have you a mind for a walk, Johnny?" + +"Yes, sir; I should be glad of one." Tod had gone to the Whitneys for +a couple of days, and without him I felt like a fish out of water. + +"Well, I want you to go as far as Massock's. He is a regular cheat; that +man, Johnny, needs looking after---- What is it, Thomas?" + +For old Thomas had come in, a card between his fingers. "It's Mr. +Gervais Preen, sir," he said, in answer, putting the card on the +Squire's table. "Can you see him?" + +"Oh, yes, I can see him; show him in. Wait a bit, though, Thomas," broke +off the Squire. "Johnny, I expect Preen has come about that pony. I +suppose we may as well keep him?" + +"Tod said on Saturday, sir, that we should not do better," I answered. +"He tried him well, and thinks he is worth the price." + +"Ay; ten pounds, wasn't it? We'll keep him, then. Mr. Preen can come in, +Thomas." + +Some few days before this the Squire had happened to say in Preen's +hearing that he wanted a pony for the two children to ride, Hugh and +Lena. Preen caught up the words, saying he had one for sale--a very nice +pony, sound and quiet. So the pony had been sent to Crabb Cot upon +trial, and we all liked him. His name was Taffy. + +Mr. Preen came into the room, his small face cool and dark as usual; he +had driven from Duck Brook. "A fine morning," he remarked, as he sat +down; but it would be fiery hot by-and-by, too hot for the middle of +June, and we should probably pay for it later. The Squire asked if he +would take anything, but he declined. + +"What of the pony--Taffy--Squire?" went on Mr. Preen. "Do you like him?" + +"Yes, we like him very well," said the Squire, heartily, "and we mean to +keep him, Preen." + +"All right," said Mr. Preen. "You will not repent it." + +Then they fell to talking of horses in general, and of other topics. I +stayed on, sitting by the window, not having received the message for +Massock. Mr. Preen stayed also, making no move to go away; when it +suddenly occurred to the Squire--he mentioned it later--that perhaps +Preen might be waiting for the money. + +"Ten pounds, I think, was the price agreed upon," observed the Squire +with ready carelessness. "Would you like to be paid now?" + +"If it does not inconvenience you." + +The Squire unlocked his shabby old bureau, which stood against the wall, +fingered his stock of money, and brought forth a ten-pound bank-note. +This he handed to Preen, together with a sheet of paper, that he might +give a receipt. + +When the receipt was written, Mr. Preen took up the note, looked at it +for a moment or two, and then passed it back again. + +"Would you mind writing your name on this note, Squire?" + +The Squire laughed gently. "Not at all," he answered; "but why should I? +Do you think it is a bad one? No fear, Preen; I had it from the Old Bank +at Worcester." + +"No, I do not fear that," said Preen, speaking quietly. "But since a +disagreeable trouble which happened to me some years ago, I have always +liked, when receiving a bank-note, to get, if possible, the donor's name +upon it in his own handwriting." + +"What was the trouble?" + +"I was playing cards at the house of a man of fashion, who was brother +to an earl, and lived in a fashionable square at the West End of +London, and I had a ten-pound note paid me, for I won, by a man who, I +understood, had recently retired with honours from the army, a Major +D----. I will not give you his name. The next day, or next but one, +I paid this note away to a tradesman, and it was found to be forged; +cleverly forged," repeated Preen, with emphasis. + +"What did you do?" asked the Squire. + +"I got Major D.'s address from the house where we had played, carried +the note to him, and inquired what it meant and whence he got it. Will +you believe, Mr. Todhetley," added the speaker, with slight agitation, +"that the man utterly repudiated the note, saying----" + +"But how could he repudiate it?" interrupted the Squire, interested in +the tale. + +"He said it was not the note he had paid me; he stood it out in the most +impudent manner. I told him, and it was the pure truth, that it was +impossible there could be any mistake. I was a poor man, down on my luck +just then, and it was the only note I had had about me for some time +past. All in vain. He held to it that it was not the note, and there the +matter ended. I could not prove that it was the note except by my bare +word. It was my word against his, you see, and naturally I went to the +wall." + +The Squire nodded. "Who was at the loss of the money?" + +"I was. Besides that, I had the cold shoulder turned upon me. Major D. +was believed; I was doubted; some people went so far as to say I must +have trumped up the tale. For some time after that I would not take a +bank-note from any man unless he put his signature to it, and it has +grown into a habit with me. So, if you don't mind, Squire----" + +The Squire smiled goodnaturedly, drew the bank-note to him, and wrote +upon the back in a corner, "J. Todhetley." + +"There, Preen," said he, returning it, "I won't repudiate that. Couldn't +if I would." + +Mr. Preen put the note into his pocket-book, and rose to leave. We +strolled with him across the front garden to the gate, where his gig was +waiting. + +"I have to go as far as Norton; and possibly after that on to Stoulton," +he remarked, as he took the reins in his hand and got in. + +"You will have a hot drive of it," said the Squire. + +"Yes; but if one undertakes business it must be attended to," said +Preen, as he drove off. + + + + +A TRAGEDY + + +II.--IN THE BUTTERY + + +I + +The windows of the room, called the Buttery, which Mr. Preen used as an +office in his house at Duck Brook, were thrown open to the warm, pure +air. It was about the hottest part of the afternoon. Oliver Preen sat +back in his chair before the large table covered with papers, waiting in +idleness and inward rebellion--rebellion against the untoward fate which +had latterly condemned him to this dreary and monotonous life. Taking +out his pocket-handkerchief with a fling, he passed it over his fair, +mild face, which was very hot just now. + +To-day, of all days, Oliver had wanted to be at liberty, whereas he was +being kept a prisoner longer than usual, and for nothing. When Mr. Preen +rode out after breakfast in the morning he had left Oliver a couple of +letters to copy as a beginning, remarking that there was a great deal +to do that day, double work, and he should be back in half-an-hour. The +double work arose from the fact that none had been done the day before, +as Mr. Preen was out. For that day, Monday--this was Tuesday--was the +day Mr. Preen had paid us a visit at Crabb Cott, to be paid for Taffy, +the pony, and had then gone to Norton, and afterwards to Stoulton, +and it had taken him the best part of the day. So the double work was +waiting. But the half hours and the hours had passed on, and Mr. Preen +had not yet returned. It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and +they had dined without him. + +Oliver, who did not dare to absent himself without permission, and +perhaps was too conscientious to do so, left his chair for the window. +The old garden was quite a wilderness of blossom and colour, with all +kinds of homely flowers crowded into it. The young man stretched forth +his hand and plucked a spray or two of jessamine, which grew against the +wall. Idly smelling it, he lost himself in a vision of the days gone by; +his careless, happy life at Tours, in his aunt's luxurious home, when he +had no fear of a dark future, had only to dress well and ride or drive +out, and idly enjoy himself. + +Suddenly he was brought back to reality. The sound of hoofs clattering +into the fold-yard behind the house struck upon his ear, and he knew his +father had come home. + +Ten minutes yet, or more, and then Mr. Preen came into the room, his +little dark face looking darker and more cross than usual. He had been +snatching some light refreshment, and sat down at once in his place at +the table, facing the windows; Oliver sat opposite to him. + +"What have you done?" asked he. + +"I have only copied those two letters; there was nothing else to do," +replied Oliver. + +"Could you not have looked over the pile of letters which came this +morning, to see whether there were any you could answer?" growled Mr. +Preen. + +"Why, no, father," replied Oliver in slight surprise; "I did not know I +might look at them. And if I had looked I should not have known what to +reply." + +Mr. Preen began reading the letters over at railroad speed, dictating +answers for Oliver to write, writing some himself. This took time. He +had been unexpectedly detained at the other end of Captain Falkner's +land by some business which had vexed him. Most of these letters were +from farmers and others, about the new patent agricultural implements +for which Mr. Preen had taken the agency. He wished to push the sale of +them, as it gave him a good percentage. + +The answers, addressed and stamped for the post, at length lay ready on +the table. Mr. Preen then took out his pocket-book and extracted from it +that ten-pound bank-note given him the previous morning by Mr. Todhetley +for the children's pony, the note he had got the Squire to indorse, as I +have already told. Letting the bank-note lie open before him, Mr. Preen +penned a few lines, as follows, Oliver looking on:-- + +"DEAR SIR,--I enclose you the ten pounds. Have not been able to send it +before. Truly yours, G. PREEN." + +Mr. Preen folded the sheet on which he had written this, put the +bank-note within it, and enclosed all in a good-sized business envelope, +which he fastened securely down. He then addressed it to John Paul, +Esquire, Islip, and put on a postage stamp. + +"I shall seal this, Oliver," he remarked; "it's safer. Get the candle +and the wax. Here, you can seal it," he added, taking the signet ring +from his finger, on which was engraved the crest of the Preen family. + +Oliver lighted a candle kept on a stand at the back for such purposes, +brought it to the table, and sealed the letter with a large, imposing +red seal. As he passed the ring and letter back to his father, he spoke. + +"If you are particularly anxious that the letter should reach Mr. Paul +safely, father, and of course you are so, as it contains money, why did +you not send it by hand? I would have taken it to him." + +"There's nothing safer than the post," returned Mr. Preen, "and I want +him to have it to-morrow morning." + +Oliver laughed. "I could have taken it this evening, father. I can do so +still, if you like." + +"No, it shall go by post. You want to be off to MacEveril, I suppose." + +"No, I do not," replied Oliver. "Had I been able to finish here this +morning I might have gone over this afternoon; it is too late now." + +"You had nothing to do all day yesterday," growled his father. + +"Oh, yes, I know. I am not grumbling." + +Mr. Preen put the letter into his pocket, gathered up the pile of other +letters, handed half of them to his son, for it was a pretty good heap, +and they started for the post, about three minutes' walk. + +The small shop containing the post-office at Duck Brook was kept by Mrs. +Sym, who sold sweetstuff, also tapes and cottons. Young Sym, her son, +a growing youth, delivered the letters, which were brought in by a +mail-cart. She was a clean, tidy woman of middle age, never seen out of +a muslin cap with a wide border and a black bow, a handkerchief crossed +over her shoulders, and a checked apron. + +Oliver, of lighter step than his father, reached the post-office first +and tumbled his portion of the letters into the box placed in the window +to receive them. The next moment Mr. Preen put his in also, together +with the letter addressed to Mr. Paul. + +"We are too late," observed Oliver. "I thought we should be." + +"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Preen, in surprise, as he turned round. "Too late! +Why how can the afternoon have gone on?" he continued, his eyes falling +on the clock of the little grey church which stood beyond the triangle +of houses, the hands of which were pointing to a quarter past five. + +"If you knew it was so late why did you not say so?" he asked sharply of +his son. + +"I was not sure until I saw the clock; I only thought it must be late by +the time we had been at work," replied Oliver. + +"I might have sent you over with that letter as you suggested, had I +known it would not go to-night. I wonder whether Dame Sym would give it +back to me." + +He dived down the two steps into the shop as he spoke, Oliver following. +Dame Sym--so Duck Brook called her--stood knitting behind the little +counter, an employment she took up at spare moments. + +"Mrs. Sym, I've just put some letters into the box, not perceiving that +it was past five o'clock," began Mr. Preen, civilly. "I suppose they'll +not go to-night?" + +"Can't, sir," replied the humble post-mistress. "The bag's made up." + +"There's one letter that will hardly bear delay. It is for Mr. Paul of +Islip. If you can return it me out of the box I will send it over by +hand at once; my son will take it." + +"But it is not possible, sir. Once a letter is put into the box I dare +not give it back again," remonstrated Mrs. Sym, gazing amiably at Mr. +Preen through her spectacles, whose round glasses had a trick of +glistening when at right angles with the light. + +"You might stretch a point for once, to oblige me," returned Mr. Preen, +fretfully. + +"And I'm sure I'd not need to be pressed to do it, sir, if I could," she +cried in her hearty way. "But I dare not break the rules, sir; I might +lose my place. Our orders are not to open the receiving box until the +time for making-up, or give a letter back on any pretence whatever." + +Mr. Preen saw that further argument would be useless. She was a kindly, +obliging old body, but upright to the last degree in all that related to +her place. Anything that she believed (right or wrong) might not be done +she stuck to. + +"Obstinate as the grave," muttered he. + +Dame Sym did not hear; she had turned away to serve a child who came in +for some toffee. Mr. Preen waited. + +"When will the letter go?" he asked, as the child went out. + +"By to-morrow's day mail, sir. It will be delivered at Islip--I think +you said Islip, Mr. Preen--about half-past four, or so, in the +afternoon." + +"Is the delay of much consequence, sir?" inquired Oliver, as he and his +father turned out of the shop. + +"No," said Mr. Preen. "Only I hate letters to be delayed uselessly in +the post." + + * * * * * + +Tea was waiting when they got in. A mutton chop was served with it for +Mr. Preen, as he had lost his dinner. Jane ran downstairs, drank a cup +of tea in haste, and ran back again. She had been busy in her bedroom +all day, smartening-up a dress. A picnic was to be held on Thursday, the +next day but one; Jane and Oliver were invited to it, and Jane wanted to +look as well as other girls. + +After tea Oliver sat for ever so long at the open window, reading the +_Worcester Journal_. He then strolled out to the Inlets, sauntered +beside the brook, and presently threw himself listlessly upon one of the +benches facing it. The sun shone right upon his face there, so he tilted +his straw hat over his eyes. That did not do, and he moved to another +bench which the trees shaded. He often felt lonely and weary now; this +evening especially so; even Jane was not with him. + +His thoughts turned to Emma Paul; and a glow, bright as the declining +sun rays, shot up in his heart. As long as _she_ filled it, he could not +be all gloom. + +"If I had means to justify it I should speak to her," mused he--as he +had told himself forty times over, and forty more. "But when a fellow +has no fortune, and no prospect of fortune; when it may be seen by no +end of odd signs and tokens that he has not so much as a silver coin in +his pocket, how can he ask a girl the one great question of life? Old +Paul would send me to the right-about." + +He leaned his head sideways for a few minutes against the trunk of a +tree, gazing at the reddening sky through the green tracery of the +waving boughs; and fell to musing again. + +"If she loved me as I love her, she would be glad to wait on as things +are, hoping for better times. Lovers, who are truly attached to each +other, do wait for years and years, and are all the happier for it. +Sometimes I feel inclined to enlist in a crack regiment. The worst of +it is that a fellow rarely rises from the ranks in England to position +and honour, as he does in France; they manage things better over there. +If old Uncle Edward would only open his purse-strings and buy me a +commission, I might---- Halloa!" + +A burst of girlish laughter, and a pair of girlish arms, flung round his +neck from behind, disturbed Oliver's castles-in-the-air. Jane came round +and sat down beside him. "I thought I should find you here, Oliver," she +said. + +"Frock finished, Janey?" + +"Finished! why no," she exclaimed. "It will hardly be finished by this +time to-morrow." + +"Why, how idle you must have been!" + +"Idle? You don't understand things, or the time it takes to make an old +frock into a new one. A dressmaker might have done it in a day, but I'm +not a dressmaker, you know, Oliver." + +"Is it a silk gown?" + +"It is a mousseline-de-laine, if you chance to be acquainted with that +material," answered Janey. "It was very pretty when it was new: pale +pink and lilac blossoms upon a cream ground. But it has been washed, +and that has made it shrink, and it has to be let out everywhere and +lengthened, and the faded silk trimming has to be turned, and--oh, ever +so much work. And now, I daresay you are as wise as you were before, +Oliver." + +"I've heard of washed-out dresses," remarked Oliver. "They look like +rags, don't they?" + +"Some may. Mine won't. It has washed like a pocket-handkerchief, and it +looks as good as new." + +"Wish my coats would wash," said Oliver. "They are getting shabby, and I +want some new ones." + +Not having any consolation to administer in regard to the coats, Jane +did not take up the subject. "What have you been doing all day, Oliver?" +she asked. + +"Airing my patience in that blessed Buttery," replied he. "Never stirred +out of it at all, except for dinner." + +"I thought you wanted to get over to Islip this afternoon." + +"I might want to get over to the North Pole, and be none the nearer to +it. MacEveril was bound for some place a mile or two across fields this +afternoon, on business for the office, and I promised to go over to +walk with him. Promises, though, are like pie-crust, Janey: made to be +broken." + +Jane nodded assent. "And a promise which you are obliged to break is +sure to be one you particularly want to keep. I wish I had a pair of new +gloves, Oliver. Pale grey." + +"I wish I had half-a-dozen new pairs, for the matter of that. Just look +at those little minnows, leaping in the water. How pretty they are!" + +He went to the edge of the brook and stood looking down at the small +fry. Jane followed. Then they walked about in the Inlets, then sat down +again and watched the sunset; and so the evening wore away until they +went home. + +Jane was shut up again the following day, busy with her dress; Oliver, +as usual, was in the Buttery with his father. At twelve o'clock Mr. +Preen prepared to go out to keep an appointment at Evesham, leaving +Oliver a lot of work to do, very much to his aggravation. + +"It's a shame. It will take me all the afternoon to get through it," ran +his thoughts--and he would have liked to say so aloud. + +"You don't look pleased, young man," remarked his father. "Recollect you +will be off duty to-morrow." + +Oliver's countenance cleared; his disposition was a pleasant one, never +retaining anger long, and he set to his task with a good will. The +morrow being the day of the picnic, he would have whole holiday. + +At five o'clock the young servant carried the tea-tray into the parlour. +Presently Mrs. Preen came in, made the tea, and sat down to wait for her +son and daughter. Tired and hot, she was glad of the rest. + +Jane ran downstairs, all happiness. "Mamma, it is finished," she cried; +"quite finished. It looks so well." + +"It had need look well," fretfully retorted Mrs. Preen, who had been +unable to get at Jane for any useful purpose these two days, and +resented it accordingly. + +"When all trades fail I can turn dressmaker," said the girl, gaily. +"Where's Oliver?" + +"In the Buttery, I expect; he said he had a great deal to do there this +afternoon, and I have not seen him about," replied Mrs. Preen, as she +poured out the tea. "Not that I should have been likely to see him--shut +into that hot kitchen with the ironing." + +Jane knew this was a shaft meant for herself. At ordinary times she did +her share of the ironing. "I will tell Oliver that tea is ready, mamma," +she said, rising to go to the other room. "Why, there he is, sitting in +the shade under the walnut tree," she exclaimed, happening to look from +the window. + +"Sitting out in the cool," remarked Mrs. Preen. "I don't blame him, +poring all day long over those accounts and things. Call him in, Jane." + +"Coming," said Oliver, in response to Jane's call from the open window. + +He crossed the grass slowly, fanning himself with his straw hat. His +fair face--an unusual thing with him--was scarlet. + +"You look red-hot, Oliver," laughed his sister. + +"If it is as hot to-morrow as it is to-day we shall get a baking," +returned Oliver. + +"In this intense weather nothing makes one feel the heat like work, and +I suppose you've been hard at it this afternoon," said his mother in a +tone of compassion, for she disliked work naturally very much herself. + +"Of course; I had to be," answered Oliver. + +He and Jane sat together under the shade of the walnut tree after tea. +When it grew a little cooler they went to the Inlets, that favourite +resort of theirs; a spot destined to bear a strange significance for one +of them in the days to come; a haunting remembrance. + + +II + +The white mist, giving promise of a hot and glorious day, had hardly +cleared itself from the earth, when, at ten o'clock on the Thursday +morning, Jane and Oliver Preen set off in the gig for North Villa, both +of them as spruce as you please; Jane in that pretty summer dress she +had spent so much work over, a straw hat with its wreath of pink may +shading her fair face, Oliver with a white rose in his button-hole. The +party was first to assemble at Mrs. Jacob Chandler's, and to go from +thence in waggonettes. There had been some trouble about the gig, Mr. +Preen wanting it himself that day, or telling Jane and Oliver that he +did, and that they could walk. Jane almost cried, declaring she did not +care to arrive at North Villa looking like a milkmaid, hot and red with +walking; and Mr. Preen gave way. Oliver was to drive himself and Jane, +Sam being sent on to Crabb to bring back the gig. + +Mr. Preen did not regard the picnic with favour. Mr. Preen could not +imagine what anybody could want at one, he said, when ungraciously +giving consent to Oliver's absenting himself from that delightful +Buttery for a whole day. + +Picnics in truth are nearly all alike, and are no doubt more agreeable +to the young than to the old. This one was given conjointly by the Jacob +Chandlers, the Letsoms, the Coneys, and the Ashtons of Timberdale. A +few honorary guests were invited. I call them honorary because they had +nothing to do with finding provisions. Tod got an invitation, myself +also; and uncommonly vexed we were not to be able to arrive till late +in the afternoon. The Beeles from Pigeon Green were coming to spend +the day at Crabb Cot, and the Squire would not let us off earlier. + +The picnic was held upon Mrs. Cramp's farm, not far from Crabb, and a +charming spot for it. Gentle hills and dales, shady groves and mossy +glens surrounded the house, which was a very good one. So that it may be +said we all were chiefly Mrs. Cramp's guests. Mrs. Cramp made a beaming +hostess, and was commander-in-chief at her own tea-table. Tea was taken +in her large parlour, to save the bother of carrying things out. Dinner +had been taken in the dell, under shade of the high and wide-spreading +trees. + +They were seated at tea when we got there. Such a large company at the +long table; and such tempting things to eat! I found a seat by Emma +Paul, the prettiest girl there; Oliver Preen was next her on the other +side. Mary MacEveril made room for Tod beside her. The MacEverils were +proud, exclusive people, and Miss MacEveril privately looked down on +some of her fellow guests; but Tod was welcome; he was of her own +order. + +Two or three minutes later Tom Chandler came in; he also had not been +able to get away earlier. He shook hands with his aunt, Mrs. Cramp, +nodded to the rest of us, and deftly managed to wedge himself in between +Emma Paul and young Preen. Preen did not seem pleased, Emma did; and +made all the room she could, by crushing me. + +"I wouldn't be in your shoes to-morrow morning, young man," began Mr. +Chandler, in a serio-comic tone, as he looked at Dick MacEveril across +the table. "To leave the office to its own devices the first thing this +morning, in defiance of orders----" + +"Hang the musty old office!" interrupted MacEveril, with a genial laugh. + +Valentine Chandler had done the same by his office; pleasure first and +business later always with both of them; but Valentine was his own +master and MacEveril was not. In point of fact, Mr. Paul, not a man to +be set at defiance by his clerks, was in a great rage with Dick +MacEveril. + +I supposed the attractions of the picnic had been too powerful for Dick, +and that he thought the sooner he got to it the better. But this proved +to be a fallacy. Mrs. Cramp was setting her nephew right. + +"My dear Tom, you are mistaken. Mr. MacEveril did not come this morning; +he only got here an hour ago--like two or three more of the young men." + +"Oh, did he not, Aunt Mary Ann?" replied Tom, turning his handsome, +pleasant face upon her. + +"Yes, and if you were not at the office I should like to know what you +did with yourself all day, Dick," severely cried Miss MacEveril, bending +forward to regard her cousin. + +"I went to see the pigeon-match," said Dick, coolly. + +"To see the pigeon-match!" she echoed. "How cruel of you! You had better +not let papa know." + +"If anyone lets him know it will be yourself, Miss Mary. And suppose +you hold your tongue now," cried Dick, not very politely. + +This little passage-at-arms over, we went on with tea. Afterwards we +strolled out of doors and disposed of ourselves at will. Some of the +Chandler girls took possession of me, and I went about with them. + +When it was getting late, and they had talked me deaf, I began looking +about for Tod, and found him on a bench within the Grove. A sheltered +spot. Sitting there, you could look out, but people could not look in. +Mary MacEveril and Georgiana Chandler were with him; Oliver Preen stood +close by, leaning against the stump of a tree. I thought how sad his +look was, and wondered what made it so. + +Within view of us, but not within hearing, in a dark, narrow walk Tom +Chandler and Emma Paul were pacing side by side, absorbed evidently +in one another. The sun had set, the lovely colours in the sky were +giving place to twilight. It was the hour when matter-of-fact prosaic +influences change into romance; when, if there's any sentiment within us +it is safe to come out. + + "It is the hour when from the boughs + The nightingale's high note is heard; + It is the hour when lovers' vows + Seem sweet in every whispered word," + +as Lord Byron says. And who could discourse on love--the true ring of +it, mind you--as he did? + +"Do sing," said Tod to Miss MacEveril; and I found they had been teasing +her to do so for the last five minutes. She had a pleasant voice and +sang well. + +"I'm sure you don't care to hear me, Mr. Todhetley." + +"But I'm sure I do," answered Tod, who would flirt with pretty girls +when the fit took him. Flirt and flatter too. + +"We should have everyone coming round us." + +"Not a soul of them. They are all away somewhere, out of hearing. Do +sing me one song." + +She began at once, without more ado, choosing an old song that Mrs. +Todhetley often chose; one that was a favourite of hers, as it was of +mine: "Faithless Emma." Those songs of the old days bore, all of them, +a history. + + "I wandered once at break of day, + While yet upon the sunless sea + In wanton sighs the breeze delayed, + And o'er the wavy surface played. + Then first the fairest face I knew, + First loved the eye of softest blue, + And ventured, fearful, first to sip + The sweets that hung upon the lip + Of faithless Emma. + + So mixed the rose and lily white + That nature seemed uncertain, quite, + To deck her cheek which flower she chose, + The lily or the blushing rose. + I wish I ne'er had seen her eye, + Ne'er seen her cheeks of doubtful dye, + Nor ever, ever dared to sip + The sweets that hung upon the lip + Of faithless Emma. + + Now though from early dawn of day, + I rove alone and, anxious, stray + Till night with curtain dark descends, + And day no more its glimmering lends; + Yet still, like hers no cheek I find, + No eye like hers, save in my mind, + Where still I fancy that I sip + The sweets that hung upon the lip + Of faithless Emma." + +"I think all Emmas are faithless," exclaimed Georgiana, speaking at +random, as the last sounds of the sweet song died away. + +"A sweeping assertion, Miss Georgie," laughed Tod. + +"Any way, I knew two girls named Emma who were faithless to their +engaged lovers, and one of them's not married yet to any one else," +returned Georgie. + +"I think I know one Emma who will be true for ever and a day," cried +Tod, as he pointed significantly to Emma Paul, still walking side by +side with Tom Chandler in the distance. + +"I could have told you that before now," said Mary MacEveril. "I have +seen it for a long time, though Miss Emma will never confess to it." + +"And now, I fancy it will soon be a case," continued Tod. + +"A case!" cried Georgie. "What do you mean?" + +"A regular case; dead, and gone, and done for," nodded Tod. "Church +bells and wedding gloves, and all the rest of the paraphernalia. Looks +like it, anyhow, to-night." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Georgie, "then how sly Tom has been over it, never to +tell us! Is it really true? I shall ask Valentine." + +"The last person likely to know," said Tod. "You'll find it's true +enough, Georgie." + +"Then----" Georgie began, and broke off. "Listen!" she cried. "They are +beginning to dance on the lawn. Come, Mary." And the two girls moved +away, attracted by the scraping of the fiddle. + +Oliver Preen moved a step forward from the tree, speaking in a low, calm +tone; but his face was white as death. + +"Were you alluding to _them_?" he asked, looking across to those two +pacing about. "Why do you say it is a 'case'?" + +"Because I am sure it is one," answered Tod. "They have been in love +with one another this many a day past, those two, months and months and +years. As everyone might see who had eyes, except old Paul. That's why, +Preen." + +Oliver did not answer. He had his arm round the trunk of a tree looking +across as before. + +"And I wouldn't stake a fortune that Paul has not seen it also," went on +Tod. "All the same, I had a rumour whispered to me to-day that he sees +it now, and has said, 'Bless you, my children.' Tom Chandler is to be +made his partner and to marry Emma." + +"We are too many girls there, and want you for partners," cried Eliza +Letsom, dashing up. "Do come and dance with us, Johnny!" + +What else could I do? Or Tod, either. + +It was nearly eleven o'clock when the party separated. The waggonettes +held us all, and nice scrambling and crowding we had for seats. One of +the vehicles, after setting down some of its freight--ourselves and the +Miss Chandlers--continued its way to Duck Brook with Jane and Oliver +Preen. + +It was a lovely night. The moon had risen, and was flooding the earth +with its soft light. Jane sat looking at it in romantic reverie. +Suddenly it struck her that her brother was unusually still; he had not +spoken a single word. + +"How silent you are, Oliver. You are not asleep, are you?" + +Oliver slowly raised his bent head. "Silent?" he repeated. "One can't +talk much after a tiring day such as this." + +"I think it must be getting on for twelve o'clock," said Jane. "What a +delightfully happy day it has been!" + +"The one bad day of all my life," groaned Oliver, in spirit. But he +broke into the two lines, in pretended gaiety, that some one had sung on +the box-seat of the waggonette when leaving Mrs. Cramp's: + + "For the best of all ways to lengthen our days + Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear." + + +III + + "MY DEAR SIR,--Robert Derrick is getting troublesome. He has been + here three times in as many days, pressing for ten pounds, the + instalment of your debt now due to him. Will you be good enough to + transmit it to me, that I may pay and get rid of him. + + "Truly yours, JOHN PAUL." + +This letter, written by Lawyer Paul of Islip, came to Mr. Preen by the +Thursday morning post, just a week after the picnic. It put him into a +temper. + +"What do Paul's people mean by their carelessness?" he exclaimed +angrily, as he snatched a sheet of paper to pen the answer. + + "DEAR MR. PAUL,--I don't know what you mean. I sent the money to + you ten days ago--a bank-note, enclosed in a letter to yourself. + + "Truly yours, G. PREEN." + +Calling Oliver from his breakfast, Mr. Preen despatched this answer by +him at once to the post-office. There was no hurry whatever, since the +day mail had gone out, and it would lie in Mrs. Sym's drawer until +towards evening, but an angry man knows nothing of patience. + +The week since the picnic had not been productive of any particular +event, except a little doubt and trouble regarding Dick MacEveril. +Mr. Paul was so much annoyed, at Dick's taking French leave to absent +himself from the office that day, that he attacked him with hot words +when he entered it on the Friday morning. Dick took it very coolly--old +Paul said "insolently," and retorted that he wanted a longer holiday +than that, a whole fortnight, and that he must have it. Shortly and +sharply Mr. Paul told him he could not have it, unless he chose to have +it for good. + +Dick took him at his word. Catching up his hat and stick, he went out of +the office there and then, and had not since appeared at it. Not only +that: during the Friday he disappeared also from Islip. Nobody knew for +certain whither he had gone, or where he was: unless it might be London. +He had made no secret of what he wanted a holiday for. Some young fellow +whom he had known in Australia had recently landed at the docks and was +in London, and Dick wanted to go up to see him. + +Deprived of his friend, and deprived of his heart's love, Oliver +Preen was in a bad case. The news of Emma Paul's engagement to Thomas +Chandler, and the news that Chandler was to have a share in her father's +business, had been made public; the speedy marriage was already talked +of. No living person saw what havoc it was making of Oliver Preen. Jane +found him unnaturally quiet. He would sit by the hour together and never +say a word to her or to anyone else, apparently plunged in what might be +either profound scientific calculations or grim despondency. It was as +if he had the care of the world upon his mind, and at times there would +break from him a sudden long-drawn sigh. Poor Oliver! Earth's sunshine +had gone out for him with sweet Emma Paul. + +She had not been faithless, like the Faithless Emma of the song, for +she had never cared for anyone but Tom Chandler, had never given the +smallest encouragement to another. Oliver had only deluded himself. +To his heart, filled and blinded with its impassioned love, her open, +pleasing manners had seemed to be a response, and so he had mistaken +her. That was all. + +But this is sentiment, which the world, having grown enlightened of +late years, practically despises; and we must go on to something more +sensible and serious. + +The answer sent by Mr. Preen to John Paul of Islip brought forth an +answer in its turn. It was to the effect that Mr. Paul had not seen +anything of the letter spoken of by Mr. Preen, or of the money it was +said to contain. + +This reached Duck Brook on the Saturday morning. Mr. Preen, more puzzled +this time than angry, could not make it out. + +"Oliver," said he, "which day was it last week that I wrote that letter +to Paul of Islip, enclosing a ten-pound note?" + +"I don't remember," carelessly replied Oliver. They had not yet settled +to work, and Oliver was stretched out at the open window, talking to a +little dog that was leaping up outside. + +"Not remember!" indignantly echoed Mr. Preen. "My memory is distracted +with a host of cares, but yours has nothing to trouble it. Bring your +head in, sir, and attend to me properly." + +Oliver dutifully brought his head in, his face red with stooping. "What +was it you asked me, father? I did not quite catch it," he said. + +"I asked you if you could remember which day I sent that money to Paul. +But I think I remember now for myself. It was the day after I received +the bank-note from Mr. Todhetley. That was Monday. Then I sent the +letter to Paul with the bank-note in it on the Tuesday. You sealed it +for me." + +"I remember quite well that it was Tuesday--two days before the picnic," +said Oliver. + +"Oh, of course; a picnic is a matter to remember anything by," returned +Mr. Preen, sarcastically. "Well, Paul says he has never received either +money or letter." + +"The letter was posted----" began Oliver, but his father impatiently +interrupted him. + +"Certainly it was posted. You saw me post it." + +"It was too late for the evening's post; Dame Sym said it would go out +the next morning," went on Oliver. "Are Paul's people sure they did not +receive it?" + +"Paul tells me so. Paul is an exact man, and would not tolerate any but +exact clerks about him. He writes positively." + +"I suppose Mrs. Sym did not forget to forward it?" suggested Oliver. + +"What an idiot you are!" retorted his father, by way of being +complimentary. "The letter must have gone out safely enough." + +Nevertheless, after Mr. Preen had attended to his other letters and to +two or three matters they involved, he put on his hat and went to Mrs. +Sym's. + +The debt for which the money was owing appeared to be a somewhat +mysterious one. Robert Derrick, a man who dealt in horses, or in +anything else by which he could make money, and attended all fairs near +and far, lived about two miles from Islip. One day, about a year back, +Derrick presented himself at the office of Mr. Paul, and asked that +gentleman if he would sue Gervais Preen for a sum of money, forty +pounds, which had been long owing to him. What was it owing for, Mr. +Paul inquired; but Derrick declined to say. Instead of suing him, the +lawyer wrote to request Mr. Preen to call upon him, which Mr. Preen did. +He acknowledged that he did owe the debt--forty pounds--but, like +Derrick, he evaded the question when asked what he owed it for. Perhaps +it was for a horse, or horses, suggested Mr. Paul. No, it was for +nothing of that kind, Mr. Preen replied; it was a strictly private debt. + +An arrangement was come to. To pay the whole at once was not, Mr. Preen +said, in his power; but he would pay it by instalments. Ten pounds every +six months he would place in Mr. Paul's hands, to be handed to Derrick, +whom Mr. Preen refused to see. This arrangement Derrick agreed to. Two +instalments had already been paid, and one which seemed to have now +miscarried in the post was the third. + +"Mrs. Sym," began Mr. Preen, when he had dived into the sweet-stuff +shop, and confronted the post-mistress behind her counter, "do you +recollect, one day last week, my asking you to give me back a letter +which I had just posted, addressed to Mr. Paul of Islip, and you +refused?" + +"Yes, sir, I do," answered Mrs. Sym. "I was sorry, but----" + +"Never mind that. What I want to ask you is this: did you notice that +letter when you made up the bag?" + +"I did, sir. I noticed it particularly in consequence of what had +passed. It was sealed with a large red seal." + +"Just so. Well, Mr. Paul declares that letter has not reached him." + +"But it must have reached him," rejoined Mrs. Sym, fastening her +glittering spectacles upon the speaker's face. "It had Mr. Paul's +address upon it in plain writing, and it went away from here in the +bag with the rest of the letters." + +"The letter had a ten-pound note in it." + +Mrs. Sym paused. "Well, sir, if so, that would not endanger the letter's +safety. Who was to know it had? But letters that contain money ought to +be registered, Mr. Preen." + +"You are sure it went away as usual from here--all safe?" + +"Sure and certain, sir. And I think it must have reached Mr. Paul, if +I may say so. He may have overlooked it; perhaps let it fall into some +part of his desk, unopened. Why, some years ago, there was a great fuss +made about a letter which was sent to Captain Falkner, when he was +living at the Hall. He came here one day, complaining to me that a +letter sent to him by post, which had money in it, had never been +delivered. The trouble there was over that lost letter, sir, I couldn't +tell you. The Captain accused the post-office in London, for it was +London it came from, of never having forwarded it; then he accused me of +not sending it out with the delivery. After all, it was himself who had +mislaid the letter. He had somehow let it fall unnoticed into a deep +drawer of his writing-table when it was handed to him with other letters +at the morning's delivery; and there it lay all snug till found, hid +away amid a mass of papers. What do you think of that, sir?" + +Mr. Preen did not say. + +"In all the years I have kept this post-office I can't call to memory +one single letter being lost in the transit," she ran on, warming in her +own cause. "Why, how could it, sir? Once a letter's sent away safe in +the bag, there it must be; it can't fall out of it. Your letter was so +sent away by me, Mr. Preen, and where should it be if Mr. Paul hasn't +got it? Please tell him, sir, from me, that I'd respectfully suggest he +should look well about his desk and places." + +Evidently it was not at this side the letter had been lost--if lost it +was. Mr. Preen wished the post-mistress good morning, and walked away. +Her suggestion had impressed him; he began to think it very likely +indeed that Paul had overlooked the letter on its arrival, and would +find it about his desk, or table, or some other receptacle for papers. + +He drove over to Islip in the gig in the afternoon, taking Oliver with +him. Islip reached, he left Oliver in the gig, to wait at the door or +drive slowly about as he pleased, while he went into the office to, as +he expressed it, "have it out with Paul." + +Not at once, however, could he do that, for Mr. Paul was out; but he saw +Tom Chandler. + +The offices, situated in the heart of Islip, and not a stone's throw +from the offices of Valentine Chandler, consisted of three rooms, all on +the ground floor. The clerks' room was in front, its windows (painted +white, so that no one could see in or out) faced the street; Mr. Paul's +room lay behind it and looked on to a garden. There was also a small +slip of a room, not much better than a passage, into which Mr. Paul +could take clients whose business was very private indeed. Tom Chandler, +about to be made a partner, had a desk in Mr. Paul's room as well as one +in the clerks' room. It was at the latter that he usually sat. + +On this afternoon he was seated at his desk in Mr. Paul's room when +Gervais Preen entered. Tom received him with a smile and a hand-shake, +and gave him a chair. + +"I've come about that letter, Mr. Chandler," began the visitor; "my +letter with the ten-pound bank-note in it, which Mr. Paul denies having +received." + +"I assure you no such letter was received by us----" + +"It was addressed in a plain handwriting to Mr. Paul himself, and +protected by a seal of red wax with my crest upon it," irritably +interrupted the applicant, who hated to be contradicted. + +"Mr. Preen, you may believe me when I tell you the letter never reached +us," said Tom, a smile crossing his candid, handsome face, at the +other's irritability. + +"Then where is the letter? What became of it?" + +"I should say perhaps it was never posted," mildly suggested Tom. + +"Not posted!" tartly echoed Mr. Preen. "Why, I posted it myself; as Dame +Sym, over at Duck Brook, can testify. And my son also, for that matter; +he stood by and saw me put it into the box. Dame Sym sent it away in the +bag with the rest; she remembers the letter perfectly." + +"It never was delivered to us," said Tom, shaking his head. "If---- oh, +here is Mr. Paul." + +The portly lawyer came into the room, pushing back his iron-grey hair. +He sat down at his own desk-table; Mr. Preen drew his chair so as to +face him, and the affair was thoroughly gone into. It cannot be denied +that the experienced man of law, knowing how difficult it was to Mr. +Preen to find money for his debts and his needs, had allowed some faint +doubt to float within him in regard to this reported loss. Was it a true +loss?--or an invented one? But old Paul read people's characters, as +betrayed in their tones and faces, tolerably well; he saw that Preen was +in desperate earnest, and he began to believe his story. + +"Let me see," said he. "You posted it on Tuesday, the fifteenth. You +found it was too late for that night's post, and would not go off until +the morrow morning, when, as Dame Sym says, she despatched it. Then we +ought to have received it that afternoon--Wednesday, the sixteenth." + +"Yes," assented Mr. Preen. "Mrs. Sym wished to respectfully suggest to +you, Paul, that you might have overlooked it amidst the other letters at +the time it was delivered, and let it drop unseen into some drawer or +desk." + +"Oh, she did, did she?" cried old Paul, while Tom Chandler laughed. +"Give my respects to her, Preen, and tell her I'm not an old woman. We +don't get many letters in an afternoon, sometimes not any," he went on. +"Can you carry your memory back to that Wednesday afternoon, Chandler?" + +"I daresay I shall be able to do so," replied Tom. "Wednesday, the +sixteenth.--Was not that the day before the picnic at Aunt Cramp's?" + +"What on earth has the picnic to do with it?" sharply demanded Mr. +Preen. "All you young men are alike. Oliver could only remember the date +of my posting the letter by recalling that of the picnic. You should be +above such frivolity." + +Tom Chandler laughed. "I remember the day before the picnic for a +special reason, sir. MacEveril asked for holiday that he might go to +it. I told him he could not have the whole day, we were too busy, but +perhaps he might get half of it; upon which he said half a day was +no good to him, and gave me some sauce. Yes, that was Wednesday, the +sixteenth; and now, having that landmark to go by, I may be able to +trace back other events and the number of letters which came in that +afternoon." + +"Is MacEveril back yet?" asked Preen. + +"No," replied Paul. "The captain does not know where he is; no one does +know, that I'm aware of. Look here, Preen; as this letter appears to +be really lost, and very unaccountably, since Mrs. Sym is sure she sent +it off, and I am sure it was never delivered to me, I shall go to our +office here now, and inquire about it. Will you come with me?" + +Mr. Preen was only too glad to go to any earthly place that was likely +to afford news of his ten-pound note, for the loss would be his, and +he knew not where he should find another ten pounds to satisfy the +insatiable Derrick. + +They proceeded along the pavement together, passing Oliver, who was +slowly parading the gig up and down the street. His sad face--unusually +sad it looked--had a sort of expectancy on it as he turned his gaze from +side to side, lest by some happy chance it might catch the form of Emma +Paul. Emma might be going to marry another; but, all the same, Oliver +could not drop her out of his heart. + +They disclaimed all recollection of the letter at the post-office. Had +it been for a private individual it might have been remembered, but Mr. +Paul had too many letters to allow of that, unless something special +called attention to any one of them. Whether the letter in question had +reached them by the Islip bag, or whether it had not, they could not +say; but they could positively affirm that, if it had, it had been sent +out to Mr. Paul. + +In returning they overtook the postman on his round, with the afternoon +delivery: a young, active man, who seemed to skim over the ground, and +was honest as the day. + +"Dale," said Lawyer Paul, "there has been a letter lost, addressed +to me. I wonder whether you chanced to notice such a letter?" And he +mentioned the details of the case. + +"One day is like another to me in its round of duties, you see, sir," +observed the man. "Sealed with a big red seal, you say, sir? Well, it +might be, but that's nothing for me to go by; so many of your letters +are sealed, sir." + +The lawyer returned to his office with Mr. Preen, and entered his own +room. Tom Chandler heard them and came swiftly through the door which +opened from the clerks' department, a smile of satisfaction on his face. + +"I remember all about the letters that were brought in on Wednesday +week," said he. "I can recall the whole of the circumstances; they were +rather unusual." + + + + +A TRAGEDY + + +III.--MYSTERY + + +I + +Thomas Chandler possessed a clear, retentive memory by nature, and he +had done nothing to cloud it. After his master, Lawyer Paul--soon to be +no longer his master, but his partner--had gone out with Mr. Preen to +make inquiries at the post-office for the missing letter, he sat down to +bring his memory into exercise. + +Carrying his thoughts back to the Wednesday afternoon, some ten days +ago, when the letter ought to have been delivered at Mr. Paul's office, +and was not--at least, so far as could be traced at present--he had +little difficulty in recalling its chief events, one remembered incident +leading up to another. + +Then he passed into the front room, and spoke for some minutes with +Michael Hanborough, a steady little man of middle age, who had been with +Mr. Paul over twenty years. There was one clerk under him, Tite Batley +(full name Titus), and there had been young Richard MacEveril. The +disappearance of the latter had caused the office to be busy just now, +Michael Hanborough especially so. He was in the room alone when Mr. +Chandler entered. + +"You have not gone to tea yet, Mr. Hanborough!" + +"No, sir. I wanted to finish this deed, first. Batley's gone to his." + +"Look here, Hanborough, I want to ask you a question or two. That deed's +in no particular hurry, for I am sure Mr. Paul will not be ready to send +it off to-day," continued Mr. Chandler. "There's going to be a fuss over +that letter of Preen's, which appears to have been unaccountably lost. I +have been carrying my thoughts back to the Wednesday afternoon when it +ought to have been delivered here, and I want you to do the same. Try +and recollect anything and everything you can, connected with that +afternoon." + +"But, Mr. Chandler, the letter could not have been delivered here; Mr. +Paul says so," reasoned Michael Hanborough, turning from his desk while +he spoke and leaning his elbow upon it. + +His desk stood between the window and the door which opened from the +passage; the window being at his right hand as he sat. Opposite, beside +the other window, was Mr. Chandler's desk. A larger desk, used by +MacEveril and young Batley, crossed the lower end of the room, facing +the window; and near it was the narrow door that opened to Mr. Paul's +room. + +Thomas Chandler remained talking with Hanborough until he saw the lawyer +and Mr. Preen return, when he joined them in the other room. They +mentioned their failure at the post-office, and he then related to them +what he had been able to recall. + +Wednesday afternoon, the sixteenth of June, had been distinguished in +Mr. Paul's office by a little breeze raised by Richard MacEveril. +Suddenly looking up from his writing, he disturbed Mr. Chandler, who was +busy at his desk, by saying he expected to have holiday on the morrow +for the whole day. Hanborough was just then in Mr. Paul's room; Batley +was out. Batley had been sent to execute a commission at a distance, and +would not be back till evening. + +"Oh, indeed!" responded Tom Chandler, laughing at MacEveril's modest +request, so modestly put. "What else would you like, Dick?" + +Dick laughed too. "That will serve me for the present moment, Mr. +Chandler," said he. + +"Well, Dick, I'm sorry to deny you, but you can't have it. You have a +conscience to ask it, young man, when you know the Worcester Sessions +are close at hand, and we are so busy here we don't know which way to +turn!" + +"I mean to take it," said Dick. + +"But I don't mean you to; understand that. See here, Dick: I won't be +harder than I'm obliged; I should like to go to the pic-nic myself, +though there's no chance of that for me. Come here in good time in the +morning, get through as much work as you can, and I daresay we can let +you off at one o'clock. There!" + +This concession did not satisfy MacEveril. When Mr. Hanborough came in +from the other room he found the young man exercising his saucy tongue +upon Tom Chandler, calling him a "Martinet," a "Red Indian Freebooter," +and other agreeable names, which he may have brought with him from +Australia. Tom, ever sweet-tempered, took it all pleasantly, and bade +him go on with his work. + +That interlude passed. At half-past four o'clock MacEveril went out, as +usual, to get his tea, leaving Chandler and Hanborough in the office, +each writing at his own desk. Presently the former paused; looked +fixedly at the mortgage-deed he was engaged upon, and then got up to +carry it to the old clerk. As he was crossing the room the postman came +in, put a small pile of letters into Mr. Chandler's hand, and went out +again. Tom looked down at the letters but did not disturb them; he laid +them down upon Mr. Hanborough's desk whilst he showed him the parchment. + +"I don't much like this one clause, Hanborough," he said. "Just read +it; it's very short. Would it be binding on the other party?" + +They were both reading the clause, heads together, when Mr. Paul +was heard speaking in haste. "Chandler! Tom Chandler! Come here +directly"--and Tom turned and went at once. + +"Is Hanborough there?" cried Mr. Paul. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Tell him to come in also; no time to lose." + +Mr. Paul wanted them to witness his signature to a deed which had to go +off by the evening post. That done, he detained them for a minute upon +some other matter; after which, Hanborough left the room. Chandler +turned to follow him. + +"Bring the letters in as soon as they come," said Mr. Paul. "There may +be one from Burnaby." + +"Oh, they have come," replied Tom; and he went into the other room and +brought the letters to the lawyer. + +It was this which Tom Chandler now related to his master and to Mr. +Preen. By dint of exercising his own memory and referring to his +day-book, Mr. Paul was enabled to say that the letters that past +afternoon were four in number, and to state from whom they came. There +was no letter amongst them from Mr. Preen; none at all from Duck Brook. +So there it was: the letter seemed to have mysteriously vanished; either +out of the post bag despatched by Mrs. Sym, or else after its arrival at +Islip. The latter was of course the more probable; since, as Dame Sym +had herself remarked, once a letter was shut up in the bag, there it +must remain; it could not vanish from it. + +But, assuming this to be the case, how and where had it vanished? From +the Islip post-office? Or from the postman's hands when carrying it out +for delivery? Or from Mr. Paul's front room? + +They were yet speaking when Dale the postman walked in. He came to say +that he had been exercising his mind upon the afternoons of the past +week and could now distinguish Wednesday from the others. He recalled it +by remembering that it was the afternoon of the accident in the street, +when a tax-cart was overturned and the driver had broken his arm; and he +could positively say that he had that afternoon delivered the letters to +Mr. Chandler himself. + +"Yes, yes, we remember all that ourselves, Dale," returned Mr. Paul, +somewhat testily. "The thing we want you to remember is, whether you +observed amidst the letters one with a large red seal." + +Dale shook his head. "No, sir, I did not. The letters lay one upon +another, address upwards, and I took no particular notice of them. There +were four or five of them, I should think." + +"Four," corrected the lawyer. "Well, that's all, Dale, for the present. +The letter is lost, and we must consider what to do in the matter." + +Yes, it was all very well to say that to Dale, but what _could_ they do? +How set about it? To begin with, Preen did not know the number of the +note, but supposed he might get it from Mr. Todhetley. He stayed so long +in discussion with the lawyer, that his son, waiting in the gig outside, +grew tired and the horse impatient. + +Oliver was almost ready to die of weariness, when an acquaintance of his +came out of the Bell. Fred Scott; a dashing young fellow, who had more +money than brains. + +"Get up," said Oliver. And Scott got into the gig. + +They were driving slowly about and talking fast, when two young ladies +came into view at the end of the street. Oliver threw the reins to his +friend, got out in a trice and met them. No need to say that one of them +was Emma Paul. + +"I beg your pardon," said Oliver to her, lifting his hat from his +suddenly flushed face, as he shook hands with both of them. "I left two +books at your house yesterday: did you get them? The servant said you +were out." + +"Oh, yes, I had them; and I thank you very much," answered Emma, with a +charming smile: whilst Mary MacEveril went away to feast her eyes at the +milliner's window. "I have begun one of them already." + +"Jane said you would like to read them; and so--I--I left them," +returned Oliver, with the hesitating shyness of true love. + +"It is very kind of you, Sir. Oliver, to bring them over, and I am sorry +I was not at home," said Emma. "When are you and Jane coming to see me?" + +With her dimpled face all smiles, her blue eyes beaming upon him, her +ready handshake still tingling in his pulses, her cordial tones telling +of pleasure, how could that fascinated young man do otherwise than +believe in her? The world might talk of her love for Tom Chandler: he +did not and would not believe it held a grain of truth. Oh, if he could +but know that she loved _him_! Mary MacEveril turned. + +"Emma, are you not coming? We have that silk to match, you know." + +With another handshake, another sweet smile, she went away with Mary. +Oliver said adieu, his heart on his lips. All his weariness was gone, +lost in a flood of sunshine. + +Mr. Preen was seen, coming along. Scott got out of the gig, and Oliver +got into it. Preen took his seat and the reins, and drove off. + +Mr. Paul went home to dinner at the usual hour that evening, but the +clerks remained beyond the time for closing. Work had been hindered, and +had to be done. Batley was the first to leave; the other two lingered +behind, talking of the loss. + +"It is the most surprising thing that has happened for a long while," +remarked Hanborough. He had locked his desk and had his hat and gloves +at his elbow. "That letter has been stolen, Mr. Chandler; it has not +been accidentally lost." + +"Ay," assented Tom. "Stolen--I fear--from here. From this very room that +you and I are standing in, Hanborough." + +"My suspicions, sir, were directed to the Islip post-office." + +"I wish mine were," said Tom. "I don't think--think, mind, for we cannot +be sure--that the post-office is the right quarter to look to. You see +the letters were left here on your desk, while we were occupied with +Mr. Paul in his room. About two minutes, I suppose, we stayed with him; +perhaps three. Did anyone come in during that time, Hanborough, and take +the letter?" + +Mr. Hanborough drew off his spectacles, which he wore out of doors as +well as in; he was sure to take them off when anything disturbed him. + +"But who would do such a thing?" he asked. + +Tom laughed a little. "You wouldn't, old friend, and I wouldn't; but +there may be people in the neighbourhood who would." + +Doubts were presenting themselves to Michael Hanborough's mind: he did +not "see" this, as the saying runs. "Why should anyone single out that +one particular letter to take, and leave the rest?" he resumed. + +"That point puzzles me," remarked Tom. "If the letter was singled out, +as you put it, from the rest, I should say the thief must have known it +contained money: and who could, or did, know that? I wish I had carried +the letters in with me when Mr. Paul called to me!" + +"If the letters had been left alone for a whole day in our office, +I should never have supposed they were not safe," said the clerk, +impulsively. "But, now that my attention has been drawn to this, I +must mention something, Mr. Chandler." + +"Yes. Go on." + +"When the master called me in after you, I followed you in through that +door," he began, pointing to the door of communication between the two +rooms. "But I left it by the other, the passage door, chancing to be +nearest to it at the moment. As I went out, I saw the green baize door +swinging, and supposed that someone had come in; MacEveril, perhaps, +from his tea. But he had not done so. I found neither him nor anyone +else; the room here was vacant as when I left it." + +The green baize door stood in the passage, between the street door, +always open in the daytime, and the door that led into the front office. + +"Seeing no one here, I concluded I was mistaken; and I have never +thought of it from that hour to this," continued the clerk. "No, not +even when it came out that a letter had been lost with a bank-note in +it." + +Tom nodded his head several times, as much as to say that was when the +thief must have come in. "And now, Hanborough, I'll tell you something +in turn," he went on. "Dale put the letters into my hand that afternoon, +as you know; and I laid them on your desk here while showing you that +clause in the mortgage deed. Later, when I took up the letters to carry +them to Mr. Paul, an idea struck me that the packet felt thinner. It did +indeed. I of course supposed it to be only fancy, and let it slip from +my mind. I have never thought of it since--as you say by the green +door--until this afternoon." + +Michael Hanborough, who had put his spectacles on again, turned them +upon his young master, and dropped his voice to a whisper. + +"Who is it that--that we may suspect, sir?" + +"Say yourself, Hanborough." + +"I'm afraid to say. Is it--MacEveril?" + +"It looks like it," replied Tom, in the same low tone. "But while there +are reasons for suspecting him, there are also reasons against it," he +added, after a pause. "MacEveril was in debt, petty little odds and +ends of things which he owes about the place and elsewhere; that's one +reason why money would be useful to him. Then his running away looks +suspicious; and another reason is that there's positively no one else to +suspect. All that seems to tell against him; but on the other hand, +MacEveril, though random and heedless, is a gentleman and has a +gentleman's instincts, and I do _not_ think he would be guilty of such +a thing." + +"Well, and I can't think it, either," said Michael Hanborough; "despite +his faults and his saucy tongue, I liked him. He did not come in again +that afternoon till half-past five, I remember. I told him he was late; +he answered, laughing, that he had dropped asleep over his tea--though I +didn't believe a word of it." + +"If MacEveril really took the letter, how had he ascertained that it +contained money?" mused Tom Chandler. "Hanborough, at present I think +this suspicion had better lie entirely between ourselves." + +"Yes, Mr. Chandler, and so do I. Perhaps a few days may bring forth +something to confirm or dispel it." + + +II + +Preen was a great deal too anxious and restless to let the following day +pass over quietly; and on that Sunday afternoon when we were all sitting +in the garden at Crabb Cot, under the scent and shade of the large +syringa trees, he walked in. His little dark face looked darker than +ever, the scowl of pain on his brow deeper. + +"No, I can't take anything," he said, in answer to the Squire's +hospitable offers of having wine, or ale, or lemonade brought out. +"Thirsty? Yes, I am thirsty, Squire, but it is with worry, not with the +walk. Wine and lemonade won't relieve that." + +And, sitting down to face us, in a swinging American chair, which Tod +had brought out for his own benefit, Gervais Preen surprised us with the +history of his mysterious loss, and inquired whether the Squire could +give him the number of the note. + +"Yes, I can," replied the Squire; "my name is on the note also; you made +me write it, you know. How on earth has it got lost?" + +"It is just one of those things there's no accounting for," said Preen, +bending forward in his earnestness. "The letter left Duck Brook in +safety; I posted it myself, and Mrs. Sym took notice of it when she +shut it up in the bag. That is as far as it can be traced. The Islip +post-office, though not remembering it in particular, have no doubt +it reached them, as it could not have been lost from the bag, or that +they sent it out for delivery to Mr. Paul by Dale, who is cautious and +trustworthy. Paul declares it never reached him; and of course _he_ is +trustworthy. Dale says, and it is a fact, that he delivered the letters +that afternoon into Mr. Chandler's own hands. One cannot see where to +look for a weak point, you perceive, Todhetley." + +The Squire was rubbing his face, the account having put it into a white +heat. "Bless my heart!" cried he. "It reminds me of that five-pound note +of mine which was changed in the post for a stolen one! You remember +_that_, Johnny." + +"Yes, sir, that I do." + +"Wednesday, the sixteenth, was the day it ought to have reached old +Paul!" exclaimed Tod, who was balancing himself on the branch of a tree. +"Why, that was the day before the pic-nic!" + +"And what if it was?" retorted Preen, enraged that everybody should +bring up that pic-nic in conjunction with his loss. "The pic-nic had +nothing to do with my bank-note and letter." + +"Clearly not," agreed Tod, laughing at his ire. + +"I should advertise, Preen," said the Squire, "and I should call in the +detectives. They----" + +"I don't like detectives," growled Preen, interrupting him, "and I think +advertising might do more harm than good. I must get my money back +somehow; I can't afford to lose it. But as to those detectives---- Mercy +upon us!" + +In the ardour of declamation, Mr. Preen had bent a little too forward. +The chair backed from under him, and he came down upon the grass, hands +and knees. Tod choked with laughter, and dashed off to get rid of it. +The man gathered himself up. + +"Nasty tilting things, those chairs are!" he exclaimed. "Please don't +trouble, ma'am," for Mrs. Todhetley had sprung forward; "there's no harm +done. And if you don't mind giving me the number of the note to-day, +Squire, I shall be much obliged." + +He declined to stay for tea, saying he wanted to get back home. When +he and the Squire went indoors, we talked of the loss; Mrs. Todhetley +thought it strangely unaccountable. + +As the days went on, and the bank-note did not turn up, Mr. Preen fell +into the depths of gloom. He had lost no time in proceeding to the Old +Bank, at Worcester--from whence Mr. Todhetley had drawn the note, in +conjunction with other notes--recounting to its principals the history +of its loss, and giving in its number, together with the information +that Mr. Todhetley's name was written on it. The bank promised to make +inquiries of other banks, and to detain the note should it be paid in. + +"As if _that_ were likely!" groaned Preen. "A rogue filching a note +would not go and pay it into the place it came from." + +Thomas Chandler was gazetted the partner of Mr. Paul, the firm to be +known henceforth as Paul and Chandler. In the first private conference +that the young man held with his partner, he imparted to him the +suspicions which he and Hanborough held of Dick MacEveril. For as that +erratic gentleman continued to absent himself, and the time was going +on without bringing a shadow of doubt upon anyone else, the new partner +felt that in duty he must speak to his chief and elder. Old Paul was +overwhelmed. + +"What a dreadful thing!" he exclaimed testily. "And why couldn't you or +Hanborough mention this before?" + +"Well," said Tom, "for one thing I was always expecting something might +crop up to decide it one way or another; and, to tell the truth, sir, +I cannot bring myself to believe that MacEveril did it." + +"He is a villainous young dog for impudence, but--to do such a thing as +that? No, I can hardly think it, either," concluded the lawyer. + +That same evening, after his dinner, Mr. Paul betook himself to Oak +Mansion, to an interview with his old friend, Captain MacEveril. Not +to accuse that scapegrace nephew of the Captain's to his face, but to +gather a hint or two about him, if any might be gathered. + +The very first mention of Dick's name set the old sailor off. His right +foot was showing symptoms of gout just then; between that and Dick he +had no temper at all. Calming down presently, he called his man to +produce tobacco and grog. They sat at the open window, smoking a pipe +apiece, the glasses on a stand between them, and the lame foot upon a +stool. For the expost-captain made a boast that he did not give in to +that enemy of his any more than he had ever given in to an enemy at a +sea-fight. The welcome evening breeze blew in upon them through the open +bow window, with the sweet-scent of the July roses; and the sky was +gorgeous with the red sunset. + +"Where is Dick, you ask," exploded the Captain. "How should I know where +he is? Hang him! When he has taken his fill of London shows with that +Australian companion of his, he'll make his way back again here, I +reckon. Write? Not he. He knows he'd get a letter back from me, Paul, if +he did." + +Leading up to it by degrees, talking of this and that, and especially +of the mysterious loss of Preen's note, the lawyer spoke doubtingly of +whether it could have been lost out of his own office, and, if so, who +had taken it. "That young rascal would not do such a thing, you know, +MacEveril," he carelessly remarked. + +"What, Dick? No, no, he'd not do that," said the Captain, promptly. +"Though I've known young fellows venture upon queer things when they +were hard up for money. Dick's honest to the backbone. Had he wanted +money to travel with, he'd have wormed it out of my wife by teasing, but +he wouldn't steal it." + +"About that time, a day or so before it, he drew out the linings of his +pockets as he sat at his desk, and laughingly assured Hanborough, that +he had not a coin of ready money in the world," remarked Mr. Paul. + +"Like enough," assented the Captain. "Coin never stays in _his_ +pockets." + +"I wonder where he found the money to travel with?" + +"Pledged his watch and chain maybe," returned the Captain with +composure. "He would be quite equal to _that_. Stockleigh, the fellow +he is with in London, had brought home heaps of gold, 'twas said; he +no doubt stands treat for Dick." + +John Paul did not, could not, say anything more definite. He thought +of nothing else as he walked home; now saying to himself that Dick had +stolen the money, now veering over to the Captain's opinion that Dick +was incapable of doing so. The uncertainty bothered him, and he hated +to be bothered. + +The man to whom the money was owing, Robert Derrick, was becoming very +troublesome. Hardly a day passed but he marched into Mr. Paul's office, +to press for payment, threatening to take steps if he did not get it +shortly. The morning following the lawyer's visit to Captain MacEveril, +he went in again, vowing it was for the last time, for that he should +cite Mr. Preen before the County Court. + +"And mark you this," he added to Hanborough, with whom the colloquy was +taking place, "some past matters will come out that Preen wants kept in. +He'll wish he had paid me, then." + +Now, old Paul overheard this, for the door was partly open. Rugged in +look, and in manner too when he chose to be, he was not rugged at heart. +He was saying to himself that if this money had really been lost out of +his office, stolen possibly by one of his clerks, he might replace it +from his own pocket, to ward off further damage to Preen. Preen had not +at present a second ten-pound note to give, could not find one anyway; +Preen wished he could. Ten pounds would not affect the lawyer's pocket +at all: and his resolution was taken. Ringing his bell, which was +answered by Batley, he bade him show Derrick to his room. + +The man came in with a subdued face. He supposed he had been overheard, +and he did not care to offend Mr. Paul. + +"I cannot have you coming here to disturb my clerks, Derrick," said the +lawyer, with authority. "If you write out a receipt, I will pay you." + +"And sure enough that's all I want, sir," returned Derrick, who was +Irish. "But I can't let the thing go on longer--and it's Preen I'd like +to disturb, Lawyer Paul, not you." + +"Sit down yonder and write the receipt," said the lawyer, shortly. "You +know how to word it." + +So Derrick wrote the receipt and went off with the ten pounds. And +Gervais Preen said a few words of real thanks to Mr. Paul in a low tone, +when he heard of it. + +On Tuesday morning, the thirteenth of July, exactly four weeks to the +day since the bank-note left Mr. Preen's hands, he had news of it. The +Old Bank at Worcester wrote to him to say that the missing note had been +paid in the previous day, Monday, by a well-known firm of linen-drapers +in High Street. Upon which the bank made inquiry of this firm as to +whence they received the note, and the answer, readily given, was +that they had had it from a neighbour opposite--the silversmith. The +silversmith, questioned in his turn, replied with equal readiness that +it had been given him in payment of a purchase by young Mr. Todhetley. + +Preen, hardly believing his eyes, went off with all speed to Islip, and +laid the letter before Lawyer Paul. + +"What does it all mean?" he asked. "How can young Todhetley have had the +note in his possession? I am going on to Crabb Cot to show the Squire +the letter." + +"Stop, stop," said the far-seeing lawyer, "it won't do to take this +letter to Todhetley. Let us consider, first of all, how we stand. There +must be some mistake. The bank and the silversmith have muddled matters +between them; they may have put young Todhetley's name into it through +seeing his father's on the bank-note. I will write at once to Worcester +and get it privately inquired into. You had better leave it altogether +in my hands, Preen, for the present." A proposal Preen was glad to agree +to. + +Lawyer Paul wrote to another lawyer in Worcester with whom he was on +friendly terms, Mr. Corles; stating the particulars of the case. That +gentleman lost no time in the matter; he made the inquiries himself, and +speedily wrote back to Islip. + +There had been no mistake, as Mr. Paul had surmised. The linen-drapers, +a long-established and respectable firm, as Paul knew, had paid the +note into the Old Bank, with other monies, in the ordinary course of +business; and the firm repeated to Mr. Corles that they had received it +from their neighbour, the silversmith. + +The silversmith himself was from home at this time; he was staying at +Malvern for his health, going to Worcester on the market days only, +Saturdays and Wednesdays, when the shop expected to be busy. He had one +shopman only, a Mr. Stephenson, who took charge in his master's absence. +Stephenson assured Mr. Corles that he had most positively taken the note +from Squire Todhetley's son. Young Mr. Todhetley had gone into the shop, +purchased some trifling article, giving the note in payment, and +received the change in gold. Upon referring to his day-book, Stephenson +found that the purchase was made and the note paid to him during the +morning of Thursday, the seventeenth of June. + +When this communication from Mr. Corles reached Islip, it very much +astonished old Paul. "Absurd!" he exclaimed, flinging it upon his table +when he had read it; then he took it up and read it again. + +"Here, Chandler," said he, calling his new partner to him, "what do you +make of this?" + +Tom Chandler read it twice over in his turn. "If Joseph Todhetley did +change the note," he observed, "he must have done it as a practical +joke, and be keeping up the joke." + +"It is hardly likely," returned Mr. Paul. "If he has, he will have a bad +quarter of an hour when the Squire hears of it." + + * * * * * + +On this same morning, Thursday, we were preparing for Worcester; the +Squire was going to drive us in--that is, myself and Tod. The phaeton +was actually being brought round to the gate and we were getting our +hats, when Tom Chandler walked in, saying he had come upon a little +matter of business. + +"No time to attend to it now, Tom," said the Squire, all in a bustle; +"just starting for Worcester. You look hot." + +"I am hot, for I came along at a trotting pace," said Tom; "the matter +I have come upon makes me hot also. Mr. Todhetley, I must explain it, +short as your time may be; it is very important, and--and peculiar. Mr. +Paul charged me to say that he would have come himself, but he is +obliged to stay at home to keep an appointment." + +"Sit down, then," said the Squire, "and make it as brief as you can. +Johnny, lad, tell Giles to drive the horses slowly about." + +When I got back, after telling Giles, Tom Chandler had two letters in +his hand; and was apologising to the Squire and to Tod for what he was +obliged to enter upon. Then he added, in a few words, that the lost +bank-note had come to light; it had been changed at Worcester, at the +silversmith's in High Street, by, it was asserted, young Mr. Todhetley. + +"Why, what d'ye mean?" cried the Squire sharply. + +To explain what he meant, Tom Chandler read aloud the two letters he +held; the short one, which had been first addressed to Mr. Preen by the +Old Bank, and then the longer one written by Mr. Corles. + +"Edward Corles must be a fool to write that!" exclaimed the Squire in +his hot fashion. + +"Well, he is not that, you know," said Tom Chandler. "The question is, +Squire, what the grounds can be upon which they so positively state it. +According to their assertion, young Mr. Todhetley changed the note at +the silversmith's on the morning of Thursday, the seventeenth of June." + +"Young Mr. Todhetley" in a general way was just as hot as his father, +apt to fly out for nothing. I expected to see him do so now. Instead +of which, he had a broad smile on his face, evidently regarding the +accusation as a jest. He had perched himself on the arm of the sofa, +and sat there grinning. + +This struck Tom Chandler. "Did you do it for a joke?" he asked promptly. + +"Do what?" rejoined Tod. + +"Change the note." + +"Not I." + +"The only conclusion Mr. Paul and I could come to was, that--if you +had done it--you did it to play a practical joke upon Preen, and were +keeping it up still." + +The Squire struck his hand in anger upon the table by which he sat. + +"What is the meaning of this, Joe? A practical joke? Did you do the +thing, or didn't you? Speak out seriously. Don't sit there, grinning +like a Chinese image." + +"Why of course I did not do it, father. How should Preen's bank-note get +into my hands? Perhaps Johnny there got it and did it. He is sometimes +honoured by being put down as your son, you know." + +He was jesting still. The Squire was not in a mood for jesting; Tom +Chandler either. A thought struck me. + +"Did you say the note was changed on Thursday, the seventeenth of June?" +I asked him. + +"They say so," answered Tom Chandler. + +"Then that was the day of the picnic at Mrs. Cramp's. Neither I nor Tod +left the house at all until we went there." + +"Why bless me, so it was! the seventeenth," cried the Squire. "I can +prove that they were at home till four o'clock: the Beeles were spending +the day here from Pigeon Green. Now, Chandler, how has this false report +arisen?" + +"I am as much at sea as you can be, sir," said Tom Chandler. "Neither +I nor Paul can, or do, believe it--or understand why the other people +stick to it so positively. You are going into Worcester, Squire; make +your own inquiries." + +"That I will," said the Squire. "You had better drive in with us, +Chandler, if you can. Giles can stay at home." + +It was thus decided, and we started for Worcester, Chandler sitting +beside the Squire. And the way the Squire touched up Bob and Blister, +and the pace we flew along at, was a sight for the road to see. + + +III + +Thursday morning, the seventeenth of June--for we have to go back to +that day. High Street was basking in the rays of the hot sun; foot +passengers, meeting each other on the scorching pavement, lifted their +hats for a moment's air, and said what a day it was going to be. The +clean, bright shops faced each other from opposite sides. None of their +wares looked more attractive than those displayed in the two windows of +the silversmith. + +Mr. Stephenson--a trustworthy, civil little man of thirty, with a plain +face and sandy hair that stood upright on his head--was keeping guard +over his master's goods, some of them being very valuable. The shop was +a long one and he was far down in it, behind the left-hand counter. +Before him lay a tray of small articles of jewellery, some of which he +was touching up with a piece of wash-leather. He did not expect to be +busy that day; the previous day, Wednesday, had been a busy one, so many +country people came into town for the market. + +While thus engaged a gentleman, young, good looking, and well dressed, +entered the shop. Mr. Stephenson went forward. + +"I have called for Mrs. Todhetley's brooch," said the stranger. "Is it +ready?" + +"What brooch, sir?" returned Stephenson. + +"The one she left with you to be mended." + +The shopman felt a little puzzled. He said he did not remember that any +brooch had been left by that lady to be mended. + +"Mrs. Todhetley of Crabb Cot," explained the applicant, perhaps thinking +the man was at fault that way. + +"Oh, yes, sir, I know who you mean; I know Mrs. Todhetley. But she has +not left any brooch here." + +"Yes, she has; she left it to be mended. I was to call to-day and ask +for it." + +Stephenson turned to reach the book in which articles left to be mended +were entered, with their owners' names. Perhaps his master might have +taken in the brooch and omitted to tell him. But no such entry was +recorded in it. + +"I am afraid it is a mistake, sir," he said. "Had Mrs. Todhetley left a +brooch, or anything else, for repair, it would be entered here. She may +have taken it to some other shop." + +"No, no; it is yours I was to call at. She bought it here a few +months ago," added the young man. "She came in to ask you about the +polishing-up of an old silver cake-basket, and you showed her the +brooches, some you had just had down from London, and she bought one of +them and gave four guineas for it." + +Stephenson remembered the transaction perfectly. He had stood by while +his principal showed and sold the brooch to Mrs. Todhetley. Four only of +these brooches had been sent to them on approval by their London agent, +they were something quite new. Mrs. Todhetley admired them greatly; +said she wanted to make a wedding present to a young lady about to be +married, but had not meant to give as much as four guineas. However, the +beauty of the brooch tempted her; she bought it, and took it home. + +Stephenson's silence, while he was recalling this to his memory, caused +the gentleman to think his word was doubted, and he entered into further +particulars. + +"It was last March, I think," he said. "The brooch is a rather large +one; a white cornelian stone, or something of that sort, with a raised +spray of flowers upon it, pink and gold; the whole surrounded by a +border of gold filagree work. I never saw a nicer brooch." + +"Yes, yes, sir, it was just as you say; I recollect it all quite well. +Mrs. Todhetley bought it to give away as a wedding present." + +"And the wedding never came off," said the young man, with ease. "Before +she had time to despatch the brooch, news came to her of the +rupture.--So she had to keep it herself: and the best thing too, the +Squire said. Well, it is that brooch I have come for." + +"But I assure you it has not been left with us, Mr. Todhetley," said +Stephenson, presuming he was speaking to the Squire's son. + +"The little pink flower got broken off last week as Mrs. Todhetley was +undoing her shawl; she brought it in at once to be mended," persisted +the young man. + +"But not here indeed, sir," reiterated Stephenson. "I'm sorry to hear it +is broken." + +"She wouldn't take it anywhere but to the place it was bought at, would +she? I'm sure it was here I had to come for it." + +Stephenson felt all abroad. He did not think it likely the brooch would +be taken elsewhere, and began to wonder whether his master had taken it +in, and forgotten all about it. Opening a shallow drawer or two in the +counter, in one of which articles for repair were put, in the other the +repaired articles when finished, he searched both, but could not see the +brooch. This took him some little time, as most of the things were in +paper and he had to undo it. + +Meanwhile the applicant amused himself by looking at the articles +displayed under the glass frame on the counter. He seemed to be rather +struck with some very pretty pencils. + +"Are those pencils gold?" he inquired of Stephenson, when the latter +came forward with the news that the brooch was certainly not in the +shop. + +"No, sir; they are silver gilt." + +Lifting the glass lid, Stephenson took out the tray on which the pencils +and other things lay, and put it right under the young man's nose, in +the persuasive manner peculiar to shopmen. The pencils were chased +richly enough for gold, and had each a handsome stone at the end, which +might or might not be real. + +"What is the price?" + +"Twelve shillings each, sir. We bought them a bargain; from a bankrupt's +stock in fact; and can afford to sell them as such." + +"I should like to take this one, I think," said the young man, choosing +out one with a pink topaz. "Wait a bit, though: I must see if I've +enough change to pay for it." + +"Oh, sir, don't trouble about that; we will put it down to you." + +"No, no, that won't do. One, two, four, six. Six shillings; all I +have in the world," he added laughing, as he counted the coin in his +porte-monnaie, "and that I want. You can change me a ten-pound note, +perhaps?" + +"Yes, sir, if you wish it." + +The purchaser extracted the note from a secret pocket of his +porte-monnaie, and handed it to the shopman. + +"The Squire's name is on it," he remarked. + +Which caused Stephenson to look at the back. Sure enough, there it +was--"J. Todhetley," in the Squire's own handwriting. + +"Give me gold, if you can." + +Stephenson handed over nine pounds in gold and eight shillings in +silver. He then wrapped the pencil in soft white paper, and handed over +that. + +Wishing the civil shopman good morning, the young man left. He stood +outside the door for a minute, looking about him, and then walked +briskly up the street. While Stephenson locked up the ten-pound note in +the cash-box. + +There it lay, snug and safe, for two or three weeks. One day Stephenson, +finding he had not enough change for a customer who came in to pay a +bill, ran over to the draper's opposite and got change for it there. +These were the particulars which Stephenson had furnished, and furnished +readily, upon inquiries being made of him. + + * * * * * + +Squire Todhetley drove like the wind, and we soon reached Worcester, +alighting as usual at the Star-and-Garter. The Squire's commotion had +been growing all the way; that goes without telling. He wanted to +take the bank first; Tom Chandler recommended that it should be the +silversmith's. + +"The bank comes first in the way," snapped the Squire. + +"I know that, sir; but we can soon come back to it when we have heard +what the others say." + +Yet I think he would have gone into the bank head-foremost, as we passed +it, but chance had it that we met Corles, the lawyer, at the top of +Broad Street. Turning quickly into High Street, on his way from his +office, he came right upon us. The Squire pinned him by the button-hole. + +"The very man I wanted to see," cried he. "And now you'll be good enough +to tell me, Edward Corles, what you meant by that rigmarole you wrote to +Paul yesterday about my son." + +"I cannot tell what was meant, Squire, any more than you can; I only +wrote in accordance with my information," said Mr. Corles, shaking hands +with the rest of us. "You have done well to come over; and I will +accompany you now, if you like, to see Stephenson." + +The Squire put his arm within the younger man's, and marched on down +High Street to the silversmith's, never so much as looking at the bank +door. Stephenson was in the shop alone: such a lot of us, it seemed, +turning in! + +The Squire, hot and impulsive, attacked him as he had attacked Edward +Corles. What did Stephenson mean by making that infamous accusation +about his son? + +It took Stephenson aback, as might be seen; his eyes opened and his hair +stood on end straighter than ever. Looking from one to the other of us, +he last looked at Mr. Corles, as if seeking an explanation. + +"The best thing you can do, to begin with, Stephenson, is to relate +to Squire Todhetley and these gentlemen the particulars you gave +me yesterday morning," said Mr. Corles. "I mean when you took the +bank-note, a month ago." + +Without more ado, Stephenson quietly followed the advice; he seemed of +as calm a temperament as the Squire was the contrary, and recited the +particulars just given. The Squire's will was good to interrupt at every +second word, but Mr. Corles begged him to listen to the end. + +"Oh, that's all very well," cried he at last, "all true, I dare say; +what I want to know is, how you came to pitch upon that customer as +being my son." + +"But he was your son, sir. He was young Mr. Todhetley." + +"Nonsense!" retorted the Squire. "Was this he?" drawing Tod forward. + +"No, sir; certainly not." + +"Well, this is my only son; except a little who is not yet much more +than out of his petticoats. Come! what do you say now?" + +Stephenson looked again at one and the other of us. His pale face took a +sort of thoughtful haze as if he had passed into a fog. + +"It must have been young Mr. Todhetley," spoke he; "everything seemed to +uphold the fact." + +"Now don't you turn obstinate and uphold what is _not_ the fact," +reproved the Squire. "When I tell you this is my only son, except the +child, how dare you dispute my word?" + +It should be stated that Stephenson had been with the silversmith since +the beginning of the year only, and had come from Birmingham. He knew +Mr. and Mrs. Todhetley by sight, from their coming sometimes to the +shop, but he had never yet seen Tod or me. + +"I don't suppose you want Squire Todhetley's word confirmed, Stephenson, +but I can do so if necessary," said Mr. Corles. "This is his only +grown-up son." + +"No, no, sir, of course I don't," said Stephenson. "This gentleman," +looking at Tod, "does not bear any resemblance to the one who changed +the note." + +"What was he like?" said Tom Chandler, speaking for the first time; and +he asked it because his thoughts were full. + +"He was fair, sir," replied Stephenson. + +"What height?" + +"About middle height. A young, slender man." + +"Well dressed? Spoke like a gentleman?" + +"Oh, quite like a gentleman, and very well dressed indeed." + +"Just as MacEveril was that morning, on the strength of getting to the +picnic," ran through Tom Chandler's thoughts. "Did he come off here +first, I wonder?" + +"He seemed to know all about you, sir, just as though he lived at your +house," said Stephenson to the Squire; "and Mrs. Todhetley sent him for +her brooch that day. Perhaps you may know, sir, who it was she sent?" + +"Sent! why, nobody," spluttered the Squire. "It must have been a planned +thing. The brooch is not broken." + +"He said the little pink flower had got broken off, and that Mrs. +Todhetley did it with her shawl," persisted Stephenson, unable to stare +away his perplexity. And I think we were all feeling perplexed too. + +"He knew what the brooch cost, and that it was bought for a wedding +present, and that Mrs. Todhetley kept the brooch for herself because the +wedding did not come off," went on Stephenson. "How could I suppose, +sir, it was anybody but your own son? Why once I called him 'Mr. +Todhetley;' I remember it quite well; and he did not tell me I was +mistaken. Rely upon it, if you'll excuse me for saying so, Squire +Todhetley, that it is some young gentleman who is intimate at your house +and familiar with all its ways." + +"Hang him for a young rogue!" retorted the Squire. + +"And your own name was on the note, sir, which he bade me notice, and +all! And--and I don't see how it was possible to _help_ falling into the +mistake that he came from you," concluded Stephenson, with a slightly +injured accent. + +Upon which the Squire, having had time to take in the bearings of the +matter, veered round altogether to the same opinion, and said so, and +shook hands with Stephenson when we departed. + +Tom Chandler let us go on, remaining behind for a minute or two. He +wanted to put quietly a few questions about the appearance of the young +man who had changed the note. He also examined the silver-gilt pencils, +finally buying one which was precisely similar, stone and all, to the +one which had been sold that other morning. + +Stephenson answered the questions to the best of his ability and +recollection. And Tom Chandler found that while on some points the +description would have served very well for that of Richard MacEveril, +on other points it did not seem to fit in with it at all. + + + + +A TRAGEDY + + +IV.--OLIVER + + +I + +Dinner was over. Emma Paul had gone out to stroll in the shady garden +and wait for the evening breeze that would soon come on, and was so +delightful after the heat of the day. Her father remained at the table. +He was slowly sipping at his one glass of port wine, which he took in a +large claret glass, when the door opened and Thomas Chandler entered. + +"Oh," said Mr. Paul. "So you _are_ back, are you, young man!" + +"I went on to Worcester, sir," explained Tom; who though he was now +made Mr. Paul's partner, could not get rid all at once of the old mode +of addressing him. Managing clerks in these days, who are qualified +solicitors, do not condescend to say "Sir" to their chief, no matter +though he be their elder by half a life-time; but they did in the days +gone by. + +"When I got to Crabb Cot this morning, sir, Mr. Todhetley was on the +point of starting for Worcester in the phaeton with his son and Johnny +Ludlow," went on Tom. "After listening to the news I took him, he +naturally wished me to go also, and I did so. He was in a fine way about +it." + +"But you need not have stayed at Worcester all day." + +"Well, being there, I thought--after I had conferred with Corles at his +office upon this other matter--I should do well to go on to Oddingley +and see William Smith about that troublesome business of his; so I hired +a gig and went there; and I've just got back by train, walking from +Crabb," answered Tom Chandler. + +"Had any dinner?" + +"Oh, yes, thank you; and some tea also at Shrub Hill station, while +waiting for the train: this weather makes one thirsty. No, thank you, +sir," as Mr. Paul pushed the decanter towards him; "wine would only make +me still more thirsty than I am." + +"I never saw you looking so hot," remarked the old lawyer. + +Tom laughed, and rubbed his face. The walk from Crabb was no light one: +and, of course, with Miss Emma at the end of it, he had come at a +steaming pace. + +"Well, and what did you and Todhetley make of the matter?" + +It was the day, as may readily be understood, when we had gone to +Worcester to have it out at the silversmith's. Tom Chandler recounted +all that passed, and repeated the description given to himself by +Stephenson of the fellow who had changed the bank-note. Mr. Paul +received it with an impatient and not at all orthodox word, meant for +Richard MacEveril. + +"But I cannot feel sure, no, nor half sure, that it was MacEveril," said +Tom Chandler. + +"What have your feelings got to do with it?" asked old Paul, in his +crusty way. "It seems to me, the description you give would be his very +picture." + +"Stephenson says he had blue eyes. Now Dick's are brown." + +"Eyes be sugared," retorted the lawyer. "As if any man could swear to +a chance customer's eyes after seeing them for just a minute or two! It +was Dick MacEveril; he caught up the letter as it lay on Hanborough's +desk in the office and decamped with it; and went off the next day to +Worcester to get the note changed, as bold as though he had been Dick +Turpin!" + +Still Tom was not convinced. He took out the pencil he had bought and +showed it to Mr. Paul. + +"Ay," said the old gentleman, "it's a pretty thing, and perhaps he may +get traced by it. Do you forget, Mr. Thomas, that the young rascal +absented himself all that day from the office on pretext of going to +the picnic at Mrs. Cramp's, and that, as you told me, he never made +his appearance at the picnic until late in the afternoon?" + +"I know," assented Tom. "He said he had been to the pigeon match." + +"If he said he had been to the moon, I suppose you'd believe it. Don't +tell me! It was Dick MacEveril who stole the note; every attendant +circumstance helps to prove it. There: we'll say no more about the +matter, and you can be off to the garden if you want to; I know you are +on thorns for it." + +From that day the matter dropped into oblivion, and nothing was allowed +to transpire connecting MacEveril with the theft. Mr. Paul enjoined +silence, out of regard for his old friend the captain, on Tom Chandler +and Mr. Hanborough, the only two, besides himself, who suspected Dick. +Some letters arrived at Islip about this time from Paris, written by +Dick: one to Captain MacEveril, another to Mr. Paul, a third to his +cousin Mary. He coolly said he was gone to Paris for a few weeks with +Jim Stockleigh, and they were both enjoying themselves amazingly. + +So, the ball of gossip not being kept up, the mysterious loss of the +letter containing the bank-note was soon forgotten. Mr. Paul was too +vexed to speak of it; it seemed a slur on his office; and he shielded +Dick's good name for his uncle's sake; whilst Preen was silent because +he did not wish the _debt_ talked about. + +We left Crabb Cot for Dyke Manor, carrying our wonder with us. The next +singular point to us was, how the changer of the note could have been +so well acquainted with the circumstances attending the buying of the +brooch. Mrs. Todhetley would talk of it by the hour together, suggesting +now this person and now that; but never seeming to hit upon a likely +one. + +July passed away, August also, and September came in. On the Thursday in +the first week of the latter month, Emma Paul was to become Emma +Chandler. + +All that while, through all those months and weeks, poor Oliver Preen +had been having a bad time of it. No longer able to buoy himself up with +the delusive belief that Emma's engagement to Chandler was nothing but a +myth, he had to accept it, and all the torment it brought him. He had +grown pale and thin; nervous also; his lips would turn white if anyone +spoke to him abruptly, his hot hand trembled when in another's grasp. +Jane thought he must be suffering from some inward fever; she did not +know much about her brother's love for Emma, or dream that it could be +so serious. + +"I'm sure I wish their wedding was over and done with; Oliver might come +to his proper senses then," Jane told herself. "He is very silly. _I_ +don't see much in Emma Paul." + +September, I say, came in. It was somewhat singular that we should again +be for just that one first week of it at Crabb Cot. Sir Robert Tenby had +invited the Squire to take a few days' shooting with him, and included +Tod in the invitation--to his wild delight. So Mr. and Mrs. Todhetley +went from Dyke Manor to Crabb Cot for the week, and we accompanied +them. + +On the Monday morning of this eventful week--and terribly eventful it +was destined to be--Mr. Paul's office had a surprise. Richard MacEveril +walked into it. He was looking fresh and blooming, as if he had never +heard of such a thing as running away. Mr. Hanborough gazed up at him +from his desk as if he saw an apparition; Tite Batley's red face seemed +illumined by sudden sunshine. + +"Well, and is nobody going to welcome me back?" cried Dick, as he put +out his hand, in the silence, to Mr. Hanborough. + +"The truth is, we never expected to see you back; we thought you had +gone for good," answered Hanborough. + +Dick laughed. "The two masters in there?" he asked, nodding his head at +the inner door. + +Hearing that they were, he went in. Old Paul, in his astonishment, +dropped a penful of ink upon a letter he was writing. + +"Why, where do you spring from?" he cried. + +"From my uncle's now, sir; got home last night. Been having a rare time +of it in Paris. I suppose I may take my place at the desk again?" added +Dick. + +The impudence of this supposition drove all Mr. Paul's wisdom out of +him. Motioning to Tom Chandler to close the doors, he avowed to Dick +what he was suspected of, and accused him of taking the letter and the +bank-note. + +"Well, I never!" exclaimed Dick, meeting the news with equanimity. "Go +off with a letter of yours, sir, and a bank-note! _Steal_ it, do you +mean? Why, you cannot think I'd be capable of such a dirty trick, Mr. +Paul. Indeed, sir, it wasn't me." + +And there was something in the genuine astonishment of the young fellow, +a certain honesty in his look and tone, that told Mr. Paul his suspicion +might be a mistaken one. He recounted a brief outline of the facts, Tom +Chandler helping him. + +"I never saw the letter or the note, sir," persisted Dick. "I remember +the Wednesday afternoon quite well. When I went out to get my tea I met +Fred Scott, and he persuaded me into the Bull for a game at billiards. +It was half-past five before I got back here, and Mr. Hanborough blew me +up. He had not been able to get out to his own tea. Batley was away that +afternoon. No, no, sir, I wouldn't do such a thing as that." + +"Where did you get the money to go away to London with, young man?" +questioned old Paul, severely. + +Dick laughed. "I won it," he said; "upon my word of honour, sir, I did. +It was the day of the picnic, and I persisted in going straight to it +the first thing--which put the office here in a rage, as it was busy. +Well, in turning out of here I again met Scott. He was hastening off +to the pigeon-shooting match. I went with him, intending to stay only +half an hour. But, once there, I couldn't tear myself away. They were +betting; I betted too, though I had only half a crown in my pocket, +and I won thirty shillings; and I never got to Mrs. Cramp's till the +afternoon, when it was close upon tea-time. Tom Chandler knows I +didn't." + +Tom Chandler nodded. + +"But for winning that thirty shillings I could not have got up to +London, unless somebody had lent me some," ran on Dick, who, once set +going, was a rare talker. "You can ask anyone at that pigeon match, sir, +whether I was not there the whole time: so it is impossible I could have +been at Worcester, changing a bank-note." + +The words brought to Mr. Paul a regret that he had _not_ thought to ask +that question of some one of the sportsmen: it would have set the matter +at rest, so far as MacEveril was concerned. And the suspicion had been +so apparently well grounded, as to prevent suspicion in other quarters. + +Tom Chandler, standing beside Dick at Mr. Paul's table, quietly laid a +pencil upon it, as if intending to write something down. Dick took it +up and looked at it. + +"What a pretty pencil!" he exclaimed. "Is it gold?" + +It should be understood that in those past days, these ornamental +pencils were rare. They may be bought by the bushel now. And Tom +Chandler would have been convinced by the tone, had he still needed +conviction, that Dick had not seen any pencil like it before. + +"Well," struck in old Paul, a little repentant for having so surely +assumed Dick's guilt, and thankful on the captain's account that it +was a mistake: "if you promise to be steady at your work, young man, I +suppose you may take your place at the desk again. This gentleman here +is going a-roving this week," pointing the feather-end of his pen at Tom +Chandler, "for no one knows how long; so you'll have to stick to it." + +"I know; I've heard," laughed Dick. "I mean to get a few minutes to dash +into the church and see the wedding. Hope you'll not dismiss me for it, +sir!" + +"There, there; you go to your desk now, young man, and ask Mr. +Hanborough what you must do first," concluded the lawyer. + +It was not the only time on that same day that Thomas Chandler displayed +his pencil. Finding his theory, that Dick MacEveril possessed the fellow +one, to be mistaken, he at once began to take every opportunity of +showing it to the world--which he had not done hitherto. Something might +possibly come of it, he thought. And something did. + +Calling in at Colonel Letsom's in the evening, I found Jane Preen there, +and one or two more girls. The Squire and Tod had not appeared at home +yet, neither had Colonel Letsom, who made one at the shooting-party; we +decided that Sir Robert must be keeping them to an unceremonious dinner. +Presently Tom Chandler came in, to bring a note to the Colonel from Mr. +Paul. + +Bob Letsom proposed a round game at cards--Speculation. His sister, +Fanny, objected; speculation was nothing but screaming, she said, and we +couldn't sit down to cards by daylight. She proposed music; she thought +great things of her singing: Bob retorted that music might be shot, +and they talked at one another a bit. Finally we settled to play at +"Consequences." This involves, as everyone knows, sitting round a table +with pencils and pieces of writing-paper. + +I sat next to Tom Chandler, Jane Preen next to me. Fanny was on the +other side of Tom--but it is not necessary to relate how we all sat. +Before we had well begun, Chandler put his pencil on the table, +carelessly, and it rolled past me. + +"Why, that is Oliver's pencil!" exclaimed Jane, picking it up. + +"Which is?" quietly said Tom. "That? No; it is mine." + +Jane looked at it on all sides. "It is exactly like one that Oliver +has," she said. "It fell out of a drawer in his room the other day, when +I was counting up his collars and handkerchiefs. He told me he brought +it from Tours." + +"No doubt," said Tom. "I bought mine at Worcester." + +In taking the pencil from Jane, Tom's eye caught mine. I did feel queer; +he saw I did; but I think he was feeling the same. Little doubt now who +had changed the note! + +"You will not talk of it, will you?" I whispered to Tom, as we were +dispersing about the room when the game was over. + +"No," said he, "it shall not come out through me. I'm afraid, though, +there's no mistake this time, Johnny. A half doubt of it has crossed my +mind at odd moments." + +Neither would I talk of it, even to Tod. After all, it was not proof +positive. I had never, never thought of Oliver. + +The Letsoms had a fine old garden, as all the gardens at Crabb were, and +we strolled out in the twilight. The sun had set, but the sky was bright +in the west. Valentine Chandler, for he had come in, kept of course by +Jane Preen's side. Anyone might see that it was, as Tod called it, a +gone case with them. It was no end of a pity, Val being just as unsteady +and uncertain as the wind. + +People do bolder things in the gloaming than in the garish daylight; +and we fell to singing in the grotto--a semi-circular, half-open space +with seats in it, surrounded at the back by the artificial rocks. Fanny +began: she brought out an old guitar and twanged at it and sang for us, +"The Baron of Mowbray;" where the false knight rides away laughing from +the Baron's door and the Baron's daughter: that far-famed song of sixty +years ago, which was said to have made a fortune for its composer. + +The next to take up the singing was Valentine Chandler: and in listening +to him you forgot all his short-comings. Never man had sweeter voice +than he; and in his singing there was a singular charm impossible to be +described. In his voice also--I mean when he spoke--there was always +melody, and in his speech, when he chose to put it forth, a persuasive +eloquence. This might have been instrumental in winning Jane Preen's +heart; we are told that a man's heart is lost through his eye, a +woman's through her ear. Poor Valentine! he might have been so nice +a fellow--and he was going to the bad as fast as he could go. + +The song he chose was a ridiculous old ditty all about love; it went to +the tune of "Di tanti palpiti." Val chose it for Miss Jane and sung it +to her; to her alone, mind you; the rest of us went for nothing. + + "Here we meet, too soon to part, + Here to part will raise a smart, + Here I'd press thee to my heart, + Where none are set above thee. + + Here I'd vow to love thee well; + Could but words unseal the spell, + Had but language power to tell, + I'd tell thee how I've loved thee. + + Here's the rose that decks the door, + Here's the thorn that spreads the moor, + Here's the willow of the bower, + And the birds that rest above thee. + + Had they power of life to see, + Sense of souls, like thee--and me, + Then would each a witness be + How dotingly I love thee. + + Here we meet, too soon to part, + Here to part will raise a smart, + Here I'd press thee to my heart, + None e'er were there but thee." + +Now, as you perceive, it is a most ridiculous song, foolish as +love-songs in general are. But had you been sitting there with us in +all the subtle romance imparted by the witching hour of twilight, the +soft air floating around, the clear sky above, one large silver star +trembling in its blue depths, you would have felt entranced. The +wonderful melody of the singer's voice, his distinct enunciation, the +tender passion breathing through his soft utterance, and the slight yet +unmistakable emphasis given to the avowal of his love, thrilled us all. +It was as decided a declaration of what he felt for Jane Preen as he +could well make in this world. Once he glanced at her, and only once +throughout; it was where I have placed the pause, as he placed it +himself, "like thee--and me." As if his glance drew hers by some +irresistible fascination, Jane, who had been sitting beneath the rock +just opposite to him, her eyes cast down--as he made that pause and +glanced at her, I say, she lifted them for a moment, and caught the +glance. I may live to be an old man, but I shall never forget Val's song +that night, or the charm it held for us. What, then, must it have held +for Jane? And it is because that song and its charm lie still fresh on +my memory, though many a year has since worn itself out, that I inscribe +it here. + +As the singing came to an end, dying softly away, no one for a moment or +two broke the hushed silence that ensued. Valentine was the first to do +it. He got up from his seat; went round to a ledge of rock and stood +upon it, looking out in the distance. Had the sea been near, one might +have thought he saw a ship, homeward bound. + + +II + +Had the clerk of the weather been bribed with a purse of gold, he could +not have sent a finer day than Thursday turned out to be. The sun shone, +the air sparkled, and the bells of Islip church rang out from the old +steeple. Islip was much behind other churches in many respects; so +primitive, indeed, in some of its ways, that had an edifice of advanced +views come sailing through the air to pay it a visit, it would have +turned tail again and sailed away; but Islip could boast of one thing +few churches can boast of--a delightful peal of bells. + +The wedding took place at eleven o'clock, and was a quiet one. Its +attendants were chiefly confined to the parties themselves and their +immediate relatives, but that did not prevent other people from flocking +in to see it. + +I and Dick MacEveril went in together, and got a good place close up; +which was lucky, for the old church is full of pillars and angles +that obstruct the view. Emma was in white silk; her bridesmaid, Mary +MacEveril, the same; it was the custom in those days. Tom looked +uncommonly well; but he and she were both nervous. Old Paul gave her +away; and a thin aunt, with a twisted nose, who had come on a visit to +superintend the wedding, in place of Emma's dead mother, did nothing but +weep. She wore an odd gown, pink one way, blue another; you might have +thought she had borrowed its colours from their copper teakettle. Mrs. +Chandler, Tom's mother, in grey silk, was smarter than she had ever +been in her life; and his aunt, Mrs. Cramp, was resplendent in a dress +bordering upon orange. + +The ceremony came to an end very quickly, I thought--you do think so +at most simple weddings; and Tom and his wife went away together in +the first carriage. Next came the breakfast at Mr. Paul's; the aunt +presiding in a gentle stream of tears. Early in the afternoon the bride +and bridegroom left for London, on their way to the Continent. + + * * * * * + +Everyone does not care to dash to a church to see a marriage: some would +as soon think of running to look on at a funeral. Mr. Preen was one of +these insensible people, and he, of course, did not care to go near it. +He made game of Jane for doing so; but Jane wanted to see the dresses +and the ceremony. Oliver had not the opportunity of going; and would not +have gone though he had had it. Just about eleven o'clock, when the gay +doings were in full swing, Mr. Preen took Oliver off to Worcester in the +gig. + +About a fortnight before, Mr. Preen had appointed a saddler in Worcester +to be his agent for the new patent agricultural implements, for which he +was himself agent-in-chief. Until this under agency should be well in +hand, Mr. Preen considered it necessary to see the saddler often: for +which purpose he drove into Worcester at least three times a week. Once, +instead of going himself, he had sent Oliver, but this day was the first +time the two had gone together. It might have been--one cannot tell--but +it might have been that Mr. Preen discerned what this wedding of Emma +Paul's must be to his son, and so took him out to divert his mind a bit. + +Now, upon entering Worcester, to get to the saddler's it was necessary +to drive through High Street and turn into Broad Street. At least, that +was the straightforward route. But Oliver had not taken it the day he +drove in alone; he had preferred the more roundabout way of the back +streets. After driving through Sidbury, he--instead of going forward up +College Street and so into High Street--went careering along Friar +Street, along the whole length of New Street, turned up St. Swithin +Street, or Goose Lane, or one of those dingy thoroughfares, made a dash +across the top of High Street, and so into his destination, Broad +Street. In returning he took the same way. What his objection to the +better streets could be, he alone knew. To-day, however, Mr. Preen held +the reins. + +Mr. Preen was driving quietly up College Street, when Oliver spoke. + +"I wish you'd put me down here, father." + +"Put you down here!" repeated Mr. Preen, turning to look at him. "What +for?" + +"I want to get a little book for Jane," answered Oliver, glancing +towards Mr. Eaton's house. "I shall be up in Broad Street nearly as soon +as you are, if you want me there." + +"I don't particularly want you," said Mr. Preen, crustily, "but you +needn't be long before you come." And, drawing up to the side, he let +Oliver get out. + +Driving on to the saddler's, Mr. Preen transacted his business with him. +When it was over, he went to the door, where his gig waited, and looked +up and down the street, but saw nothing of Oliver. + +"Hasn't given himself the trouble to come up! Would rather put his lazy +legs astride one of those posts opposite the college, and watch for my +passing back again!" + +Which was of course rather a far-fetched idea of Mr. Preen's; but +he spoke in a temper. Though, indeed, of late Oliver had appeared +singularly inert; as if all spirit to move had gone out of him. + +Mr. Preen got into his gig at the saddler's door and set off again. +Turning into High Street, he drove gently down it, looking out on all +sides, if truth must be told, for Oliver. This caused him to see +Stephenson standing at the silversmith's door, the silversmith himself, +back now for good at his business, being behind the counter. Now and +then, since the bank-note was traced, Mr. Preen had made inquiries of +Stephenson as to whether any news had been heard of its changer, but he +had not done so lately. Not being in a hurry, he pulled up against the +curb-stone. Stephenson crossed the flags to speak. + +"Nothing turned up yet, I suppose?" said Mr. Preen. + +"Well, I can hardly say it has," replied Stephenson; "but I've seen the +gentleman who paid it in to us." + +"And who is it? and where was he?" cried Preen, eagerly. + +Stephenson had stepped back a pace, and appeared to be looking +critically at the horse and gig. + +"It was last Saturday," he said, coming close again. "I had to take a +parcel into Friar Street for one of our country customers, a farmer's +wife who was spending the day with some people living down there, and I +saw a gig bowling along. The young fellow in it was the one who changed +the note." + +"Are you sure of it?" returned Mr. Preen. + +"Quite sure, sir. I had no opportunity of speaking to him or stopping +him. He was driving at a good pace, and the moment he caught sight of +me, for I saw him do that, he touched the horse and went on like a +whirlwind." + +Mr. Preen's little dark face took a darker frown. "_I_ should have +stopped him," he said, sternly. "You ought to have rushed after him, +Stephenson, and called upon the street to help in the pursuit. You +might, at least, have traced where he went to. A gig, you say he was +in?" + +"Yes," said Stephenson. "And, unless I am greatly mistaken, it was this +very gig you are in now." + +"What do you mean by that?" retorted Preen, haughtily. + +"I took particular notice of the horse and gig, so as to recognise them +again if ever I got the chance; and I say that it was this gig and this +horse, sir. There's no mistake about it." + +They stared into one another's eyes, one face looking up, and the other +looking down. All in a moment, Stephenson saw the other face turn +ghastly white. It had come into Mr. Preen's recollection amidst his +bewilderment, that Oliver had gone into Worcester last Saturday +afternoon, driving the horse and gig. + +"I can't understand this! Who should be in my gig?" he cried, calling +some presence of mind to his aid. "Last Saturday, you say? In the +afternoon?" + +"Last Saturday afternoon, close upon four o'clock. As I turned down Lich +Street, I saw the lay-clerks coming out of College. Afternoon service is +generally over a little before four," added Stephenson. "He was driving +straight into Friar Street from Sidbury." + +Another recollection flashed across Mr. Preen: Oliver's asking just now +to be put down in College Street. Was it to prevent his passing through +High Street? Was he afraid to pass through it? + +"He is a nice-looking young fellow," said Stephenson; "has a fair, mild +face; but he was the one who changed the note." + +"That may be; but as to his being in my gig, it is not---- Why, I was +not in town at all on Saturday," broke off Mr. Preen, with a show of +indignant remonstrance. + +"No, Mr. Preen; the young man was in it alone," said Stephenson, who +probably had his own thoughts upon the problem. + +"Well, I can't stay longer now; I'm late already," said Mr. Preen. "Good +morning, Stephenson." And away he drove with a dash. + +Oliver was waiting in College Street, standing near the Hare and Hounds +Inn. Mr. Preen pulled up. + +"So you did not chose to come on!" he said. + +"Well, I--I thought there'd be hardly time, and I might miss you; I went +to get my hair cut," replied Oliver, as he settled himself in his place +beside his father. + +Mr. Preen drove on in silence until they were opposite the Commandery +gates in the lower part of Sidbury. Then he spoke again. + +"What made you drive through Friar Street on Saturday last, instead of +going the direct way?" + +"Through--Friar Street?" stammered Oliver. + +"Through Friar Street, instead of High Street," repeated Mr. Preen, in a +sharp, passionate accent. + +"Oh, I remember. High Street is so crowded on a market day; the back +streets are quiet," said Oliver, as if he had a lump in his throat, and +could not make his voice heard. + +"And in taking the back streets you avoid the silversmith's, and the +risk you run of being recognised; is that it?" savagely retorted Mr. +Preen. + +Not another word did he speak, only drove on home at a furious pace. +Oliver knew all then: the disgrace for which he had been so long waiting +had come upon him. + +But when they got indoors, Mr. Preen let loose the vials of his wrath +upon Oliver. Before his mother, before Jane, he published his iniquity. +It was he, Oliver, who had stolen the ten-pound note; it was he who had +so craftily got it changed at Worcester. Oliver spoke not a word of +denial, made no attempt at excuse or defence; he stood with bent head +and pale, meek face, his blue eyes filled with utter misery. The same +look of misery lay in Mrs. Preen's eyes as she faintly reproached him +amid tears and sobs. Jane was simply stunned. + +"You must go away now and hide yourself; I can't keep you here to be +found and pounced upon," roared Mr. Preen. "By the end of the week you +must be gone somewhere. Perhaps you can pick up a living in London." + +"Yes, I will go," said Oliver, meekly. And at the first lull in the +storm he crept up to his room. + +He did not come down to dinner; did not come to tea. Jane carried up +a cup of tea upon a waiter and some bread-and-butter, and put it down +outside the chamber door, which he had bolted. + +Later, in passing his room, she saw the door open and went in. Cup and +plate were both empty, so he had taken the refreshment. He was not in +the house, was not in the garden. Putting on her sun-bonnet and a light +shawl, she ran to the Inlets. + +Oliver was there. He sat, gazing moodily at the brook and the melancholy +osier-twigs that grew beside it. Jane sat down and bent his poor +distressed face upon her shoulder. + +"Dear Oliver! Don't take it so to heart. I know you must have been +sorely tempted." + +Bending there upon her, her arms clasping him, yielding to the loving +sympathy, so grateful after those harsh reproaches, he told her all, +under cover of the gathering shades of evening. Yes, he had been +tempted--and had yielded to the temptation. + +He wanted money badly for necessary things, and things that he had +learned to deem necessaries, and he had it not. A pair of new gloves +now and again, a necktie to replace his shabby ones, a trifle of loose +silver in his pocket. He owed a small sum to MacEveril, and wanted to +repay him. Once or twice he had asked a little money of his father, and +was refused. His mother would give him a few shillings, when pressed, +but grumbled over it. So Oliver wrote to a friend at Tours, whom he had +known well, asking if he would lend him some. That was the first week in +June. His friend wrote back in answer that he could lend him some after +quarter day, the 24th, but not before; he would send him over ten pounds +then, if that would do. + +Never a thought had presented itself to Oliver of touching the ten +pounds in his father's letter to Mr. Paul, which he had sealed and saw +posted. But on the following afternoon, Wednesday, he saw the letter +lying on Mr. Hanborough's desk; the temptation assailed him, and he took +it. + +It may be remembered that Mr. Preen had gone out that hot day, leaving +Oliver a lot of work to do. He got through it soon after four o'clock, +and went dashing over the cross route to Islip and into Mr. Paul's +office, for he wanted to see Dick MacEveril. The office was empty; not +a soul was in it; and as Oliver stood, rather wondering at that unusual +fact, he saw a small pile of letters, evidently just left by the +postman, lying on the desk close to him. The uppermost of the letters +he recognised at once; it was the one sent by his father. "If I might +borrow the ten pounds inside that now, I should be at ease; I would +replace it with the ten pounds coming to me from Tours, and it might +never get known," whispered Satan in his ear, with plausible cunning. + +Never a moment did he allow himself for thought, never an instant's +hesitation served to stop him. Catching up the letter, he thrust it into +his breast pocket, and set off across country again at a tearing pace, +not waiting to see MacEveril. + +He seemed to have flown over hedges and ditches and to be home in no +time. Little wonder that when he was seen sitting under the walnut tree +in the garden and was called in to tea, his mother and sister exclaimed +at his heated face. They never suspected he had been out. + +All that night Oliver lay awake: partly wondering how he should +dispose of his prize to make it available; partly telling himself, in +shame-faced reproach, that he would not use it, but send it back to old +Paul. It came into his mind that if he did use it he might change it at +the silversmith's as if for the Todhetleys, the Squire's name on the +back suggesting the idea to him. It would not do, he thought, to go into +a shop, any shop, purchase some trifling article and tender a ten-pound +note in payment. That might give rise to suspicion. Some months before, +when at Crabb Cot, he had heard Mrs. Todhetley relate the history of her +brooch, where she bought it, what she paid for it, and all about it, to +Colonel Letsom's wife and other people, for it happened that several +callers had come in together. The brooch had been passed round the +company and admired. Oliver remembered this, and resolved to make use of +it to disarm suspicion at the silversmith's. He knew the principal shops +in Worcester very well indeed, and Worcester itself. He had stayed for +some time, when sixteen, with an uncle who was living there; but he had +not visited the city since coming to Duck Brook. + +Thursday, the day following that on which he took the money, was the day +of the picnic. Oliver started with Jane for it in the morning, as may be +remembered, the ten-pound note hidden safely about him. Much to Oliver's +surprise his mother put seven shillings into his hand. "You'll not want +to use it, and must give it me back to-morrow," she said, "but it does +not look well to go to a thing of this sort with quite empty pockets." +Oliver thanked her, kissed her, and they drove off. Before reaching +Mrs. Jacob Chandler's, after passing Islip Grange--the property of Lady +Fontaine, as may be remembered, who was first cousin to John Paul--they +overtook Sam, walking on to take back the gig. "We may as well get out +here," said Oliver, and he pulled up. Getting out, and helping out Jane, +he sent Sam and the gig back at once. He bade his sister walk on alone +to Mrs. Chandler's, saying he wanted to do a little errand first. But +he charged her not to mention that; only to say, if questioned, that +he would join them by-and-by. He ran all the way to the station, +regardless of the heat, and caught a train for Worcester. + +The rest is known. Oliver changed the note at the silversmith's, bought +himself a pair of dandy gloves, with one or two other small matters, and +made the best of his way back again. But it was past the middle of the +afternoon when he got to the picnic: trains do not choose our time for +running, but their own. Jane wondered where he had been. Hearing of the +pigeon-match, she thought it was there. She asked him, in a whisper, +where he had found those delicate gloves; Oliver laughed and said +something about a last relic from Tours. + +And there it was. He had taken the note; he, Oliver Preen; and got the +gold for it. That day of the picnic was in truth the worst he had ever +experienced, the one hard day of all his life, as he had remarked to +Jane. Not only had he committed a deed in it which might never be +redeemed, but he also learnt that Emma Paul's love was given not to him, +but to another. It was for her sake he had coveted new gloves and money +in his pockets, that he might not look despicable in her sight. + +The dearest and surest of expectations are those that fail. While +Oliver, as the days went on, was feverishly looking out, morning after +morning, for the remittance from Tours, he received a letter to say it +was not coming. His friend, with many expressions of regret, wrote to +the effect that he was unable to send it at present; later, he hoped to +do so. Of course, it never came. And Oliver had not been able to replace +the money, and--this was the end of it. + +In a whispering, sobbing tone, he told these particulars by degrees to +Jane as they sat there. She tried to comfort him; said it might never +be known beyond themselves at home; rather advocated his going away for +a short time, as proposed, while things righted themselves, and their +father's anger cooled down. But Oliver could not be comforted. Then, +leaving the unsatisfactory theme, she tried another, and began telling +him of the wedding at Islip that morning, and of how Tom and Emma +looked---- + +"Don't, Jane," he interrupted; and his wailing, shrinking tone seemed to +betray the keenest pain of all. + +They walked home together in silence, Jane clinging to his arm. The +night shades lay upon the earth, the stars were shining in the sky. +Oliver laid his hand upon the garden gate and paused. + +"Do you remember, Jane, when I was coming in here for the first time, +how a strange shiver took me, and you thought I must have caught a +chill. It was a warning, my dear; a warning of the evil that lay in +store for me." + +He would not go into the parlour to supper, but went softly up to his +room and shut himself in for the night. Poor Oliver! Poor, poor Oliver! + +The following day, Friday, Mr. Preen, allowing himself the unwonted +luxury of a holiday for a day's shooting, was away betimes. For the +afternoon and evening, Mrs. Jacob Chandler's daughters, Clementina, +Georgiana, and Julietta, had organised a party to celebrate their cousin +Tom's wedding; Miss Julietta called it a "flare-up." + +Jane Preen had promised, for herself and for Oliver, to be there by +three o'clock. For Oliver! She made herself ready after dinner; and +then, looking everywhere for her brother, found him standing in the road +just outside the garden gate. He said he was not going. Jane reproached +him, and he quite laughed at her. _He_ go into company now! she might +know better. But Jane had great influence over him, and as he walked +with her along the road--for she was going to walk in and walk back +again at night--she nearly persuaded him to fetch her. Only nearly; not +quite. Oliver finally refused, and they had almost a quarrel. + +Then the tears ran down Jane's cheeks. Her heart was aching to pain for +him; and her object in pressing him to come was to take him out of his +loneliness. + +"Just this one evening, Oliver!" she whispered, clinging to him and +kissing him. "I don't ask you a favour often." + +And Oliver yielded. "I'll come for you, Janey," he said, kissing her +in return. "That is, I will come on and meet you; I cannot go to the +house." + +With that, they parted. But in another minute, Jane was running back +again. + +"You will be _sure_ to come, Oliver? You won't disappoint me? You won't +go from your word?" + +Oliver felt a little annoyed; the sore heart grows fretful. "I swear +I'll come, then," he said; "I'll meet you, alive or dead." + +I was at the party. Not Tod; he had gone shooting. We spent the +afternoon in the garden. It was not a large party, after all; only the +Letsoms, Jane Preen, and the Chandler girls; but others were expected +later. Jane had a disconsolate look. Knowing nothing of the trouble at +Duck Brook, I thought she was sad because Valentine had not come early, +according to promise. We knew later that he had been kept by what he +called a long-winded client. + +At five o'clock we went indoors to tea. Those were the days of real, +old-fashioned teas, not sham ones, as now. Hardly had we seated +ourselves round the table, and Mrs. Jacob Chandler was inquiring who +took sugar and who didn't, when one of the maids came in. + +"If you please, Miss Preen, the gig is come for you," she said. + +"The gig!" exclaimed Jane. "Come for me! You must be mistaken, Susan." + +"It is at the gate, Miss Jane, and Sam's in it. He says that his master +and missus have sent him to take you home immediate." + +Jane, all astonishment, followed by some of us, went out to see what +Sam could mean. Sam only repeated in a stolid kind of way the message he +had given to Susan. His master and mistress had despatched him for Miss +Jane and she must go home at once. + +"Is anything the matter?--anyone ill?" asked Jane, turning pale. + +Sam, looking more stolid than before, professed not to know anything; he +either did not or would not. Miss Jane had to go, and as quick as she +could, was all he would say. + +Jane put on her things, said good-bye in haste, and went out again to +the gig. Sam drove off at a tangent before she had well seated herself. + +"Now, Sam, what's the matter?" she began. + +Sam, in about three stolid words, protested, as before, he couldn't say +_what_ was the matter; except that he had been sent off for Miss Jane. + +Jane noticed, and thought it odd, that he did not look at her as he +spoke, though he was frank and open by habit; he had never looked in any +of their faces since coming to the door. + +"Where's Mr. Oliver?" she asked. But Sam only muttered that he "couldn't +say," and drove swiftly. + +They went on in silence after that, Jane seeing it would be useless to +inquire further, and were soon at Duck Brook. She felt very uneasy. What +she feared was, that her father and Oliver might have quarrelled, and +that the latter was about to be turned summarily out of doors. + +"Why, there's Mr. Oliver!" she exclaimed. "Pull up, Sam." + +They were passing the first Inlet. Oliver stood at the top of it, facing +the road, evidently looking out for her, as Jane thought. His gaze was +fixed, his face white as death. + +"I told you to pull up, Sam; how dare you disobey me and drive on in +that way?" cried Jane; for Sam had whipped up the horse instead of +stopping. Jane, looking at his face saw it had gone white too. + +"There he is! there he is again! There's Mr. Oliver!" + +They had approached the other Inlet as Jane spoke. Oliver stood at the +top of it, exactly as he had stood at the other, his gaze fixed on her, +his face ghastly. Not a muscle of his face moved; a dead man could not +be more still. Sam, full of terror, was driving on like lightning, as if +some evil thing were pursuing him. + +And now Jane turned pale. What did it mean? these two appearances? It +was totally impossible for Oliver to be at the last Inlet, if it was +he who stood at the other. A bird of the air might have picked him up, +carried him swiftly over the trees and dropped him at the second Inlet; +nothing else could have done it in the time. What did it mean? + +Mr. Preen was waiting at the door to receive Jane. He came a little way +with slow steps down the path to meet her as the gig stopped. She ran in +at the gate. + +"What has happened, papa?" she cried. "Where's Oliver?" + +Oliver was upstairs, lying upon his bed--dead. Mr. Preen disclosed it to +her as gently as he knew how. + + * * * * * + +It was all too true. Oliver had died about two hours before. He had shot +himself at the Inlets, close by the melancholy osiers that grew over the +brook. + +Oliver had accompanied Jane to the end of Brook Lane. There, at the +Islip Road, they parted; she going on to Crabb, Oliver walking back +again. Upon reaching the Inlets, that favourite spot of his, he sat down +on the bench that faced the highway; the self-same bench Jane had sat on +when she was watching for his arrival from Tours, in the early days of +spring. He had not sat there above a minute when he saw his father, with +one or two more gentlemen, get over the gate from the field opposite. +They were returning from shooting, and had their guns in their hands. +Mr. Preen walked quickly over the road to Oliver. + +"Take my gun indoors," he said; "I am not going in just yet. It is +loaded." + +He walked away down the road with his friends, after speaking. Oliver +took the gun, walked slowly down one of the Inlets, and placed himself +on the nearest bench there, lodging the gun against the end. In a few +minutes there arose a loud report. + +Sam was in the upper part of the field on the other side the brook with +the waggon and waggoner. He turned to look where the noise came from, +and thought he saw some one lying on the ground by the bench. They both +came round in haste, he and the waggoner, and found Oliver Preen lying +dead with the gun beside him. Running for assistance, Sam helped to +carry him home, and then went for the nearest doctor; but it was all of +no avail. Oliver was dead. + +Was it an accident, or was it intentional? People asked the question. At +the coroner's inquest, Mr. Preen, who was so affected he could hardly +give evidence, said that, so far as he believed, Oliver was one of the +last people likely to lay violent hands on himself; he was of too calm +and gentle a temperament for that. The rustic jury, pitying the father +and believing him, gave Oliver the benefit of the doubt. Loaded guns +were dangerous, they observed, apt to go off of themselves almost; and +they brought it in Accidental Death. + +But Jane knew better. I thought I knew better. I'm afraid Mr. Preen knew +better. + +And what of that appearance of Oliver which Jane saw? It could not have +been Oliver in the flesh, but I think it must have been Oliver in the +spirit. Many a time and oft in the days that followed did Jane recount +it over to me; it seemed a relief to her distress to talk of it. "He +said he would come, alive or dead, to meet me; and he came." + +And I, Johnny Ludlow, break off here to state that the account of this +apparition is strictly true. Every minute particular attending it, even +to the gig coming with Sam in it to fetch Jane from the tea-table, is a +faithful record of that which occurred. + +I took an opportunity of questioning Sam, asking whether he had seen +the appearance. It was as we were coming away from the grave after the +funeral. Oliver was buried in Duck Brook churchyard, close under the +clock which had told him the time when he stood with his father posting +the letters that past afternoon at Dame Sym's window. "We are too late, +father," he had said. But for being too late the tragedy might never +have happened, for the letter, which caused all the trouble and +commotion, would have reached Mr. Paul's hands safely the next morning. + +"No, sir," Sam answered me, "I can't say that I saw anything. But just +as Miss Jane spoke, calling out that Mr. Oliver was there, a kind of +shivering wind seemed to take me, and I turned icy cold. It was not her +words that could have done it, sir, for I was getting so before she +spoke. And at the last Inlet, when she called it out again, I went +almost out of my mind with cold and terror. The horse was affrighted +too; his coat turned wet." + + * * * * * + +That was the tragedy: no one can say I did wrong to call it one. For +years and years it has been in my mind to write it. But I had hoped to +end the paper less sadly; only the story has lengthened itself out, and +there's no space left. I meant to have told of Jane's brighter fate in +the after days with Valentine, the one lover of her life. For Val pulled +himself up from his reckless ways, though not at Islip; and in a distant +land they are now sailing down the stream of life together, passing +through, as we all have to do, its storms and its sunshine. All this +must be left for another paper. + + + + +IN LATER YEARS + + +I + +I think it must have been the illness he had in the summer that tended +to finally break down Valentine Chandler. He had been whirling along all +kinds of doubtful ways before, but when a sort of low fever attacked +him, and he had to lie by for weeks, he was about done for. + +That's how we found it when we got to Crabb Cot in October. Valentine, +what with illness, his wild ways and his ill-luck, had come to grief and +was about to emigrate to Canada. His once flourishing practice had run +away from him; no prospect seemed left to him in the old country. + +"It is an awful pity!" I remarked to Mrs. Cramp, having overtaken her in +the Islip Road, as she was walking towards home. + +"Ay, it is that, Johnny Ludlow," she said, turning her comely face to +me, the strings of her black bonnet tied in a big bow under her chin. +"Not much else was to be expected, taking all things into consideration. +George Chandler, Tom's brother, makes a right good thing of it in +Canada, farming, and Val is going to him." + +"We hear that Val's mother is leaving North Villa." + +"She can't afford to stay in it now," returned Mrs. Cramp, "so has let +it to the Miss Dennets, and taken a pretty little place for herself in +Crabb. Georgiana has gone out as a governess." + +"Will she like that?" + +"Ah, Master Johnny! There are odd moments throughout all our lives when +we have to do things we don't like any more than we like poison--I hate +to look at the place," cried Mrs. Cramp, energetically. "When I think of +Mrs. Jacob's having to turn out of it, and all through Val's folly, it +gives me the creeps." + +This applied to North Villa, of which we then were abreast. Mrs. Cramp +turned her face from it, and went on sideways, like a crab. + +"Why, here's Jane Preen!" + +She was coming along quietly in the afternoon sunshine. I thought her +altered. The once pretty blush-rose of her dimpled cheeks had faded; +in her soft blue eyes, so like Oliver's, lay a look of sadness. He had +been dead about a year now. But the blush came back again, and the eyes +lighted up with smiles as I took her hand. Mrs. Cramp went on; she was +in a hurry to reach her home, which lay between Islip and Crabb. Jane +rang the bell at North Villa. + +"Shall I take a run over to Duck Brook to-morrow, Jane, and sit with you +in the Inlets, and we'll have a spell of gossip together?" + +"I never sit in the Inlets now," she said, in a half whisper, turning +her face away. + +"Forgive me, Jane," I cried, repenting my thoughtlessness; and she +disappeared up the garden path. + +Susan opened the door. Her mistress was out, she said, but Miss +Clementina was at home. It was Clementina that Jane wanted to see. + +Valentine, still weak, was lying on the sofa in the parlour when Jane +entered. He got up, all excitement at seeing her, and they sat down +together. + +"I brought this for Clementina," she said, placing a paper parcel on +the table. "It is a pattern which she asked me for. Are you growing +stronger?" + +"Clementina is about somewhere," he observed; "the others are out. Yes, +I am growing stronger; but it seems to me that I am a long while about +it." + +They sat on in silence, side by side, neither speaking. Valentine took +Jane's hand and held it within his own, which rested on his knee. It +seemed that they had lost their tongues--as we say to the children. + +"Is it all decided?" asked Jane presently. "Quite decided?" + +"Quite, Jane. Nothing else is left for me." + +She caught her breath with one of those long sighs that tell of inward +tribulation. + +"I should have been over to see you before this, Jane, but that my legs +would not carry me to Duck Brook and back again without sitting down by +the wayside. And you--you hardly ever come here now." + +A deep flush passed swiftly over Jane's face. She had not liked to call +at the troubled house. And she very rarely came so far as Crabb now: +there seemed to be no plea for it. + +"What will be the end, Val?" she whispered. + +Valentine groaned. "I try not to think of it, my dear. When I cannot put +all thought of the future from me, it gives me more torment than I know +how to bear. If only----" + +The door opened, and in came Clementina, arresting what he had been +about to say. + +"This is the pattern you asked me for, Clementina," Jane said, rising +to depart on her return home. For she would not risk passing the Inlets +after sunset. + + * * * * * + +A week or two went by, and the time of Valentine Chandler's departure +arrived. He had grown well and strong apparently, and went about to say +Good-bye to people in a subdued fashion. The Squire took him apart when +Val came for that purpose to us, and talked to him in private. Tod +called it a "Curtain Lecture." Valentine was to leave Crabb at daybreak +on the Saturday morning for London, and go at once on board the ship +lying in the docks about to steam away for Quebec. + +It perhaps surprised none of us who knew the Chandler girls that they +should be seen tearing over the parish on the Friday afternoon to invite +people to tea. "It will be miserably dull this last evening, you know, +Johnny," they said to me in their flying visit; "we couldn't stand it +alone. Be sure to come in early: and leave word that Joseph Todhetley is +to join us as soon as he gets back again." For Tod had gone out. + +According to orders, I was at North Villa betimes: and, just as on that +other afternoon, I met Jane Preen at the gate. She had walked in from +Duck Brook. + +"You are going to spend the evening here, Jane?" + +"Yes, it is the last evening," she sighed. "Valentine wished it." + +"The girls have been to invite me; wouldn't let me say No. There's to +be quite a party." + +"A party!" exclaimed Jane, in surprise. + +"If they could manage to get one up." + +"I am sure Valentine did not know that this morning." + +"I daresay not. I asked the girls if Valentine wanted a crowd there on +his last evening, and they exclaimed that Valentine never knew what was +good for him." + +"As you are here, Johnny," she went on, after a silence, "I wonder if +you would mind my asking you to do me a favour? It is to walk home with +me after tea. I shall not be late this evening." + +"Of course I will, Jane." + +"I _cannot_ go past the Inlets alone after dark," she whispered. "I +never do so by daylight but a dreadful shiver seizes me. I--I'm afraid +of seeing something." + +"Have you ever seen it since that first evening, Jane?" + +"Never since. Never once. I do not suppose that I shall ever see it +again; but the fear lies upon me." + +She went on to explain that the gig could not be sent for her that +evening, as Mr. Preen had gone to Alcester in it and taken Sam. Her mode +and voice seemed strangely subdued, as if all spirit had left her for +ever. + +In spite of their efforts, the Miss Chandlers met with little luck. One +of the Letsom girls and Tom Coney were all the recruits they were able +to pick up. They came dashing in close upon our heels. In the hall stood +Valentine's luggage locked and corded, ready for conveyance to the +station. + +There's not much to relate of that evening: I hardly know why I allude +to it at all--only that these painful records sometimes bring a sad sort +of soothing to the weary heart, causing it to look forward to that other +life where will be no sorrow and no parting. + +Tod came in after tea. He and Coney kept the girls alive, if one might +judge by the laughter that echoed from the other room. Tea remained on +the table for anyone else who might arrive, but Mrs. Jacob Chandler had +turned from it to put her feet on the fender. She kept me by her, asking +about a slight accident which had happened to one of our servants. +Valentine and Jane were standing at the doors of the open window in +silence, as if they wanted to take in a view of the garden. And that +state of things continued, as it seemed to me, for a good half-hour. + +It was a wild night, but very warm for November. White clouds scudded +across the face of the sky; moonlight streamed into the room. The fire +was low, and the green shade had been placed over the lamp, so that +there seemed to be no light but that of the moon. + +"Won't you sing a song for the last time, Valentine?" I heard Jane ask +him with half a sob. + +"Not to-night; I'm not equal to it. But, yes, I will; one song," he +added, turning round. "Night and day that one song has been ever +haunting me, Jane." + +He was sitting down to the piano when Mrs. Cramp came in. She said she +would go up to take her bonnet off, and Mrs. Chandler went with her. +This left me alone at the fire. I should have made a start for the next +room where the laughing was, but that I did not like to disturb the song +then begun. Jane stood listening just outside the open window, her hands +covering her bent face. + +Whether the circumstances and surroundings made an undue impression on +me, I know not, but the song struck me as being the most plaintive one +I had ever heard and singularly appropriate to that present hour. The +singer was departing beyond seas, leaving one he loved hopelessly behind +him. + + "Remember me, though rolling ocean place its bounds 'twixt thee + and me, + Remember me with fond emotion, and believe I'll think of thee." + +So it began; and I wish I could recollect how it went on, but I can't; +only a line here and there. I think it was set to the tune of Weber's +Last Waltz, but I'm not sure. There came a line, "My lingering look from +thine will sever only with an aching heart;" there came another bit +towards the end: "But fail not to remember me." + +Nothing in themselves, you will say, these lines; their charm lay in the +singing. To listen to their mournful pathos brought with it a strange +intensity of pain. Valentine sang them as very few can sing. That his +heart was aching, aching with a bitterness which can never be pictured +except by those who have felt it; that Jane's heart was aching as she +listened, was all too evident. You could feel the anguish of their +souls. It was in truth a ballad singularly applicable to the time and +place. + +The song ceased; the music died away. Jane moved from the piano with +a sob that could no longer be suppressed. Valentine sat still and +motionless. As to me, I made a quiet glide of it into the other room, +just as Mrs. Cramp and Mrs. Jacob Chandler were coming in for some tea. +Julietta seized me on one side and Fanny Letsom on the other; they were +going in for forfeits. + + * * * * * + +Valentine Chandler left the piano and went out, looking for Jane. Not +seeing her, he followed on down the garden path, treading on its dry, +dead leaves. The wind, sighing and moaning, played amidst the branches +of the trees, nearly bare now; every other minute the moon was obscured +by the flying clouds. Warm though the night was, and grand in its +aspect, signs might be detected of the approaching winter. + +Jane Preen was standing near the old garden arbour, from which could be +seen by daylight the long chain of the Malvern Hills. Valentine drew +Jane within, and seated her by his side. + +"Our last meeting; our last parting, Jane!" he whispered from the depth +of his full heart. + +"Will it be for ever?" she wailed. + +He took time to answer. "I would willingly say No; I would _promise_ it +to you, Jane, but that I doubt myself. I know that it lies with me; and +I know that if God will help me, I may be able to----" + +He broke down. He could not go on. Jane bent her head towards him. +Drawing it to his shoulder, he continued: + +"I have not been able to pull up here, despite the resolutions I have +made from time to time. I was one of a fast set of men at Islip, +and--somehow--they were stronger than I was. In Canada it may be +different. I promise you, my darling, that I will strive to make it so. +Do you think this is no lesson to me?" + +"If not----" + +"If not, we may never see each other again in this world." + +"Oh, Valentine!" + +"Only in Heaven. The mistakes we make here may be righted there." + +"And will it be _nothing_ to you, never to see me again here?--no sorrow +or pain?" + +"_No sorrow or pain!_" Valentine echoed the words out of the very depths +of woe. Even then the pain within him was almost greater than he could +bear. + +They sat on in silence, with their aching hearts. Words fail in an +hour of anguish such as this. An hour that comes perhaps but once in +a lifetime; to some of us, never. Jane's face lay nestled against his +shoulder; her hand was in his clasp. Val's tears were falling; he was +weak yet from his recent illness; Jane's despair was beyond tears. + + * * * * * + +We were in the height and swing of forfeits when Valentine and Jane came +in. They could not remain in the arbour all night, you see, romantic and +lovely though it might be to sit in the moonlight. Jane said she must be +going home; her mother had charged her not to be late. + +When she came down with her things on, I, remembering what she had asked +me, took my hat and waited for her in the hall. But Valentine came out +with her. + +"Thank you all the same, Johnny," she said to me. And I went back to the +forfeits. + +They went off together, Jane's arm within his--their last walk, perhaps, +in this world. But it seemed that they could not talk any more than they +did in the garden, and went along for the most part in silence. Just +before turning into Brook Lane they met Tom Chandler--he who was doing +so much for Valentine in this emigration matter. He had come from Islip +to spend a last hour with his cousin. + +"Go on, Tom; you'll find them all at home," said Valentine. "I shall not +be very long after you." + +Upon coming to the Inlets, Jane clung closer to Valentine's arm. It was +here that she had seen her unfortunate brother Oliver standing, after +his death. Valentine hastily passed his arm round her to impart a sense +of protection. + +At the gate they parted, taking their farewell hand-shake, their last +kiss. "God help you, my dear!" breathed Valentine. "And if--if we never +meet again, believe that no other will ever love you as I have loved." + +He turned back on the road he had come, and Jane went in to her desolate +home. + + +II + +"Aunt Mary Ann, I've come back, and brought a visitor with me!" + +Mrs. Mary Ann Cramp, superintending the preserving of a pan of morella +cherries over the fire in her spacious kitchen, turned round in +surprise. I was perched on the arm of the old oak chair, watching the +process. I had gone to the farm with a message from Crabb Cot, and Mrs. +Cramp, ignoring ceremony, called me into the kitchen. + +Standing at the door, with the above announcement, was Julietta +Chandler. She had been away on a fortnight's visit. + +"Now where on earth did you spring from, Juliet?" asked Mrs. Cramp. +"I did not expect you to-day. A visitor? Who is it?" + +"Cherry Dawson, Aunt Mary Ann; and I didn't think it mattered about +letting you know," returned Juliet. They had given up the longer name, +Julietta. "You can see her if you look through the window; she is +getting out of the fly at the gate. Cherry Dawson is the nicest +and jolliest girl in the world, and you'll all be in love with +her--including you, Johnny Ludlow." + +Sure enough, there she was, springing from the fly which had brought +them from Crabb station. A light, airy figure in a fresh brown-holland +dress and flapping Leghorn hat. The kitchen window was open, and we +could hear her voice all that way off, laughing loudly at something and +chattering to the driver. She was very fair, with pretty white teeth, +and a pink colour on her saucy face. + +Mrs. Cramp left Sally to the cherries, went to the hall door and opened +it herself, calling the other maid, Joan, to come down. The visitor flew +in with a run and a sparkling laugh, and at once kissed Mrs. Cramp on +both cheeks, without saying with your leave or by your leave. I think +she would not have minded kissing me, for she came dancing up and shook +my hand. + +"It's Johnny Ludlow, Cherry," said Juliet. + +"Oh, how delightful!" cried Miss Cherry. + +She was really very unsophisticated; or--very much the other way. One +cannot quite tell at a first moment. But, let her be which she might, +there was one thing about her that took the eyes by storm. It was her +hair. + +Whether her rapid movements had unfastened it, or whether she wore it +so, I knew not, but it fell on her shoulders like a shower of gold. Her +small face seemed to be set in an amber aureole. I had never before seen +hair so absolutely resembling the colour of pure gold. As she ran back +to Mrs. Cramp from me, it glittered in the sunlight. The shower of +gold in which Jupiter went courting Danaë could hardly have been more +seductive than this. + +"I know you don't mind my coming uninvited, you dear Mrs. Cramp!" she +exclaimed joyously. "I did so want to make your acquaintance. And +Clementina was growing such a cross-patch. It's not Tim's fault if he +can't come back yet. Is it now?" + +"I do not know anything about it," answered Mrs. Cramp, apparently not +quite sure what to make of her. + +With this additional company I thought it well to come away, and wished +them good morning. At the gate stood the fly still, the horse resting. + +"Like to take a lift, Mr. Johnny, as far as your place?" asked the man +civilly. "I am just starting back." + +"No, thank you, Lease," I answered. "I am going across to Duck Brook." + +"Curious young party that, ain't it, sir?" said Lease, pointing the whip +over his shoulder towards the house. "She went and asked me if Mrs. +Cramp warn't an old Image, born in the year One, and didn't she get her +gowns out of Noah's Ark? And while I was staring at her saying that, she +went off into shouts of laughter enough to frighten the horse. Did you +see her hair, sir?" + +I nodded. + +"For my part, I don't favour that bright yaller for hair, Mr. Johnny. I +never knew but one woman have such, and she was more deceitful than a +she-fox." + +Lease touched his hat and drove off. He was cousin in a remote degree to +poor Maria Lease, and to Lease the pointsman who had caused the accident +to the train at Crabb junction and died of the trouble. At that moment, +Fred Scott came up; a short, dark young fellow, with fierce black +whiskers, good-natured and rather soft. He was fond of playing billiards +at the Bell at Islip; had been doing it for some years now. + +"I say, Ludlow, has that fly come with Juliet Chandler? Is she back +again?" + +"Just come. She has brought some one with her: a girl with golden hair." + +"Oh, bother _her_!" returned Fred. "But it has been as dull as +ditchwater without Juliet." + +He dashed in at Mrs. Cramp's gate and up the winding path. I turned +into the Islip Road, and crossed it to take Brook Lane. The leaves +were beginning to put on the tints of autumn; the grain was nearly all +gathered. + +Time the healer! As Mrs. Todhetley says, it may well be called so. +Heaven in mercy sends it to the sick and heavy-laden with healing on its +wings. Nearly three years had slipped by since the departure for Canada +of Valentine Chandler; four years since the tragic death of Oliver +Preen. + +There are few changes to record. Things and people were for the most +part going on as they had done. It was reported that Valentine had +turned over a new leaf from the hour he landed over yonder, becoming +thoroughly staid and steady. Early in the summer of this year his +mother had shut up her cottage at North Crabb to go to Guernsey, on +the invitation of a sister from whom she had expectations. Upon this, +Julietta, who lived with her mother, went on a long visit to Mrs. Cramp. + +Clementina had married. Her husband was a Mr. Timothy Dawson, junior +partner in a wholesale firm of general merchants in Birmingham; they had +also a house in New York. Mr. and Mrs. Timothy Dawson lived in a white +villa at Edgbaston, and went in for style and fashion. At least she did, +which might go without telling. The family in which her sister Georgiana +was governess occupied another white villa hard by. + +Close upon Juliet's thus taking up her residence with her aunt, finding +perhaps the farm rather dull, she struck up a flirtation with Fred +Scott, or he with her. They were everlastingly together, mooning about +Mrs. Cramp's grounds, or sauntering up and down the Islip Road. Juliet +gave out that they were engaged. No one believed it. At present Fred +had nothing to marry upon: his mother, just about as soft as himself, +supplied him with as much pocket-money as he asked for, and there his +funds ended. + +Juliet had now returned from a week or two's visit she had been paying +Clementina, bringing with her, uninvited, the young lady with the golden +hair. That hair seemed to be before my eyes as a picture as I walked +along. She was Timothy Dawson's young half-sister. Both the girls had +grown tired of staying with Clementina, who worried herself and everyone +about her just now because her husband was detained longer than he had +anticipated in New York, whither he had gone on business. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Frederick Scott had said "Bother" in contempt when he first heard of +the visitor with the golden hair. He did not say it long. Miss Cherry +Dawson cast a spell upon him. He had never met such a rattling, laughing +girl in all his born days, which was how he phrased it; had never seen +such bewildering hair. Cherry fascinated him. Forgetting his allegiance +to Juliet, faithless swain that he was, he went right over to the enemy. +Miss Cherry, nothing loth, accepted his homage openly, and enjoyed the +raging jealousy of Juliet. + +In the midst of this, Juliet received a telegram from Edgbaston. Her +sister Clementina was taken suddenly ill and wanted her. She must take +the first train. + +"Of course you are coming with me, Cherry!" said Juliet. + +"Of course I am not," laughed Cherry. "I'm very happy here--if dear Mrs. +Cramp will let me stay with her. You'll be back again in a day or two." + +Not seeing any polite way of sending her away in the face of this, Mrs. +Cramp let her stay on. Juliet was away a week--and a nice time the other +one and Fred had of it, improving the shining hours with soft speeches +and love-making. When Juliet got back again, she felt ready to turn +herself into a female Bluebeard, and cut off Cherry's golden head. + +Close upon that Mrs. Cramp held her harvest-home. "You may as well come +early, and we'll have tea on the lawn," she said, when inviting us. + +It was a fine afternoon, warm as summer, though September was drawing to +its close. Many of the old friends you have heard of were there. Mary +MacEveril and her cousin Dick, who seemed to be carrying on a little +with one another, as Tod called it; the Letsoms, boys and girls; Emma +Chandler, who looked younger than ever, though she could boast of two +babies: and others. Jane Preen was there, the weary look which her mild +and pretty face had gained latterly very plainly to be seen. We roamed +at will about the grounds, and had tea under the large weeping elm tree. +Altogether the gathering brought forcibly to mind that other gathering; +that of the picnic, four summers ago, when we had sung songs in +light-hearted glee, and poor Oliver Preen must have been ready to die +of mortal pain. + +The element of interest to-day lay in Miss Cherry Dawson. In her +undisguised assumption of ownership in Fred Scott, and in Juliet +Chandler's rampant jealousy of the pair. You should have seen the girl +flitting about like a fairy, in her white muslin frock, the golden +shower of curls falling around her like nothing but threads of +transparent amber. Fred was evidently very far gone. Juliet wore white +also. + +Whether things would have come that evening to the startling pass they +did but for an unfortunate remark made in thoughtless fun, not in +malice, I cannot tell. It gave a sting to Juliet that she could not +bear. A ridiculous pastime was going on. Some of them were holding hands +in a circle and dancing round to the "House that Jack Built," each one +reciting a sentence in turn. If you forgot your sentence, you paid a +forfeit. The one falling to Juliet Chandler was "This the maiden all +forlorn." "Why, that's exactly what you are, Juliet!" cried Tom Coney, +impulsively, and a laugh went round. Juliet said nothing, but I saw her +face change to the hue of death. The golden hair of the other damsel +was gleaming just then within view amidst the trees, accompanied by the +black head and black whiskers of Mr. Fred Scott. + +"That young man must have a rare time of it between the two," whispered +Tod to me. "As good as the ass between the bundles of hay." + +At dusk began the fun of the harvest-home. Mrs. Cramp's labourers and +their wives sat in the large kitchen at an abundant board. Hot beef, +mutton and hams crowded it, with vegetables; and of fruit pies and tarts +there was a goodly show. Some of us helped to wait on them, and that was +the best fun of all. + +They had all taken as much as they could possibly eat, and were in the +full flow of cider and beer and delight; a young man in a clean white +smock-frock was sheepishly indulging the table with a song: "Young Roger +of the Valley," and I was laughing till I had to hold my sides; when +Mrs. Cramp touched me on the back. She sat with the Miss Dennets in the +little parlour off the kitchen, in full view of the company. I sat on +the door-sill between them. + +"Johnny," she whispered, "I don't see Juliet and Cherry Dawson. Have +they been in at all?" + +I did not remember to have seen them; or Fred Scott either. + +"Just go out and look for the two girls, will you, Johnny. It's too late +for them to be out, though it is a warm night. Tell them I say they are +to come in at once," said Mrs. Cramp. + +Not half a stone's throw from the house I found them--quarrelling. Their +noisy voices guided me. A brilliant moon lighted up the scene. The young +ladies were taunting one another; Juliet in frantic passion; Cherry in +sarcastic mockery. Fred Scott, after trying in vain to throw oil upon +the troubled waters, had given it up as hopeless, and stood leaning +against a tree in silent patience. + +"It's quite true," Cherry was saying tauntingly when I got up. "We _are_ +engaged. We shall be married shortly. Come!" + +"You are not," raved Juliet, her voice trembling with the intense rage +she was in. "He was engaged to me before you came here; he is engaged to +me still." + +Cherry laughed out in mockery. "Dear me! old maids do deceive themselves +so!" + +Very hard, that, and Juliet winced. She was five or six years older than +the fairy. How Fred relished the bringing home to him of his sins, I +leave you to judge. + +"I say, can't you have done with this, you silly girls?" he cried out +meekly. + +"In a short time you'll have our wedding-cards," went on Cherry. "It's +all arranged. He's only waiting for me to decide whether it shall take +place here or at Gretna Green." + +Juliet dashed round to face Fred Scott. "If this be true; if you do +behave in this false way to me, I'll not survive it," she said, hardly +able to bring the words out in her storm of passion. "Do you hear me? +I'll not live to see it, I say; and my ghost shall haunt her for her +whole life after." + +"Come now, easy, Juliet," pleaded Fred uncomfortably. "It's all +nonsense, you know." + +"I think it is; I think she is saying this to aggravate me," assented +Juliet, subsiding to a sort of calmness. "If not, take you warning, +Cherry Dawson, for I'll keep my word. My apparition shall haunt you for +ever and ever." + +"It had better begin to-night, then, for you'll soon find out that it's +as true as gospel," retorted Cherry. + +Managing at last to get in a word, I delivered Mrs. Cramp's message: +they were to come in instantly. Fred obeyed it with immense relief and +ran in before me. The two girls would follow, I concluded, when their +jarring had spent itself. The last glimpse I had of them, they were +stretching out their faces at each other like a couple of storks. +Juliet's straw hat had fallen from her head and was hanging by its +strings round her neck. + +"Oh, they're coming," spoke up Fred, in answer to Mrs. Cramp. "It's very +nice out there; the moon's bright as day." + +And presently I heard the laugh of Cherry Dawson amidst us. Her golden +hair, her scarlet cheeks and her blue eyes were all sparkling together. + + +III + +It was the next morning. We were at breakfast, answering Mr. and Mrs. +Todhetley's questions about the harvest home, when old Thomas came in, +all sad and scared, to tell some news. Juliet Chandler was dead: she had +destroyed herself. + +Of course the Squire at once attacked Thomas for saying it. But a sick +feeling of conviction arose within me that it was true. One of the +servants, out of doors on an errand, had heard it from a man in the +road. The Squire sat rubbing his face, which had turned hot. + +Leaving the breakfast table, I started for Mrs. Cramp's. Miss Susan +Dennet was standing at her gate, her white handkerchief thrown over her +head, her pale face limp with fright. + +"Johnny," she called to me, "have you heard? Do you think it can be +true?" + +"Well, I hope not, Miss Susan. I am now going there to see. What I'm +thinking of is this--if it is not true, how can such a report have +arisen?" + +Tod caught me up, and we found the farm in distress and commotion. It +was all true; and poor Mrs. Cramp was almost dumb with dismay. These +were the particulars: The previous evening, Juliet did not appear at the +late supper, laid in the dining-room for the guests; at least, no one +remembered to have seen her. Later, when the guests had left, and Mrs. +Cramp was in the kitchen busy with her maids, Cherry Dawson looked in, +bed-candle in hand, to say good-night. "I suppose Juliet is going up +with you," remarked Mrs. Cramp. "Oh, Juliet went up ages ago," said +Cherry, in answer. + +The night passed quietly. Early in the morning one of the farm men went +to the eel-pond to put in a net, and saw some clothes lying on the +brink. Rushing indoors, he brought out Sally. She knew the things at +once. There lay the white dress and the pink ribbons which Juliet had +worn the night before; the straw hat, and a small fleecy handkerchief +which she had tied round her neck at sundown. Pinned to the sash and +the dress was a piece of paper on which was written in ink, in a large +hand--Juliet's hand: + +"I SAID I WOULD DO IT; AND I WILL HAUNT HER FOR EVERMORE." + +Of course she had taken these things off and left them on the bank, with +the memorandum pinned to them, to make known that she had flung herself +into the pond. + +"I can scarcely believe it; it seems so incredible," sighed poor Mrs. +Cramp, to the Squire, who had come bustling in. "Juliet, as I should +have thought, was one of the very last girls to do such a thing." + +The next to appear upon the scene, puffing and panting with agitation, +was Fred Scott. He asked which of the two girls it was, having heard +only a garbled account; and now learned that it was Juliet. As to Cherry +Dawson, she was shut up in her bedroom in shrieking hysterics. Men were +preparing to drag the pond in search of----well, what was lying there. + +The pond was at the end of the garden, near the fence that divided it +from the three-acre field. Nothing had been disturbed. The white frock +and pink ribbons were lying with the paper pinned to them; the hat +was close by. A yard off was the white woollen handkerchief; and near +it I saw the faded bunch of mignonette which Juliet had worn in her +waistband. It looked as if she had flung the things off in desperation. + +Standing later in the large parlour, listening to comments and opinions, +one question troubled me--Ought I to tell what I knew of the quarrel? +It might look like treachery towards Scott and the girl upstairs; but, +should that poor dead Juliet---- + +The doubt was suddenly solved for me. + +"What I want to get at is this," urged the Squire: "did anything happen +to drive her to this? One doesn't throw oneself into an eel-pond for +nothing in one's sober senses." + +"Miss Juliet and Miss Dawson had a quarrel out o' doors last night," +struck in Joan, for the two servants were assisting at the conference. +"Sally heard 'em." + +"What's that?" cried Mrs. Cramp. "Speak up." + +"Well, it's true, ma'am," said Sally, coming forward. "I went out to +shake a tray-cloth, and heard voices at a distance, all in a rage like; +so I just stepped on a bit to see what it meant. The two young lasses +was snarling at one another like anything. Miss Juliet was----" + +"What were they quarrelling about?" interrupted the Squire. + +"Well, sir, it seemed to be about Mr. Scott--which of 'em had him for a +sweetheart, and which of 'em hadn't. Mr. Johnny Ludlow ran up as I came +in: perhaps he heard more than I did." + +After that, there was nothing for it but to let the past scene come out; +and Mrs. Cramp had the pleasure of being enlightened as to the rivalry +which had been going on under her roof and the ill-feeling which had +arisen out of it. Fred Scott, to do him justice, spoke up like a man, +not denying the flirtation he had carried on, first with Juliet, next +with Cherry, but he declared most positively that it had never been +serious on any side. + +The Squire wheeled round. "Just say what you mean by that, Mr. +Frederick. What do you call serious?" + +"I never said a word to either of them which could suggest serious +intentions, sir. I never hinted at such a thing as getting married." + +"Now look here, young man," cried Mrs. Cramp, taking her handkerchief +from her troubled face, "what right had you to do that? By what right +did you play upon those young girls with your silly speeches and your +flirting ways, if you meant nothing?--nothing to either of them?" + +"I am sorry for it now, ma'am," said Scott, eating humble pie; "I +wouldn't have done it for the world had I foreseen this. It was just a +bit of flirting and nothing else. And neither of them ever thought it +was anything else; they knew better; only they became snappish with one +another." + +"Did not think you meant marrying?" cried the Squire sarcastically, +fixing Scott with his spectacles. + +"Just so, sir. Why, how could I mean it?" went on Scott in his simple +way. "I've no money, while my mother lives, to set up a wife or a house; +she wouldn't let me. I joked and laughed with the two girls, and they +joked and laughed back again. I don't care what they may have said +between themselves--they _knew_ there was nothing in it." + +Scott was right, so far. All the world, including the Chandlers and poor +Juliet, knew that Scott was no more likely to marry than the man in the +moon. + +"And you could stand by quietly last night when they were having, it +seems, this bitter quarrel, and not stop it?" exclaimed Mrs. Cramp. + +"They would not listen to me," returned Scott. "I went between them; +spoke to one, spoke to the other; told them what they were quarrelling +about was utter nonsense--and the more I said, the more they wrangled. +Johnny Ludlow saw how it was; he came up at the end of it." + +Cherry Dawson was sent for downstairs, and came in between Sally and +Joan, limp and tearful and shaking with fright. Mrs. Cramp questioned +her. + +"It was all done in fun," she said with a sob. "Juliet and I teased one +another. It was as much her fault as mine. Fred Scott needn't talk. I'm +sure _I_ don't want him. I've somebody waiting for me at Edgbaston, if I +choose. Scott may go to York!" + +"Suppose you mind your manners, young woman: you've done enough mischief +in my house without forgetting _them_," reproved Mrs. Cramp. "I want to +know when you last saw Juliet." + +"We came in together after the quarrel. She ran up to her room; I joined +the rest of you. As she did not come down to supper, I thought she had +gone to bed. O-o-o-o-o!" shivered Cherry; "and she says she'll haunt me! +I shall never dare to be alone in the dark again." + +Mr. Fred Scott took his departure, glad no doubt to do so, carrying with +him a hint from Mrs. Cramp that for the present his visits must cease, +unless he should be required to give evidence at the inquest. As he went +out, Mr. Paul and Tom Chandler came in together. Tom, strong in plain +common-sense, could not at all understand it. + +"Passion must have overbalanced her reason and driven her mad," he said +aside to me. "The taunts of that Dawson girl did it, I reckon." + +"Blighted love," said I. + +"Moonshine," answered Tom Chandler. "Juliet, poor girl, had gone in for +too many flirtations to care much for Scott. As to that golden-haired +one, _her_ life is passed in nothing else: getting out of one love +affair into another, month in, month out. Her brother Tim once told her +so in my presence. No, Johnny, it is a terrible calamity, but I shall +never understand how she came to do it as long as I live." + +I was not sure that I should. Juliet was very practical: not one of your +moaning, sighing, die-away sort of girls who lose their brains for love, +like crazy Jane. It was a dreadful thing, whatever might have been the +cause, and we were all sorry for Mrs. Cramp. Nothing had stirred us like +this since the death of Oliver Preen. + +Georgiana Chandler came flying over from Birmingham in a state of +excitement. Cherry Dawson had gone then, or Georgie might have shaken +her to pieces. When put up, Georgie had a temper of her own. Cherry had +disappeared into the wilds of Devonshire, where her home was, and where +she most devoutly hoped Juliet's ghost would not find its way. + +"It is an awful thing to have taken place in your house, Aunt Mary Ann. +And why unhappy, ill-fated Juliet should have--but I can't talk of it," +broke off Georgie. + +"I know that I am ashamed of its having happened here, Georgiana," +assented Mrs. Cramp. "I am not alluding to the sad termination, but to +that parcel of nonsense, the sweethearting." + +"Clementina is more heartless than an owl over it," continued Georgie, +making her remarks. "She says it serves Juliet right for her flirting +folly, and she hopes Cherry will be haunted till her yellow curls turn +grey." + +The more they dragged, the less chance there seemed of finding Juliet. +Nothing came up but eels. It was known that the eel-pond had a hole or +two in it which no drags could penetrate. Gloom settled down upon us +all. Mrs. Cramp's healthy cheeks lost some of their redness. One day, +calling at Crabb Cot, she privately told us that the trouble would lie +upon her for ever. The best word Tod gave to it was--that he would go a +day's march with peas in his shoes to see a certain lady hanging by her +golden hair on a sour apple tree. + + * * * * * + +It was a bleak October evening. Jane Preen, in her old shawl and garden +hat, was hurrying to Dame Sym's on an errand for her mother. The cold +wind sighed and moaned in the trees, clouds flitted across the face of +the crescent moon. It scarcely lighted up the little old church beyond +the Triangle, and the graves in the churchyard beneath, Oliver's amidst +them. Jane shivered, and ran into Mrs. Sym's. + +Carrying back her parcel, she turned in at the garden gate and stood +leaning over it for a few moments. Tears were coursing down her cheeks. +Life for a long time had seemed very hard to Jane; no hope anywhere. + +The sound of quick footsteps broke upon her ear, and a gentleman came +into view. She rather wondered who it was; whether anyone was coming to +call on her father. + +"Jane! Jane!" + +With a faint cry, she fell into the arms opened to receive her--those +of Valentine Chandler. He went away, a ne'er-do-well, three years ago, +shattered in health, shaken in spirit; he had returned a healthy, hearty +man, all his parts about him. + +Yes, Valentine had turned over a new leaf from the moment he touched the +Canadian shores. He had put his shoulder to the wheel in earnest, had +persevered and prospered. And now he had a profitable farm of his own, +and a pretty house upon it, all in readiness for Jane. + +"We have heard from time to time that you were doing well," she said, +with a sob of joy. "Oh, Valentine, how good it is! To have done it all +yourself!" + +"Not altogether myself, Jane," he answered. "I did my best, and God sent +His blessing upon it." + +Jane no longer felt the night cold, the wind bleak, or remembered that +her mother was waiting for the parcel. They paced the old wilderness of +a garden, arm locked within arm. There was something in the windy night +to put them in mind of that other night: the night of their parting, +when Valentine had sung his song of farewell, and bade her remember +him though rolling ocean placed its bounds between them. They had been +faithful to one another. + +Seated on the bench, under the walnut tree, the very spot on which poor +Oliver had sat after that rush home from his fatal visit to Mr. Paul's +office at Islip, Jane ventured to say a word about Juliet, and, to her +surprise, found that Valentine knew nothing. + +"I have not heard any news yet, Jane," he said. "I came straight to you +from the station. Presently I shall go back to astonish Aunt Mary Ann. +Why? What about Juliet?" + +Jane enlightened him by degrees, giving him one particular after +another. Valentine listening in silence to the end. + +"I don't believe it." + +"Don't believe it!" exclaimed Jane. + +"Not a syllable of it." + +"But what do you mean? What don't you believe?" + +"That Juliet threw herself into the pond. My dear, she is not the kind +of girl to do it; she'd no more do such a thing than I should." + +"Oh, Val! It is true the drags brought up nothing but eels; but----" + +"Of course they didn't. There's nothing but eels there to bring up." + +"Then where can Juliet be?--what is the mystery?" dissented Jane. "What +became of her?" + +"That I don't know. Rely upon it, Janey, she is not there. She'd never +jump into that cold pond. How long ago is this?" + +"Nearly a month. Three weeks last Thursday." + +"Ah," said Valentine. "Well, I'll see if I can get to the bottom of it." + +Showing himself indoors to Mr. and Mrs. Preen for a few minutes, +Valentine then made his way to Mrs. Cramp's, where he would stay. He +knew his mother was away, and her house shut up. Mrs. Cramp, recovering +from her surprise, told him he was welcome as the sun in harvest. +She had been more grieved when Valentine went wrong than the world +suspected. + +Seated over the fire, in her comfortable parlour, after supper, +Valentine told her his plans. He had come over for one month; could not +leave his farm longer; just to shake hands with them all, and to take +Jane Preen back with him. That discussed, Mrs. Cramp entered gingerly +upon the sad news about Juliet--not having thought well to deluge him +with it the moment he came in. Valentine refused to believe it--as he +had refused with Jane. + +"Bless the boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Cramp, staring. "What on earth makes him +say such a thing?" + +"Because I am sure of it, Aunt Mary Ann. Fancy strong-minded Juliet +throwing herself into an eel pond! She is gadding about somewhere, deep +already, I daresay, in another flirtation." + +Mrs. Cramp, waiting to collect her scattered senses, shook her head +plaintively. "My dear," she said, "I don't pretend to know the fashion +of things in the outlandish world in which you live, but over here it +couldn't be. Once a girl has been drowned in a pond--whether eel, duck, +or carp pond, what matters it?--she can't come to life again and go +about flirting." + + * * * * * + +To us all Valentine was, as Mrs. Cramp had phrased it, more welcome than +the sun in harvest, and was made much of. When a young fellow has been +going to the bad, and has the resolution to pull up and to persevere, +he should be honoured, cried the Squire--and we did our best to honour +Val. For a week or two there was nothing but visiting everywhere. He was +then going to Guernsey to see his mother, when she wrote to stop him, +saying she was coming back to Crabb for his wedding. + +And while Valentine was reading his mother's letter at the +tea-table--for the Channel Islands letters always came in by the +second post--Mrs. Cramp was opening one directed to her. Suddenly +Valentine heard a gurgle--and next a moan. Looking up, he saw his aunt +gasping for breath, her face an indescribable mixture of emotions. + +"Why, Aunt Mary Ann," he cried; "are you ill?" + +"If I'm not ill, I might be," retorted Mrs. Cramp. "Here's a letter from +that wretched girl--that Juliet! She's not dead after all. She has been +in Guernsey all this time." + +Valentine paused a moment to take in the truth of the announcement, +and then burst into laughter deep and long. Mrs. Cramp handed him the +letter. + + "DEAR AUNT MARY ANN,--I hope you will forgive me! Georgie writes + word that you have been in a way about me. I thought you'd be + _sure_ to guess it was only a trick. I did it to give a thorough + fright to that wicked cat; you can't think how full of malice she + is. I put on my old navy-blue serge and close winter bonnet, which + no one would be likely to miss or remember, and carried the other + things to the edge of the pond and left them there. While you were + at supper I stole away, caught the last train at Crabb Junction, + and surprised Clementina at Edgbaston. She promised to be + secret--she hates that she-cat--and the next morning I started for + Guernsey. Clementina did not tell Georgie till a week ago, after + she heard that Valentine would not believe it, and then Georgie + wrote to me and blew me up. I am enchanted to hear that the toad + passes her nights in horrid fear of seeing my ghost, and that her + yellow hair is turning blue; Georgie says it is.--Your ever + affectionate and repentant niece, + + "JULIETTA. + + "P.S.--I hope you will believe I am very sorry for paining you, + dear Aunt Mary Ann. And I want to tell you that I think it likely I + shall soon be married. An old gentleman out here who has a + beautiful house and lots of money admires me very much. Please let + Fred Scott know this." + +And so, there it was--Julietta was in the land of the living and had +never been out of it. And we had gone through our fright and pain +unnecessarily, and the poor eels had been disturbed for nothing. + + * * * * * + +They were married at the little church at Duck Brook; no ceremony, +hardly anyone invited to it. Mr. Preen gave Jane away. Tom Chandler and +Emma were there, and Mrs. Jacob Chandler and Mrs. Cramp. Jane asked me +to go--to see the last of her, she said. She wore a plain silk dress +of a greyish colour, and a white straw bonnet with a bit of orange +blossom--which she took off before they started on their journey. For +they went off at once to Liverpool--and would sail the next day for +their new home. + +And Valentine is always steady and prospering, and Jane says Canada is +better than England and she wouldn't come back for the world. + +And Juliet is married and lives in Guernsey, and drives about with her +old husband in his handsome carriage and pair. But Mrs. Cramp has not +forgiven her yet. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES + + +I.--PUTTING THEM UP + + +I + +The events of this history did not occur within my own recollection, +and I can only relate them at second-hand--from the Squire and others. +They are curious enough; especially as regard the three parsons--one +following upon another--in their connection with the Monk family, +causing no end of talk in Church Leet parish, as well as in other +parishes within earshot. + +About three miles' distance from Church Dykely, going northwards across +country, was the rural parish of Church Leet. It contained a few +farmhouses and some labourers' cottages. The church, built of grey +stone, stood in its large graveyard; the parsonage, a commodious house, +was close by; both of them were covered with time-worn ivy. Nearly half +a mile off, on a gentle eminence, rose the handsome mansion called +Leet Hall, the abode of the Monk family. Nearly the whole of the +parish--land, houses, church and all--belonged to them. At the time I +am about to tell of they were the property of one man--Godfrey Monk. + +The late owner of the place (except for one short twelvemonth) was +old James Monk, Godfrey's father. Old James had three sons and one +daughter--Emma--his wife dying early. The eldest son (mostly styled +"young James") was about as wild a blade as ever figured in story; the +second son, Raymond, was an invalid; the third, Godfrey, a reckless +lad, ran away to sea when he was fourteen. + +If the Monks were celebrated for one estimable quality more than +another, it was temper: a cross-grained, imperious, obstinate temper. +"Run away to sea, has he?" cried old James when he heard the news; "very +well, at sea he shall stop." And at sea Godfrey did stop, not disliking +the life, and perhaps not finding any other open to him. He worked his +way up in the merchant service by degrees, until he became commander and +was called Captain Monk. + +The years went on. Young James died, and the other two sons grew to be +middle-aged men. Old James, the father, found by signs and tokens that +his own time was approaching; and he was the next to go. Save for a +slender income bequeathed to Godfrey and to his daughter, the whole of +the property was left to Raymond, and to Godfrey after him if Raymond +had no son. The entail had been cut off in the past generation; for +which act the reasons do not concern us. + +So Raymond, ailing greatly always, entered into possession of his +inheritance. He lived about a twelvemonth afterwards, and then died: +died unmarried. Therefore Godfrey came into all. + +People were curious, the Squire says, as to what sort of man Godfrey +would turn out to be; for he had not troubled home much since he ran +away. He was a widower; that much was known; his wife having been a +native of Trinidad, in the West Indies. + +A handsome man, with fair, curling hair (what was left of it); proud +blue eyes; well-formed features with a chronic flush upon them, for he +liked his glass, and took it; a commanding, imperious manner, and a +temper uncompromising as the grave. Such was Captain Godfrey Monk; now +in his forty-fifth year. Upon his arrival at Leet Hall after landing, +with his children and one or two dusky attendants in their train, he +was received by his sister Emma, Mrs. Carradyne. Major Carradyne had +died fighting in India, and his wife, at the request of her brother +Raymond, came then to live at Leet Hall. Not of necessity, for Mrs. +Carradyne was well off and could have made her home where she pleased, +but Raymond had liked to have her. Godfrey also expressed his pleasure +that she should remain; she could act as mother to his children. + +Godfrey's children were three: Katherine, aged seventeen; Hubert, aged +ten; and Eliza, aged eight. The girls had their father's handsome +features, but in their skin there ran a dusky tinge, hinting of other +than pure Saxon blood; and they were every whit as haughtily self-willed +as he was. The boy, Hubert, was extremely pretty, his face fair, his +complexion delicately beautiful, his auburn hair bright, his manner +winning; but he liked to exercise his own will, and appeared to have +generally done it. + +A day or two, and Mrs. Carradyne sat down aghast. "I never saw children +so troublesome and self-willed in all my life, Godfrey," she said to her +brother. "Have they ever been controlled at all?" + +"Had their own way pretty much, I expect," answered the Captain. "I was +not often at home, you know, and there's nobody else they'd obey." + +"Well, Godfrey, if I am to remain here, you will have to help me manage +them." + +"That's as may be, Emma. When I deem it necessary to speak, I speak; +otherwise I don't interfere. And you must not get into the habit of +appealing to me, recollect." + +Captain Monk's conversation was sometimes interspersed with sundry light +words, not at all orthodox, and not necessarily delivered in anger. In +those past days swearing was regarded as a gentleman's accomplishment; a +sailor, it was believed, could not at all get along without it. Manners +change. The present age prides itself upon its politeness: but what of +its sincerity? + +Mrs. Carradyne, mild and gentle, commenced her task of striving to tame +her brother's rebellious children. She might as well have let it alone. +The girls laughed at her one minute and set her at defiance the next. +Hubert, who had good feeling, was more obedient; he did not openly defy +her. At times, when her task pressed heavily upon her spirits, Mrs. +Carradyne felt tempted to run away from Leet Hall, as Godfrey had run +from it in the days gone by. Her own two children were frightened at +their cousins, and she speedily sent both to school, lest they should +catch their bad manners. Henry was ten, the age of Hubert; Lucy was +between five and six. + +Just before the death of Raymond Monk, the living of Church Leet became +vacant, and the last act of his life was to present it to a worthy young +clergyman named George West. This caused intense dissatisfaction to +Godfrey. He had heard of the late incumbent's death, and when he arrived +home and found the living filled up he proclaimed his anger loudly, +lavishing abuse upon poor dead Raymond for his precipitancy. He had +wanted to bestow it upon a friend of his, a Colonial chaplain, and +had promised it to him. It was a checkmate there was no help for now, +for Mr. West could not be turned out again; but Captain Monk was not +accustomed to be checkmated, and resented it accordingly. He took up, +for no other reason, a most inveterate dislike to George West, and +showed it practically. + +In every step the Vicar took, at every turn and thought, he found +himself opposed by Captain Monk. Had he a suggestion to make for the +welfare of the parish, his patron ridiculed it; did he venture to +propose some wise measure at a vestry meeting, the Captain put him and +his measure down. Not civilly either, but with a stinging contempt, +semi-covert though it was, that made its impression on the farmers +around. The Reverend George West was a man of humility, given to much +self-disparagement, so he bore all in silence and hoped for better +times. + + * * * * * + +The time went on; three years of it; Captain Monk had fully settled down +in his ancestral home, and the neighbours had learnt what a domineering, +self-willed man he was. But he had his virtues. He was kind in a general +way, generous where it pleased him to be, inordinately attached to his +children, and hospitable to a fault. + +On the last day of every year, as the years came round, Captain Monk, +following his late father's custom, gave a grand dinner to his tenants; +and a very good custom it would have been, but that he and they got +rather too jolly. The parson was always invited--and went; and sometimes +a few of Captain Monk's personal friends were added. + +Christmas came round this year as usual, and the invitations to the +dinner went out. One came to Squire Todhetley, a youngish man then, and +one to my father, William Ludlow, who was younger than the Squire. It +was a green Christmas; the weather so warm and genial that the hearty +farmers, flocking to Leet Hall, declared they saw signs of buds +sprouting in the hedges, whilst the large fire in the Captain's +dining-room was quite oppressive. + +Looking from the window of the parsonage sitting-room in the twilight, +while drawing on his gloves, preparatory to setting forth, stood Mr. +West. His wife was bending over an easy-chair, in which their only +child, little Alice, lay back, covered up. Her breathing was quick, her +skin parched with fever. The wife looked sickly herself. + +"Well, I suppose it is time to go," observed Mr. West, slowly. "I shall +be late if I don't." + +"I rather wonder you go at all, George," returned his wife. "Year after +year, when you come back from this dinner, you invariably say you will +not go to another." + +"I know it, Mary. I dislike the drinking that goes on--and the free +conversation--and the objectionable songs; I feel out of place in it +all." + +"And the Captain's contemptuous treatment of yourself, you might add." + +"Yes, that is another unwelcome item in the evening's programme." + +"Then, George, why _do_ you go?" + +"Well, I think you know why. I do not like to refuse the invitation; +it would only increase Captain Monk's animosity and widen still further +the breach between us. As patron he holds so much in his power. Besides +that, my presence at the table does act, I believe, as a mild restraint +on some of them, keeping the drinking and the language somewhat within +bounds. Yes, I suppose my duty lies in going. But I shall not stay late, +Mary," added the parson, bending to look at the suffering child; "and if +you see any real necessity for the doctor to be called in to-night, I +will go for him." + +"Dood-bye, pa-pa," lisped the little four-year-old maiden. + +He kissed the little hot face, said adieu to his wife and went out, +hoping that the child would recover without the doctor; for the living +of Church Leet was but a poor one, though the parsonage house was so +handsome. It was a hundred-and-sixty pounds a year, for which sum the +tithes had been compounded, and Mr. West had not much money to spare for +superfluities--especially as he had to substantially help his mother. + +The twilight had deepened almost to night, and the lights in the mansion +seemed to smile a cheerful welcome as he approached it. The pillared +entrance, ascended to by broad steps, stood in the middle, and a raised +terrace of stone ran along before the windows on either side. It was +quite true that every year, at the conclusion of these feasts, the +Vicar resolved never to attend another; but he was essentially a man of +peace, striving ever to lay oil upon troubled waters, after the example +left by his Master. + +Dinner. The board was full. Captain Monk presided, genial to-day; genial +even to the parson. Squire Todhetley faced the Captain at the foot; Mr. +West sat at the Squire's right hand, between him and Farmer Threpp, +a quiet man and supposed to be a very substantial one. All went on +pleasantly; but when the elaborate dinner gave place to dessert and +wine-drinking, the company became rather noisy. + +"I think it's about time you left us," cried the Squire by-and-by to +young Hubert, who sat next him on the other side: and over and over +again Mr. Todhetley has repeated to us in later years the very words +that passed. + +"By George, yes!" put in a bluff and hearty fox-hunter, the master of +the hounds, bending forward to look at the lad, for he was in a line +with him, and breaking short off an anecdote he was regaling the company +with. "I forgot you were there, Master Hubert. Quite time you went to +bed." + +"I daresay!" laughed the boy. "Please let me alone, all of you. I don't +want attention drawn to me." + +But the slight commotion had attracted Captain Monk's notice. He saw his +son. + +"What's that?--Hubert! What brings you there now, you young pirate? I +ordered you to go out with the cloth." + +"I am not doing any harm, papa," said the boy, turning his fair and +beautiful face towards his father. + +Captain Monk pointed his stern finger at the door; a mandate which +Hubert dared not disobey, and he went out. + +The company sat on, an interminable period of time it seemed to the +Vicar. He glanced stealthily at his watch. Eleven o'clock. + +"Thinking of going, Parson?" said Mr. Threpp. "I'll go with you. My +head's not one of the strongest, and I've had about as much as I ought +to carry." + +They rose quietly, not to disturb the table; intending to steal away, if +possible, without being observed. Unluckily, Captain Monk chanced to be +looking that way. + +"Halloa! who's turning sneak?--Not you, surely, Parson!--" in a +meaningly contemptuous tone. "And _you_, Threpp, of all men! Sit down +again, both of you, if you don't want to quarrel with me. Odds fish! has +my dining-room got sharks in it, that you'd run away? Winter, just lock +the door, will you; you are close to it, and pass up the key to me." + +Mr. Winter, a jovial old man and the largest tenant on the estate, rose +to do the Captain's behest, and sent up the key. + +"Nobody quits my room," said the host, as he took it, "until we have +seen the old year out and the new one in. What else do you come for--eh, +gentlemen?" + +The revelry went on. The decanters circulated more quickly, the glasses +clinked, the songs became louder, the Captain's sea stories broader. Mr. +West perforce made the best of the situation, certain words of Holy Writ +running through his memory: + +"_Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth its colour +in the cup, when it moveth itself aright!_" + +Well, more than well, for Captain Monk, that he had not looked upon the +red wine that night! + +In the midst of all this, the hall clock began to strike twelve. The +Captain rose, after filling his glass to the brim. + +"Bumpers round, gentlemen. On your legs. Ready? Hooray! Here's to the +shade of the year that's gone, and may it have buried all our cares with +it! And here's good luck to the one setting in. A happy New Year to you +all; and may we never know a moment in it worse than the present? +Three-times-three--and drain your glasses." + +"But we have had the toast too soon!" called out one of the farmers, +making the discovery close after the cheers had subsided. "It wants some +minutes yet to midnight, Captain." + +Captain Monk snatched out his watch--worn in those days in what was +called the fob-pocket--its chain and bunch of seals at the end hanging +down. + +"By Jupiter!" he exclaimed. "Hang that butler of mine! He knew the +hall clock was too fast, and I told him to put it back. If his memory +serves him no better than this, he may ship himself off to a fresh +berth.--Hark! Listen!" + +It was the church clock striking twelve. The sound reached the +dining-room room very clearly, the wind setting that way. "Another +bumper," cried the Captain, and his guests drank it. + +"This day twelvemonth I was at a feast in Derbyshire; the bells of a +neighbouring church rang in the year with pleasant melody; chimes they +were," remarked a guest, who was a partial stranger. "Your church has no +bells, I suppose?" + +"It has one; an old ting-tang that calls us to service on a Sunday," +said Mr. Winter. + +"I like to hear those midnight chimes, for my part. I like to hear them +chime in the new year," went on the stranger. + +"Chimes!" cried out Captain Monk, who was getting very considerably +elated, "why should we not have chimes? Mr. West, why don't we have +chimes?" + +"Our church does not possess any, sir--as this gentleman has just +remarked," was Mr. West's answer. + +"Egad, but that parson of ours is going to set us all ablaze with his +wit!" jerked out the Captain ironically. "I asked, sir, why we should +not get a set of chimes; I did not say we had got them. Is there any +just cause or impediment why we should not, Mr. Vicar?" + +"Only the expense," replied the Vicar, in a conciliatory tone. + +"Oh, bother expense! That's what you are always wanting to groan over. +Mr. Churchwarden Threpp, we will call a vestry meeting and make a rate." + +"The parish could not bear it, Captain Monk," remonstrated the +clergyman. "You know what dissatisfaction was caused by the last extra +rate put on, and how low an ebb things are at just now." + +"When I will a thing, I do it," retorted the Captain, with a meaning +word or two. "We'll send out the rate and we'll get the chimes." + +"It will, I fear, lie in my duty to protest against it," spoke the +uneasy parson. + +"It may lie in your duty to be a wet blanket, but you won't protest +me out of my will. Gentlemen, we will all meet here again this time +twelvemonth, when the chimes shall ring-in the new year for you.---- +Here, Dutton, you can unlock the door now," concluded the Captain, +handing the key to the other churchwarden. "Our parson is upon thorns +to be away from us." + +Not the parson only, but several others availed themselves of the +opportunity to escape. + + +II + +It perhaps did not surprise the parish to find that its owner and +master, Captain Monk, intended to persist in his resolution of +embellishing the church-tower with a set of chiming-bells. They knew him +too well to hope anything less. Why! two years ago, at the same annual +feast, some remarks or other at table put it into his head to declare +he would stop up the public path by the Rill; and his obstinate will +carried it out, regardless of the inconvenience it caused. + +A vestry meeting was called, and the rate (to obtain funds for the +bells) was at length passed. Two or three voices were feebly lifted in +opposition; Mr. West alone had courage to speak out; but the Captain put +him down with his strong hand. It may be asked why Captain Monk did not +provide the funds himself for this whim. But he would never touch his +own pocket for the benefit of the parish if he could help it: and it was +thought that his antagonism to the parson was the deterring motive. + +To impose the rate was one thing, to collect it quite another. Some of +the poorer ratepayers protested with tears in their eyes that they could +not pay. Superfluous rates (really not necessary ones) were perpetually +being inflicted upon them, they urged, and were bringing them, together +with a succession of recent bad seasons, to the verge of ruin. They +carried their remonstrances to their Vicar, and he in turn carried them +to Captain Monk. + +It only widened the breach. The more persistently, though gently, Mr. +West pleaded the cause of his parishioners, asking the Captain to be +considerate to them for humanity's sake, the greater grew the other's +obstinacy in holding to his own will. To be thus opposed roused all the +devil within him--it was his own expression; and he grew to hate Mr. +West with an exceeding bitter hatred. + +The chimes were ordered--to play one tune only. Mr. West asked, when the +thing was absolutely inevitable, that at least some sweet and sacred +melody, acceptable to church-going ears, might be chosen; but Captain +Monk fixed on a sea-song that was a favourite of his own--"The Bay of +Biscay." At the end of every hour, when the clock had struck, the Bay of +Biscay was to burst forth to charm the parish. + +The work was put in hand at once, Captain Monk finding the necessary +funds, to be repaid by the proceeds of the rate. Other expenses were +involved, such as the strengthening of the belfry. The rate was not +collected quickly. It was, I say, one of those times of scarcity that +people used to talk so much of years ago; and when the parish beadle, +who was the parish collector, went round with the tax-paper in his hand, +the poorer of the cottagers could not respond to it. Some of them had +not paid the last levy, and Captain Monk threatened harsh measures. +Altogether, what with one thing or another, Church Leet that year was +kept in a state of ferment. But the work went on. + + * * * * * + +One windy day in September, Mr. West sat in his study writing a sermon, +when a jarring crash rang out from the church close by. He leaped from +his chair. The unusual noise had startled him; and it struck on every +chord of vexation he possessed. He knew that workmen were busy in the +tower, but this was the first essay of the chimes. The bells had clashed +in some way one upon the other; not giving out The Bay of Biscay or any +other melody, but a very discordant jangle indeed. It was the first and +the last time that poor George West heard their sound. + +He put the blotting-paper upon his sermon; he was in no mind to continue +it then; took up his hat and went out. His wife spoke to him from the +open window. + +"Are you going out now, George? Tea is all but ready." + +Turning back on the path, he passed into the sitting-room. A cup of tea +might soothe his nerves. The tea-tray stood on the table, and Mrs. West, +caddy in hand, was putting the tea into the tea-pot. Little Alice sat +gravely by. + +"Did you hear dat noise up in the church, papa?" she asked. + +"Yes, I heard it, dear," sighed the Vicar. + +"A fine clashing!" cried Mrs. West. "I have heard something else this +afternoon, George, worse than that: Bean's furniture is being taken +away." + +"What?" cried the Vicar. + +"It's true. Sarah went out on an errand and passed the cottage. The +chairs and tables were being put outside the door by two men, she says: +brokers, I conclude." + +Mr. West made short work of his tea and started for the scene. Thomas +Bean was a very small farmer indeed, renting about thirty acres. What +with the heavy rates, as he said, and other outgoings and bad seasons, +and ill-luck altogether, he had been behind in his payments this long +while; and now the ill-luck seemed to have come to a climax. Bean and +his wife were old; their children were scattered abroad. + +"Oh, sir," cried the old lady when she saw the Vicar, the tears raining +from her eyes, "it cannot be right that this oppression should fall upon +us! We had just managed--Heaven knows how, for I'm sure I don't--to pay +the Midsummer rent; and now they've come upon us for the rates, and have +took away things worth ten times the sum." + +"For the rates!" mechanically spoke the Vicar. + +She supposed it was a question. "Yes, sir; two of 'em we had in the +house. One was for putting up the chimes; and the other--well, I can't +just remember what the other was. The beadle, old Crow, comes in, sir, +this afternoon. 'Where be the master?' says he. 'Gone over to t'other +side of Church Dykely,' says I. 'Well,' says he, upon that, 'you be +going to have some visitors presently, and it's a pity he's out.' +'Visitors, for what, Crow?' says I. 'Oh, you'll see,' says he; 'and then +perhaps you'll wish you'd bestirred yourselves to pay your just dues. +Captain Monk's patience have been running on for a goodish while, and +at last it have run clean out.' Well, sir----" + +She had to make a pause; unable to control her grief. + +"Well, sir," she went on presently, "Crow's back was hardly turned, when +up came two men, wheeling a truck. I saw 'em afar off, by the ricks +yonder. One came in; t'other stayed outside with the truck. He asked me +whether I was ready with the money for the taxes; and I told him I was +not ready, and had but a couple of shillings in the house. 'Then I must +take the value of it in kind,' says he. And without another word, he +beckons in the outside man to help him. Our middle table, a mahogany, +they seized; and the handsome oak chest, which had been our pride; and +the master's arm-chair---- But, there! I can't go on." + +Mr. West felt nearly as sorrowful as she, and far more angry. In his +heart he believed that Captain Monk had done this oppressive thing in +revenge. A great deal of ill-feeling had existed in the parish touching +the rate made for the chimes; and the Captain assumed that the few who +had not yet paid it _would_ not pay--not that they could not. + +Quitting the cottage in an impulse of anger, he walked swiftly to Leet +Hall. It lay in his duty, as he fully deemed, to avow fearlessly to +Captain Monk what he thought of this act of oppression, and to protest +against it. The beams of the setting sun, sinking below the horizon in +the still autumn evening, fell across the stubbled fields from which the +corn had not long been reaped; all around seemed to speak of peace. + +To accommodate two gentlemen who had come from Worcester that day to +Leet Hall on business, and wished to quit it again before dark, the +dinner had been served earlier than usual. The guests had left, but +Captain Monk was seated still over his wine in the dining-room when Mr. +West was shown in. In crossing the hall to it, he met Mrs. Carradyne, +who shook hands with him cordially. + +Captain Monk looked surprised. "Why, this is an unexpected pleasure--a +visit from you, Mr. Vicar," he cried, in mocking jest. "Hope you have +come to your senses! Sit down. Will you take port or sherry?" + +"Captain Monk," returned the Vicar, gravely, as he took the chair the +servant had placed, "I am obliged for your courtesy, but I did not +intrude upon you this evening to drink wine. I have seen a very sad +sight, and I am come hoping to induce you to repair it." + +"Seen what?" cried the Captain, who, it is well to mention, had been +taking his wine very freely, even for him. "A flaming sword in the sky?" + +"Your tenants, poor Thomas Bean and his wife, are being turned out of +house and home, or almost equivalent to it. Some of their furniture has +been seized this afternoon to satisfy the demand for these disputed +taxes." + +"Who disputes the taxes?" + +"The tax imposed for the chimes was always a disputed tax; and----" + +"Tush!" interrupted the Captain; "Bean owes other things as well as +taxes." + +"It was the last feather, sir, which broke the camel's back." + +"The last feather will not be taken off, whether it breaks backs or +leaves them whole," retorted the Captain, draining his glass of port +and filling it again. "Take you note of that, Mr. Parson." + +"Others are in the same condition as the Beans--quite unable to pay +these rates. I pray you, Captain Monk--I am here to _pray_ you--not to +proceed in the same manner against them. I would also pray you, sir, to +redeem this act of oppression by causing their goods to be returned to +these two poor, honest, hard-working people." + +"Hold your tongue!" retorted the Captain, aroused to anger. "A pretty +example _you'd_ set, let you have your way. Every one of the lot shall +be made to pay to the last farthing. Who the devil is to pay, do you +suppose, if they don't?" + +"Rates are imposed upon the parish needlessly, Captain Monk; it has +been so ever since my time here. Pardon me for saying that if you put up +chimes to gratify yourself, you should bear the expense, and not throw +it upon those who have a struggle to get bread to eat." + +Captain Monk drank off another glass. "Any more treason, Parson?" + +"Yes," said Mr. West, "if you like to call it so. My conscience tells +me that the whole procedure in regard to setting up these chimes is so +wrong, so manifestly unjust, that I have determined not to allow them +to be heard until the rates levied for them are refunded to the poor +and oppressed. I believe I have the power to close the belfry-tower, +and I shall act upon it." + +"By Jove! do you think _you_ are going to stand between me and my will?" +cried the Captain passionately. "Every individual who has not yet paid +the rate shall be made to pay it to-morrow." + +"There is another world, Captain Monk," interposed the mild voice of the +minister, "to which, I hope, we are all----" + +"If you attempt to preach to me----" + +At this moment a spoon fell to the ground by the sideboard. The Vicar +turned to look; his back was towards it; the Captain peered also at the +end of the rapidly-darkening room: when both became aware that one of +the servants--Michael, who had shown in Mr. West--stood there; had stood +there all the time. + +"What are you waiting for, sirrah?" roared his master. "We don't want +_you_. Here! put this window open an inch or two before you go; the +room's close." + +"Shall I bring lights, sir?" asked Michael, after doing as he was +directed. + +"No: who wants lights? Stir the fire into a blaze." + +Michael left them. It was from him that thus much of the conversation +was subsequently known. + +Not five minutes had elapsed when a commotion was heard in the +dining-room. Then the bell rang violently, and the Captain opened the +door--overturning a chair in his passage to it--and shouted out for a +light. More than one servant flew to obey the order: in his hasty moods +their master brooked not delay: and three separate candles were carried +in. + +"Good lack, master!" exclaimed the butler, John Rimmer, who was a native +of Church Dykely, "what's amiss with the Parson?" + +"Lift him up, and loosen his neck-cloth," said Captain Monk, his tone +less imperious than usual. + +Mr. West lay on the hearthrug near his chair, his head resting close to +the fender. Rimmer raised his head, another servant took off his black +neck-tie; for it was only on high days that the poor Vicar indulged in a +white one. He gasped twice, struggled slightly, and then lay quietly in +the butler's arms. + +"Oh, sir!" burst forth the man in a horror-stricken voice to his master, +"this is surely death!" + +It surely was. George West, who had gone there but just before in the +height of health and strength, had breathed his last. + +How did it happen? How could it have happened? Ay, how indeed? It was +a question which has never been entirely solved in Church Leet to this +day. + +Captain Monk's account, both privately and at the inquest, was this: As +they talked further together, after Michael left the room, the Vicar +went on to browbeat him shamefully about the new chimes, vowing they +should never play, never be heard; at last, rising in an access of +passion, the Parson struck him (the Captain) in the face. He returned +the blow--who wouldn't return it?--and the Vicar fell. He believed his +head must have struck against the iron fender in falling: if not, if the +blow had been an unlucky one (it took effect just behind the left ear), +it was only given in self-defence. The jury, composed of Captain Monk's +tenants, expressed themselves satisfied, and returned a verdict of +Accidental Death. + +"A false account," pronounced poor Mrs. West, in her dire tribulation. +"My husband never struck him--never; he was not one to be goaded +into unbecoming anger, even by Captain Monk. _George struck no blow +whatever_; I can answer for it. If ever a man was murdered, he has +been." + +Curious rumours arose. It was said that Mrs. Carradyne, taking the air +on the terrace outside in the calmness of the autumn evening, heard the +fatal quarrel through the open window; that she heard Mr. West, after he +had received the death blow, wail forth a prophecy (or whatever it might +be called) that those chimes would surely be accursed; that whenever +their sound should be heard, so long as they were suffered to remain in +the tower, it should be the signal of woe to the Monk family. + +Mrs. Carradyne utterly denied this; she had not been on the terrace at +all, she said. Upon which the onus was shifted to Michael: who, it was +suspected, had stolen out to listen to the end of the quarrel, and had +heard the ominous words. Michael, in his turn, also denied it; but he +was not believed. Anyway, the covert whisper had gone abroad and would +not be laid. + + +III + +Captain Monk speedily filled up the vacant living, appointing to it +the Reverend Thomas Dancox, an occasional visitor at Leet Hall, who +was looking out for one. + +The new Vicar turned out to be a man after the Captain's heart, a +rollicking, jovial, fox-hunting young parson, as many a parson was +in those days--and took small blame to himself for it. He was only +a year or two past thirty, good-looking, of taking manners and +hail-fellow-well-met with the parish in general, who liked him and +called him to his face Tom Dancox. + +All this pleased Captain Monk. But very soon something was to arrive +that did not please him--a suspicion that the young parson and his +daughter Katherine were on rather too good terms with one another. + +One day in November he stalked into the drawing-room, where Katherine +was sitting with her aunt. Hubert and Eliza were away at school, also +Mrs. Carradyne's two children. + +"Was Dancox here last night?" began Captain Monk. + +"Yes," replied Mrs. Carradyne. + +"And the evening before--Monday?" + +Mrs. Carradyne felt half afraid to answer, the Captain's tone was +becoming so threatening. "I--I think so," she rather hesitatingly said. +"Was he not, Katherine?" + +Katherine Monk, a dark, haughty young woman, twenty-one now, turned +round with a flush on her handsome face. "Why do you ask, papa?" + +"I ask to be answered," replied he, standing with his hands in the +pockets of his velveteen shooting-coat, a purple tinge of incipient +anger rising in his cheeks. + +"Then Mr. Dancox did spend Monday evening here." + +"And I saw him walking with you in the meadow by the rill this morning," +continued the Captain. "Look here, Katherine, _no sweethearting with Tom +Dancox_. He may do very well for a parson; I like him as such, as such +only, you understand; but he can be no match for you." + +"You are disturbing yourself unnecessarily, sir," said Katherine, her +own tone an angry one. + +"Well, I hope that is so; I should not like to think otherwise. Anyway, +a word in season does no harm; and, take you notice that I have spoken +it. You also, Emma." + +As he left the room, Mrs. Carradyne spoke, dropping her voice: +"Katherine, you know that I had already warned you. I told you it would +not do to fall into any particular friendship with Mr. Dancox; that your +father would never countenance it." + +"And if I were to?--and if he did not?" scornfully returned Katherine. +"What then, Aunt Emma?" + +"Be silent, child; you must not talk in that strain. Your papa is +perfectly right in this matter. Tom Dancox is not suitable in any +way--for _you_." + +This took place in November. Katherine paid little heed to the advice; +she was not one to put up with advice of any sort, and she and Mr. +Dancox met occasionally under the rose. Early in December she went with +Mr. Dancox into the Parsonage, while he searched for a book he was about +to lend her. That was the plea; the truth, no doubt, being that the two +wanted a bit of a chat in quiet. As ill-luck had it, when she was coming +out again, the Parson in attendance on her as far as the gate, Captain +Monk came by. + +A scene ensued. Captain Monk, in a terrible access of passion, vowed by +all the laws of the Medes and Persians, which alter not, that never, in +life or after death, should those two rebellious ones be man and wife, +and he invoked unheard-of penalties on their heads should they dare to +contemplate disobedience to his decree. + +Thenceforth there was no more open rebellion; upon the surface all +looked smooth. Captain Monk understood the folly to be at an end: that +the two had come to their senses; and he took Tom Dancox back into +favour. Mrs. Carradyne assumed the same. But Katherine had her father's +unyielding will, and the Parson was bold and careless, and in love. + + * * * * * + +The last day of the year came round, and the usual banquet would come +with it. The weather this Christmas was not like that of last; the white +snow lay on the ground, the cold biting frost hardened the glistening +icicles on the trees. + +And the chimes? Ready these three months past, they had not yet +been heard. They would be to-night. Whether Captain Monk wished the +remembrance of Mr. West's death to die away a bit first, or that he +preferred to open the treat on the banqueting night, certain it was that +he had kept them silent. When the church clock should toll the midnight +knell of the old year, the chimes would ring out to welcome the new one, +and gladden the ears of Church Leet. + +But not without a remonstrance. That morning, as the Captain sat in his +study writing a letter, Mrs. Carradyne came to him. + +"Godfrey," she said in a low and pleading tone, "you will not suffer the +chimes to play to-night, will you? Pray do not." + +"Not suffer the chimes to play?" cried the Captain. "But indeed I shall. +Why, this is the special night they were put up for." + +"I know it, Godfrey. But--you cannot think what a strangely strong +feeling I have against it: an instinct, it seems to me. The chimes have +brought nothing but discomfort and disaster yet; they may bring more in +the future." + +Captain Monk stared at her. "What d'ye mean, Emma?" + +"_I would never let them be heard_," she said impressively. "I would +have them taken down again. The story went about, you know, that poor +George West in dying prophesied that whenever they should be heard woe +would fall upon this house. I am not superstitious, Godfrey, but----" + +Sheer passion had tied, so far, Godfrey Monk's lips. "Not +superstitious!" he raved out. "You are worse than that, Emma--a fool. +How dare you bring your nonsense here? There's the door." + +The banquet hour approached. Nearly all the guests of last year were +again present in the warm and holly-decorated dining-room, the one +notable exception being the ill-fated Parson West. Parson Dancox came in +his stead, and said grace from the post of honour at the Captain's right +hand. Captain Monk did not appear to feel any remorse or regret: he was +jovial, free, and grandly hospitable; one might suppose he had promoted +the dead clergyman to a canonry instead of to a place in the churchyard. + +"What became of the poor man's widow, Squire?" whispered a gentleman +from the neighbourhood of Evesham to Mr. Todhetley, who sat on the left +hand of his host; Sir Thomas Rivers taking the foot of the table this +year. + +"Mrs. West? Well, we heard she opened a girls' school up in London," +breathed the Squire. + +"And what tale was that about his leaving a curse on the chimes?--I +never heard the rights of it." + +"Hush!" said the Squire cautiously. "Nobody talks of that here. Or +believes it, either. Poor West was a man to leave a blessing behind him; +never a curse." + +Hubert, at home for the holidays, was again at table. He was fourteen +now, tall of his age and slender, his blue eyes bright, his complexion +delicately beautiful. The pleated cambric frill of his shirt, which hung +over the collar of his Eton jacket after the fashion of the day, was +carried low in front, displaying the small white throat; his golden hair +curled naturally. A boy to admire and be proud of. The manners were +more decorous this year than they ever had been, and Hubert was allowed +to sit on. Possibly the shadow of George West's unhappy death lay +insensibly upon the party. + +It was about half-past nine o'clock when the butler came into the room, +bringing a small note, twisted up, to his master from Mrs. Carradyne. +Captain Monk opened it and held it towards one of the lighted branches +to read the few words it contained. + + "_A gentleman is asking to speak a word to Mr. Dancox. He says it + is important._" + +Captain Monk tore the paper to bits. "_Not to-night_, tell your +mistress, is my answer," said he to Rimmer. "Hubert, you can go to your +aunt now; it's past your bed-time." + +There could be no appeal, as the boy knew; but he went off unwillingly +and in bitter resentment against Mrs. Carradyne. He supposed she had +sent for him. + +"What a cross old thing you are, Aunt Emma!" he exclaimed as he entered +the drawing-room on the other side the hall. "You won't let Harry go in +at all to the banquets, and you won't let me stay at them! Papa meant--I +think he meant--to let me remain there to hear the chimes. Why need you +have interfered to send for me?" + +"I neither interfered with you, Hubert, nor sent for you. A gentleman, +who did not give his name and preferred to wait outside, wants to see +Mr. Dancox; that's all," said Mrs. Carradyne. "You gave my note to your +master, Rimmer?" + +"Yes, ma'am," replied the butler. "My master bade me say to you that his +answer was _not to-night_." + +Katherine Monk, her face betraying some agitation, rose from the piano. +"Was the message not given to Mr. Dancox?" she asked of Rimmer. + +"Not while I was there, Miss Katherine. The master tore the note into +bits, after reading it; and dropped them under the table." + +Now it chanced that Mr. Dancox, glancing covertly at the note while the +Captain held it to the light, had read what was written there. For a few +minutes he said nothing. The Captain was busy sending round the wine. + +"Captain Monk--pardon me--I saw my name on that bit of paper; it caught +my eye as you held it out," he said in a low tone. "Am I called out? Is +anyone in the parish dying?" + +Thus questioned, Captain Monk told the truth. No one was dying, and he +was not called out to the parish. Some gentleman was asking to speak to +him; only that. + +"Well, I'll just see who it is, and what he wants," said Mr. Dancox, +rising. "Won't be away two minutes, sir." + +"Bring him back with you; tell him he'll find good wine here and jolly +cheer," said the Captain. And Mr. Dancox went out, swinging his napkin +in his hand. + +In crossing the hall he met Katherine, exchanged a hasty word with her, +let fall the serviette on a chair as he caught up his hat and overcoat, +and went out. Katherine ran upstairs. + +Hubert lay down on one of the drawing-room sofas. In point of fact, that +young gentleman could not walk straight. A little wine takes effect +on youngsters, especially when they are not accustomed to it. Mrs. +Carradyne told Hubert the best place for him was bed. Not a bit of it, +the boy answered: he should go out on the terrace at twelve o'clock; +the chimes would be fine, heard out there. He fell asleep almost as he +spoke; presently he woke up, feeling headachy, cross and stupid, and of +his own accord went up to bed. + +Meanwhile, the dining-room was getting jollier and louder as the time +passed on towards midnight. Great wonder was expressed at the non-return +of the parson; somebody must be undoubtedly grievously sick or dying. +Mr. Speck, the quiet little Hurst Leet doctor, dissented from this. +Nobody was dying in the parish, he affirmed, or sick enough to need a +priest; as a proof of it, _he_ had not been sent for. + +Ring, ring, ring! broke forth the chimes on the quiet midnight air, as +the church clock finished striking twelve. It was a sweet sound; even +those prejudiced against the chimes could hear that: the windows had +been opened in readiness. + +The glasses were charged; the company stood on their legs, some of them +not at all steady legs just then, bending their ears to listen. Captain +Monk stood in his place, majestically waving his head and his left hand +to keep time in harmony with The Bay of Biscay. His right hand held his +goblet in readiness for the toast when the sounds should cease. + +Ring, ring, ring! chimed the last strokes of the bells, dying away to +faintness on the still evening air. Suddenly, amidst the hushed silence, +and whilst the sweet melody fell yet unbroken on the room, there arose +a noise as of something falling outside on the terrace, mingled with a +wild scream and the crash of breaking glass. + +One of the guests rushed to the window, and put his head out of it. So +far as he could see, he said (perhaps his sight was somewhat obscured), +it was a looking-glass lying further up on the terrace. + +Thrown out from one of the upper windows! scornfully pronounced the +Captain, full of wrath that it should have happened at that critical +moment to mar the dignity of his coming toast. And he gave the toast +heartily; and the new year came in for them all with good wishes and +good wine. + +Some little time yet ere the company finally rose. The mahogany frame of +the broken looking-glass, standing on end, was conspicuous on the white +ground in the clear frosty night, as they streamed out from the house. +Mr. Speck, whose sight was rather remarkably good, peered at it +curiously from the hall steps, and then walked quickly along the snowy +terrace towards it. + +Sure enough, it was a looking-glass, broken in its fall from an +open window above. But, lying by it in the deep snow, in his white +night-shirt, was Hubert Monk. + +When the chimes began to play, Hubert was not asleep. Sitting up in bed, +he disposed himself to listen. After a bit they began to grow fainter; +Hubert impatiently dashed to the window and threw it up to its full +height as he jumped on the dressing-table, when in some unfortunate +way he overbalanced himself, and pitched out on the terrace beneath, +carrying the looking-glass with him. The fall was not much, for his room +was in one of the wings, the windows of which were low; but the boy had +struck his head in falling, and there he had lain, insensible, on the +terrace, one hand still clasping the looking-glass. + +All the rosy wine-tint fading away to a sickly paleness on the Captain's +face, he looked down on his well-beloved son. The boy was carried +indoors to his room, reviving with the movement. + +"Young bones are elastic," pronounced Mr. Speck, when he had examined +him; "and none of these are broken. He will probably have a cold from +the exposure; that's about the worst." + +He seemed to have it already: he was shivering from head to foot now, +as he related the above particulars. All the family had assembled round +him, except Katherine. + +"Where is Katherine?" suddenly inquired her father, noticing her +absence. + +"I cannot think where she is," said Mrs. Carradyne. "I have not seen her +for an hour or two. Eliza says she is not in her room; I sent her to +see. She is somewhere about, of course." + +"Go and look for your sister, Eliza. Tell her to come here," said +Captain Monk. But though Eliza went at once, her quest was useless. + +Miss Katherine was not in the house: Miss Katherine had made a moonlight +flitting from it that evening with the Reverend Thomas Dancox. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES + + +II.--PLAYING AGAIN + + +I + +It could not be said the Church Leet chimes brought good when they rang +out that night at midnight, as the old year was giving place to the +new. Mrs. Carradyne, in her superstition, thought they brought evil. +Certainly evil set in at the same time, and Captain Monk, with all his +scoffing obstinacy, could not fail to see it. That fine young lad, his +son, fell through the window listening to them; and in the self-same +hour the knowledge reached him that Katherine, his eldest and dearest +child, had flown from his roof in defiant disobedience, to set up a home +of her own. + +Hubert was soon well of his bruises; but not of the cold induced by +lying in the snow, clad only in his white night-shirt. In spite of all +Mr. Speck's efforts, rheumatic fever set in, and for some time Hubert +hovered between life and death. He recovered; but would never again be +the strong, hearty lad he had been--though indeed he had never been very +physically strong. The doctor privately hoped that the heart would be +found all right in future, but he would not have answered for it. + +The blow that told most on Captain Monk was that inflicted by Katherine. +And surely never was disobedient marriage carried out with the +impudent boldness of hers. Church Leet called it "cheek." Church Leet +(disbelieving the facts when they first oozed out) could talk of nothing +else for weeks. For Katherine had been married in the church hard by, +that same night. + +Special licenses were very uncommon things in those days; they cost too +much; but the Reverend Thomas Dancox had procured one. With Katherine's +money: everybody guessed that. She had four hundred a-year of her own, +inherited from her dead mother, and full control over it. So the special +license was secured, and their crafty plans were laid. The stranger +who had presented himself at the Hall that night (by arrangement), +asking for Mr. Dancox, thus affording an excuse for his quitting the +banquet-room, was a young clergyman of Worcester, come over especially +to marry them. When tackled with his deed afterwards, he protested that +he had not been told the marriage was to be clandestine. Tom Dancox went +out to him from the banquet; Katherine, slipping on a bonnet and shawl, +joined them outside; they hastened to the rectory and thence into the +church. And while the unconscious master of Leet Hall was entertaining +his guests with his good cheer and his stories and his hip, hip, hurrah, +his Vicar and Katherine Monk were made one until death should them part. +And death, as it proved, intended to do that speedily. + +At first Captain Monk, in his unbounded rage, was for saying that a +marriage celebrated at ten o'clock at night by the light of a solitary +tallow candle, borrowed from the vestry, could not hold good. Reassured +upon this point, he strove to devise other means to part them. Foiled +again, he laid the case before the Bishop of Worcester, and begged his +lordship to unfrock Thomas Dancox. The Bishop did not do as much as +that; though he sent for Tom Dancox and severely reprimanded him. But +that, as Church Leet remarked, did not break bones. Tom had striven to +make the best of his own cause to the Bishop, and the worst of Captain +Monk's obdurate will; moreover, stolen marriages were not thought much +of in those days. + +An uncomfortable state of things was maintained all the year, Hall Leet +and the Parsonage standing at daggers drawn. Never once did Captain Monk +appear at church. If he by cross-luck met his daughter or her husband +abroad, he struck into a good fit of swearing aloud; which perhaps +relieved his mind. The chimes had never played again; they pertained to +the church, and the church was in ill-favour with the Captain. As the +end of the year approached, Church Leet wondered whether he would hold +the annual banquet; but Captain Monk was not likely to forego that. +Why should he? The invitations went out for it; and they contained an +intimation that the chimes would again play. + +The banquet took place, a neighbouring parson saying grace at it in the +place of Tom Dancox. While the enjoyment was progressing and Captain +Monk was expressing his marvel for the tenth time as to what could have +become of Speck, who had not made his appearance, a note was brought in +by Rimmer--just as he had brought in one last year. This also was from +Mrs. Carradyne. + + "_Please come out to me for one moment, dear Godfrey. I must say a + word to you._" + +Captain Monk's first impulse on reading this was to send Rimmer back to +say she might go and be hanged. But to call him from the table was so +very extreme a measure, that on second thoughts he decided to go to her. +Mrs. Carradyne was standing just outside the door, looking as white as a +sheet. + +"Well, this is pretty bold of you, Madam Emma," he began angrily. "Are +you out of your senses?" + +"Hush, Godfrey! Katherine is dying." + +"What?" cried the Captain, the words confusing him. + +"Katherine is dying," repeated his sister, her teeth chattering with +emotion. + +In spite of Katherine's rebellion, Godfrey Monk loved her still as the +apple of his eye; and it was only his obstinate temper which had kept +him from reconciliation. His face took a hue of terror, and his voice a +softer tone. + +"What have you heard?" + +"Her baby's born; something has gone wrong, I suppose, and she is dying. +Sally ran up with the news, sent by Mr. Speck. Katherine is crying aloud +for you, saying she cannot die without your forgiveness. Oh, Godfrey, +you will go, you will surely go!" pleaded Mrs. Carradyne, breaking down +with a burst of tears. "Poor Katherine!" + +Never another word spoke he. He went out at the hall-door there and +then, putting on his hat as he leaped down the steps. It was a wretched +night; not white, clear, and cold as the last New Year's Eve had been, +or mild and genial as the one before it; but damp, raw, misty. + +"You think I have remained hard and defiant, father," Katherine +whispered to him, "but I have many a time asked God's forgiveness on my +bended knees; and I longed--oh, how I longed!--to ask yours. What should +we all do with the weight of sin that lies on us when it comes to such +an hour as this, but for Jesus Christ--for God's wonderful mercy!" + +And, with one hand in her father's and the other in her husband's, both +their hearts aching to pain, and their eyes wet with bitter tears, poor +Katherine's soul passed away. + +After quitting the parsonage, Captain Monk was softly closing the garden +gate behind him--for when in sorrow we don't do things with a rush and +a bang--when a whirring sound overhead caused him to start. Strong, +hardened man though he was, his nerves were unstrung to-night in company +with his heartstrings. It was the church clock preparing to strike +twelve. The little doctor, Speck, who had left the house but a minute +before, was standing at the churchyard fence close by, his arms leaning +on the rails, probably ruminating sadly on what had just occurred. +Captain Monk halted beside him in silence, while the clock struck. + +As the last stroke vibrated on the air, telling the knell of the old +year, the dawn of the new, another sound began. + +Ring, ring, ring! Ring, ring, ring! + +The chimes! The sweet, soothing, melodious chimes, carolling forth +The Bay of Biscay. Very pleasant were they in themselves to the ear. +But--did they fall pleasantly on Captain Monk's? It may be, not. It may +be, a wish came over him that he had never thought of instituting them. +But for doing that, the ills of his recent life had never had place. +George West's death would not have lain at his door, or room been made +by it for Tom Dancox, and Katherine would not be lying as he had now +left her--cold and lifeless. + +"Could _nothing_ have been done to save her, Speck?" he whispered to +the doctor, whose arms were still on the churchyard railings, listening +to the chimes in silence--though indeed he had asked the same question +indoors before. + +"Nothing; or you may be sure, sir, it would have been," answered Mr. +Speck. "Had all the medical men in Worcestershire been about her, they +could not have saved her any more than I could. These unfortunate cases +happen now and then," sighed he, "showing us how powerless we really +are." + +Well, it was grievous news wherewith to startle the parish. And Mrs. +Carradyne, a martyr to belief in ghosts and omens, grew to dread the +chimes with a nervous and nameless dread. + + +II + +It was but the first of February, yet the weather might have served for +May-day: one of those superb days that come once in a while out of their +season, serving to remind the world that the dark, depressing, dreary +winter will not last for ever; though we may have half feared it means +to, forgetting the reassuring promise of the Divine Ruler of all things, +given after the Flood: + +"_While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, +and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease._" + +The warm and glorious sunbeams lay on Church Leet, as if to woo the bare +hedges into verdant life, the cold fields to smiling plains. Even the +mounds of the graveyard, interspersed amidst the old tombstones, looked +green and cheerful to-day in the golden light. + +Turning slowly out of the Vicarage gate came a good-looking clergyman of +seven-or-eight-and-twenty. A slender man of middle height, with a sweet +expression on his pale, thoughtful face, and dark earnest eyes. It was +the new Vicar of Church Leet, the Reverend Robert Grame. + +For a goodish many years have gone on since that tragedy of poor +Katherine's death, and this is the second appointed Vicar since that +inauspicious time. + +Mr. Grame walked across the churchyard, glancing at the inscriptions on +the tombs. Inside the church porch stood the clerk, old John Cale, keys +in hand. Mr. Grame saw him and quickened his pace. + +"Have I kept you waiting, Cale?" he cried in his pleasant, considerate +tones. "I am sorry for that." + +"Not at all, your reverence; I came afore the time. This here church +is but a step or two off my home, yonder, and I'm as often out here as +I be indoors," continued John Cale, a fresh-coloured little man with +pale grey eyes and white hair. "I've been clerk here, sir, for +seven-and-thirty years." + +"You've seen more than one parson out then, I reckon." + +"More than one! Ay, sir, more than--more than six times one, I was going +to say; but that's too much, maybe. Let's see: there was Mr. Cartright, +he had held the living I hardly know how many years when I came, and he +held it for many after that. Mr. West succeeded him--the Reverend George +West; then came Thomas Dancox; then Mr. Atterley: four in all. And now +you've come, sir, to make the fifth." + +"Did they all die? or take other livings?" + +"Some the one thing, sir, and some the other. Mr. Cartright died, he +was old; and Mr. West, he--he----" John Cale hesitated before he went +on--"he died; Mr. Dancox got appointed to a chaplaincy somewhere over +the seas; he was here but about eighteen months, hardly that; and Mr. +Atterley, who has just left, has had a big church with a big income, +they say, given to him over in Oxfordshire." + +"Which makes room for me," smiled Robert Grame. + +They were inside the church now; a small and very old-fashioned church, +with high pews, dark and sombre. Over the large pew of the Monks, +standing sideways to the pulpit, sundry slabs were on the wall, their +inscriptions testifying to the virtues and ages of the Monk family dead +and gone. Mr. Grame stood to read them. One slab of white marble, its +black letters fresh and clear, caught especially his eye. + +"Katherine, eldest child of Godfrey Monk, gentleman, and wife of the +Reverend Thomas Dancox," he read out aloud. "Was that he who was Vicar +here?" + +"Ay, 'twas. She married him again her father's wish, and died, poor +thing, just a year after it," replied the clerk. "And only twenty-three, +as you see, sir! The Captain came down and forgave her on her dying +bed, and 'twas he that had the stone put up there. Her baby-girl was +taken to the Hall, and is there still: ten years old she must be now; +'twas but an hour or two old when the mother died." + +"It seems a sad history," observed Mr. Grame as he turned away to enter +the vestry. + +John Cale did the honours of its mysteries: showing him the chest for +the surplices; the cupboard let into the wall for the register; the +place where candles and such-like stores were kept. Mr. Grame opened a +door at one end of the room and saw a square flagged place, containing +grave-digging tools and the hanging ropes of the bell which called +people to church. Shutting the door again, he crossed to a door on the +opposite side. But that he could not open. + +"What does this lead to?" he asked. "It is locked." + +"It's always kept locked, that door is, sir; and it's a'most as much as +my post is worth to open it," said the clerk, his voice sinking to a +mysterious whisper. "It leads up to the chimes." + +"The chimes!" echoed the new parson in surprise. "Do you mean to say +this little country church can boast of chimes?" + +John Cale nodded. "Lovely, pleasant things they be to listen to, sir, +but we've not heard 'em since the midnight when Miss Katherine died. +They play a tune called 'The Bay o' Biscay.'" + +Selecting a key from the bunch that he carried in his hand, he opened +the door, displaying a narrow staircase, unprotected as a ladder and +nearly perpendicular. At the top was another small door, evidently +locked. + +"Captain Monk had all this done when he put the chimes up," remarked +he. "I sweep the dust off these stairs once in three months or so, but +otherwise the door's not opened. And that one," nodding to the door +above, "never." + +"But why?" asked the clergyman. "If the chimes are there, and are, as +you say, melodious, why do they not play?" + +"Well, sir, I b'lieve there's a bit of superstition at the bottom of +it," returned the clerk, not caring to explain too fully lest he should +have to tell about Mr. West's death, which might not be the thing to +frighten a new Vicar with. "A feeling has somehow got abroad in the +parish (leastways with a many of its folk) that the putting-up of its +bells brought ill-luck, and that whenever the chimes ring out some +dreadful evil falls on the Monk family." + +"I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed the Vicar, hardly knowing +whether to laugh or lecture. "The parish cannot be so ignorant as that! +How can the putting-up of chimes bring ill-luck?" + +"Well, your reverence, I don't know; the thing's beyond me. They were +heard but three times, ringing in the new year at midnight, three years, +one on top of t'other--and each time some ill fell." + +"My good man--and I am sure you are good--you should know better," +remonstrated Mr. Grame. "Captain Monk cannot surely give credence to +this?" + +"No, sir; but his sister up at the Hall does--Mrs. Carradyne. It's said +the Captain used to ridicule her finely for it; he'd fly into a passion +whenever 'twas alluded to. Captain Monk, as a brave seaman, is too bold +to tolerate anything of the sort. But he has never let the chimes play +since his daughter died. He was coming out from the death-scene at +midnight, when the chimes broke forth the third year, and it's said he +can't abear the sound of 'em since." + +"That may well be," assented Mr. Grame. + +"And finding, sir, year after year, year after year, as one year gives +place to another, that they are never heard, we have got to call 'em +amid ourselves, the Silent Chimes," spoke the clerk, as they turned to +leave the church. "The Silent Chimes, sir." + +Clinking his keys, the clerk walked away to his home, an ivy-covered +cottage not a stone's-throw off; the clergyman lingered in the +churchyard, reading the memorials on the tombstones. He was smiling at +the quaintness of some of them, when the sound of hasty footsteps caused +him to turn. A little girl was climbing over the churchyard-railings (as +being nearer to her than the entrance-gate), and came dashing towards +him across the gravestones. + +"Are you grandpapa's new parson?" asked the young lady; a pretty child +of ten, with a dark skin, and dusky-violet eyes staring at him freely +out of a saucy face. + +"Yes, I am," said he. "What is your name?" + +"What is yours?" boldly questioned she. "They've talked about you at +home, but I forgot it." + +"Mine is Robert Grame. Won't you tell me yours?" + +"Oh, it's Kate.--Here's that wicked Lucy coming! She's going to groan at +me for jumping here. She says it's not reverent." + +A charming young lady of some twenty years was coming up the path, +wearing a scarlet cloak, its hood lined with white silk; a straw hat +shaded her fair face, blushing very much just now; in her dark-grey eyes +might be read vexation, as she addressed Mr. Grame. + +"I hope Kate has not been rude? I hope you will excuse her heedlessness +in this place. She is only a little girl." + +"It's only the new parson, Lucy," broke in Kate without ceremony. "He +says his name's Robert Grame." + +"Oh, Kate, don't! How shall we ever teach you manners?" reprimanded the +young lady, in distress. "She has been very much indulged, sir," turning +to the clergyman. + +"I can well understand that," he said, with a bright smile. "I presume +that I have the honour of speaking to the daughter of my patron--Captain +Monk?" + +"No; Captain Monk is my uncle: I am Lucy Carradyne." + +As the young clergyman stood, hat in hand, a feeling came over him that +he had never seen so sweet a face as the one he was looking at. Miss +Lucy Carradyne was saying to herself, "What a nice countenance he has! +What kindly, earnest eyes!" + +"This little lady tells me her name is Kate." + +"Kate Dancox," said Lucy, as the child danced away. "Her mother was +Captain Monk's eldest daughter; she died when Kate was born. My uncle +is very fond of Kate; he will hardly have her controlled at all." + +"I have been in to see my church! John Cale has been doing its honours +for me," smiled Mr. Grame. "It is a pretty little edifice." + +"Yes, and I hope you will like it; I hope you will like the parish," +frankly returned Lucy. + +"I shall be sure to do that, I think. As soon, at least, as I can +feel convinced that it is to be really mine," he added, with a quaint +expression. "When I heard, a week ago, that Captain Monk had presented +me--an entire stranger to him--with the living of Church Leet, I +could not believe it. It is not often that a nameless curate, without +influence, is spontaneously remembered." + +"It is not much of a living," said Lucy, meeting the words half +jestingly. "Worth, I believe, about a hundred and sixty pounds a-year." + +"But that is a great rise for me--and I have a house to myself large +and beautiful--and am a Vicar and no longer a curate," he returned, +laughingly. "I cannot _imagine_, though, how Captain Monk came to give +it me. Have you any idea how it was, Miss Carradyne?" + +Lucy's face flushed. She could not tell this gentleman the truth: +that another clergyman had been fixed upon, one who would have been +especially welcome to the parishioners; that Captain Monk had all but +nominated him to the living. But it chanced to reach the Captain's ears +that this clergyman had expressed his intention of holding the Communion +service monthly, instead of quarterly as heretofore, so he put the +question to him. Finding it to be true, he withdrew his promise; he +would not have old customs broken in upon by modern innovation, he said; +and forthwith he appointed the Reverend Robert Grame. + +"I do not even know how Captain Monk heard of me," continued Mr. Grame, +marking Lucy's hesitation. + +"I believe you were recommended to him by one of the clergy attached +to Worcester Cathedral," said Lucy.--"And I think I must wish you +good-morning now." + +But there came an interruption. A tall, stately, haughty young woman, +with an angry look upon her dark and handsome face, had entered the +churchyard, and was calling out as she advanced: + +"That monkey broken loose again, I suppose, and at her pranks here! What +are you good for, Lucy, if you cannot keep her in better order? You know +I told you to go straight on to Mrs. Speck, and----" + +The words died away. Mr. Grame, who had been hidden by a large upright +tombstone, emerged into view. Lucy, with another blush, spoke to cover +the awkwardness. + +"This is Miss Monk," she said to him. "Eliza, it is the new clergyman, +Mr. Grame." + +Miss Monk recovered her equanimity. A winning smile supplanted the anger +on her face; she held out her hand, grandly gracious. For she liked the +stranger's look: he was beyond doubt a gentleman--and an attractive man. + +"Allow me to welcome you to Church Leet, Mr. Grame. My father chances +to be absent to-day; he is gone to Evesham." + +"So the clerk told me, or I should have called this morning to pay my +respects to him, and to thank him for his generous and most unexpected +patronage of me. I got here last night," concluded Mr. Grame, standing +uncovered as when he had saluted Lucy. Eliza Monk liked his pleasant +voice and taking manners: her fancy went out to him there and then. + +"But though papa is absent, you will walk up with me now to the Hall to +make acquaintance with my aunt, Mrs. Carradyne," said Eliza, in tones +that, gracious though they were, sounded in the light of a command--just +as poor Katherine's had always sounded. And Mr. Grame went with her. + +But now--handsome though she was, gracious though she meant to be--there +was something about Eliza Monk that seemed to repulse Robert Grame, +rather than attract him. Lucy had fascinated him; she repelled. Other +people had experienced the same kind of repulsion, but knew not where it +lay. + +Hubert, the heir, about twenty-five now, came forward to greet the +stranger as they entered the Hall. No repulsion about _him_. Robert +Grame's hand met his with a warm clasp. A young man of gentle manners +and a face of rare beauty--but oh, so suspiciously delicate! Perhaps it +was the extreme slenderness of the frame, the wan look in the refined +features and their bright hectic that drew forth the clergyman's +sympathy. An impression came over him that this young man was not long +for earth. + +"Is Mr. Monk strong?" he presently asked of Mrs. Carradyne, when Hubert +had temporarily quitted the room. + +"Indeed, no. He had rheumatic fever some years ago," she added, "and has +never been strong since." + +"Has he heart disease?" questioned the clergyman. He thought the young +man had just that look. + +"We fear his heart is weak," replied Mrs. Carradyne. + +"But that may be only your fancy, you know, Aunt Emma," spoke Miss Monk +reproachfully. She and her father were both passionately attached to +Hubert; they resented any doubt cast upon his health. + +"Oh, of course," assented Mrs. Carradyne, who never resented anything. + +"We shall be good friends, I trust," said Eliza, with a beaming smile, +as her hand lay in Mr. Grame's when he was leaving. + +"Indeed I hope so," he answered. "Why not?" + + +III + +Summer lay upon the land. The landscape stretched out before Leet Hall +was fair to look upon. A fine expanse of wood and dale, of trees in +their luxuriant beauty; of emerald-green plains, of meandering streams, +of patches of growing corn already putting on its golden hue, and of +the golden sunlight, soon to set and gladden other worlds, that shone +from the deep-blue sky. Birds sang in their leafy shelters, bees were +drowsily humming as they gathered the last of the day's honey, and +butterflies flitted from flower to flower with a good-night kiss. + +At one of the windows stood, in her haughty beauty, Eliza Monk. Not, +surely, of the lovely scene before her was she thinking, or her face +might have worn a more pleasing expression. Rather did she seem to gaze, +and with displeasure, at two or three people who were walking in the +distance: Lucy Carradyne side by side with the clergyman, and Miss Kate +Dancox pulling at his coat-tails. + +"Shameful flirt!" + +The acidity of the tone was so pronounced that Mrs. Carradyne, seated +near and busy at her netting, lifted her head in surprise. "Why, Eliza, +what's the matter? Who is a flirt?" + +"Lucy," curtly replied Eliza, pointing with her finger. + +"Nonsense," said Mrs. Carradyne, after glancing outwards. + +"Why does she persistently lay herself out to attract that man?" was the +passionate rejoinder. + +"Be silent, Eliza. How can you conjure up so unjust a charge? Lucy is +not capable of _laying herself out_ to attract anyone. It lies but in +your imagination." + +"Day after day, when she is out with Kate, you may see him join +her--allured to her side." + +"The 'allurer' is Kate, then. I am surprised at you, Eliza: you might be +talking of a servant-maid. Kate has taken a liking for Mr. Grame, and +she runs after him at all times and seasons." + +"She ought to be stopped, then." + +"Stopped! Will you undertake to do it? Could her mother be stopped in +anything she pleased to do? And the child has the same rebellious will." + +"I say that Robert Grame's attraction is Lucy." + +"It may be so," acknowledged Mrs. Carradyne. "But the attraction must +lie in Lucy herself; not in anything she does. Some suspicion of the +sort has, at times, crossed me." + +She looked at them again as she spoke. They were sauntering onwards +slowly; Mr. Grame bending towards Lucy, and talking earnestly. Kate, +dancing about, pulling at his arm or his coat, appeared to get but +little attention. Mrs. Carradyne quietly went on with her work. + +And that composed manner, combined with her last sentence, brought gall +and wormwood to Eliza Monk. + +Throwing a summer scarf upon her shoulders, Eliza passed out at the +French window, crossed the terrace, and set out to confront the +conspirators. But she was not in time. Seeing her coming, or not seeing +her--who knew?--Mr. Grame turned off with a fleet foot towards his home. +So nobody remained for Miss Monk to waste her angry breath upon but +Lucy. The breath was keenly sharp, and Lucy fell to weeping. + + * * * * * + +"I am here, Grame. Don't go in." + +The words fell on the clergyman's ears as he closed the Vicarage gate +behind him, and was passing up the path to his door. Turning his head, +he saw Hubert Monk seated on the bench under the may tree, pink and +lovely yet. "How long have you been here?" he asked, sitting down beside +him. + +"Ever so long; waiting for you," replied Hubert. + +"I was only strolling about." + +"I saw you: with Lucy and the child." + +They had become fast and firm friends, these two young men; and the +minister was insensibly exercising a wonderful influence over Hubert for +good. Believing--as he did believe--that Hubert's days were numbered, +that any sharp extra exertion might entail fatal consequences, he gently +strove, as opportunity offered, to lead his thoughts to the Better Land. + +"What an evening it is!" rapturously exclaimed Hubert. + +"Ay: so calm and peaceful." + +The rays of the setting sun touched Hubert's face, lighting up its +extreme delicacy; the scent of the closing flowers filled the still air +with sweetness; the birds were chanting their evening song of praise. +Hubert, his elbow on the arm of the bench, his hand supporting his chin, +looked out with dreamy eyes. + +"What book have you there?" asked Mr. Grame, noticing one in his other +hand. + +"Herbert," answered the young man, showing it. "I filched it from your +table through the open window, Grame." + +The clergyman took it. It chanced to open at a passage he was very fond +of. Or perhaps he knew the place, and opened it purposely. + +"Do you know these verses, Hubert? They are appropriate enough just now, +while those birds are carolling." + +"I can't tell. What verses? Read them." + + "Hark, how the birds do sing, + And woods do ring! + All creatures have their joy, and man hath his, + Yet, if we rightly measure, + Man's joy and pleasure + Rather hereafter than in present is. + + Not that we may not here + Taste of the cheer; + But as birds drink and straight lift up the head, + So must he sip and think + Of better drink + He may attain to after he is dead." + +"Ay," said Hubert, breaking the silence after a time, "it's very true, I +suppose. But this world--oh, it's worth living for. Will anything in the +next, Grame, be more beautiful than _that_?" + +He was pointing to the sunset, marvellously and unusually beautiful. +Lovely pink and crimson clouds flecked the west; in their midst shone a +dazzling golden light too glorious to look upon. + +"One might fancy it the portals of heaven," said the clergyman; "the +golden gate of entrance, leading to the pearly gates within, and to the +glittering walls of precious stones." + +"Ay! And it seems to take the form of an entrance-gate!" exclaimed +Hubert; for it really did so. "Look at it! Oh, Grame, surely the very +gate of Heaven cannot be more wonderful than that!" + +"And if the gate of entrance is so unspeakably beautiful, what will the +City itself be?" murmured Mr. Grame. "The Heavenly City! the New +Jerusalem!" + +"It is beginning to fade," said Hubert presently, as they sat watching; +"the brightness is going. What a pity!" + +"All that's bright must fade in this world, you know; and fade very +quickly. Hubert! it will not in the next." + + * * * * * + +Church Leet, watching its neighbours' doings sharply, began to whisper +that the new clergyman, Mr. Grame, was likely to cause unpleasantness to +the Monk family, just as some of his predecessors had caused it. For no +man having eyes in his head (still less any woman) could fail to see +that the Captain's imperious daughter had fallen desperately in love +with him. Would there be a second elopement, as in the days of Tom +Dancox? Would Eliza Monk set her father at defiance as Katherine did? + +One of the last to see signs and tokens, though they took place under +her open eyes, was Mrs. Carradyne. But she saw at last. The clergyman +could not walk across a new-mown field, or down a shady lane, or be +hastening along the dusty turnpike road, but by some inexplicable +coincidence he would be met by Miss Monk; and when he came to the +Hall to pass an hour with Hubert, she generally made a third at the +interview. It had pleased her latterly to take to practising on the old +church organ; and if Mr. Grame was not wiled into the church with her +and her attendant, the ancient clerk, who blew the bellows, she was sure +to alight upon him in going or returning. + +One fine evening, dinner over, when the last beams of the sun were +slanting into the drawing-room, Eliza Monk was sitting back on a sofa, +reading; Kate romped about the room, and Mrs. Carradyne had just rung +the bell for tea. Lucy had been spending the afternoon with Mrs. Speck, +and Hubert had now gone to fetch her home. + +"Good gracious, Kate, can't you be quiet!" exclaimed Miss Monk, as the +child in her gambols sprang upon the sofa, upsetting the book and its +reader's temper. "Go away: you are treading on my flounces. Aunt Emma, +why do you persist in having this tiresome little reptile with us after +dinner?" + +"Because your father will not let her be sent to the nursery," said Mrs. +Carradyne. + +"Did you ever know a child like her?" + +"She is only as her mother was; as you were, Eliza--always rebellious. +Kate, sit down to the piano and play one of your pretty tunes." + +"I won't," responded Kate. "Play yourself, Aunt Emma." + +Dashing through the open glass doors, Kate began tossing a ball on the +broad gravel walk below the terrace. Mrs. Carradyne cautioned her not +to break the windows, and turned to the tea-table. + +"Don't make the tea yet, Aunt Emma," interrupted Miss Monk, in tones +that were quite like a command. "Mr. Grame is coming, and he won't care +for cold tea." + +Mrs. Carradyne returned to her seat. She thought the opportunity had +come to say something to her niece which she had been wanting to say. + +"You invited Mr. Grame, Eliza?" + +"I did," said Eliza, looking defiance. + +"My dear," resumed Mrs. Carradyne with some hesitation, "forgive me if I +offer you a word of advice. You have no mother; I pray you to listen to +me in her stead. You must change your line of behaviour to Mr. Grame." + +Eliza's dark face turned red and haughty. "I do not understand you, Aunt +Emma." + +"Nay, I think you do understand me, my dear. You have incautiously +allowed yourself to fall into--into an undesirable liking for Mr. Grame. +An _unseemly_ liking, Eliza." + +"Unseemly!" + +"Yes; because it has not been sought. Cannot you see, Eliza, how he +instinctively recedes from it? how he would repel it were he less the +gentleman than he is? Child, I shrink from saying these things to you, +but it is needful. You have good sense, Eliza, keen discernment, and +you might see for yourself that it is not to you Mr. Grame's love is +given--or ever will be." + +For once in her life Eliza Monk allowed herself to betray agitation. She +opened her trembling lips to speak, but closed them again. + +"A moment yet, Eliza. Let us suppose, for argument's sake, that Mr. +Grame loved you; that he wished to marry you; you know, my dear, how +utterly useless it would be. Your father would not suffer it." + +"Mr. Grame is of gentle descent; my father is attached to him," disputed +Eliza. + +"But Mr. Grame has nothing but his living--a hundred and sixty pounds a +year; _you_ must make a match in accordance with your own position. It +would be Katherine's trouble, Katherine's rebellion over again. But this +was mentioned for argument's sake only; Mr. Grame will never sue for +anything of the kind; and I must beg of you, my dear, to put all idea +of it away, and to change your manner towards him." + +"Perhaps you fancy he may wish to sue for Lucy!" cried Eliza, in fierce +resentment. + +"That is a great deal more likely than the other. And the difficulties +in her case would not be so great." + +"And pray why, Aunt Emma?" + +"Because, my dear, I should not resent it as your father would. I am not +so ambitious for her as he is for you." + +"A fine settlement for her--Robert Grame and his hundred----" + +"Who is taking my name in vain?" cried a pleasant voice from the open +window; and Robert Grame entered. + +"I was," said Eliza readily; her tone changing like magic to sweet +suavity, her face putting on its best charm. "About to remark that the +Reverend Robert Grame has a hundred faults. Aunt Emma agrees with me." + +He laughed lightly, regarding it as pleasantry, and inquired for Hubert. + +Eliza stepped out on the terrace when tea was over, talking to Mr. +Grame; they began to pace it slowly together. Kate and her ball sported +on the gravel walk beneath. It was a warm, serene evening, the silver +moon shining, the evening star just appearing in the clear blue sky. + +"Lucy being away, you cannot enjoy your usual flirtation with her," +remarked Miss Monk, in a light tone. + +But he did not take it lightly. Rarely had his voice been more serious +than when he answered: "I beg your pardon. I do not flirt--I have never +flirted with Miss Carradyne." + +"No! It has looked like it." + +Mr. Grame remained silent. "I hope not," he said at last. "I did not +intend--I did not think. However, I must mend my manners," he added more +gaily. "To flirt at all would ill become my sacred calling. And Lucy +Carradyne is superior to any such trifling." + +Her pulses were coursing on to fever heat. With her whole heart she +loved Robert Grame: and the secret preference he had unconsciously +betrayed for Lucy had served to turn her later days to bitterness. + +"Possibly you mean something more serious," said Eliza, compressing her +lips. + +"If I mean anything, I should certainly mean it seriously," replied the +young clergyman, his face blushing as he made the avowal. "But I may +not. I have been reflecting much latterly, and I see I may not. If my +income were good it might be a different matter. But it is not; and +marriage for me must be out of the question." + +"With a portionless girl, yes. Robert Grame," she went on rapidly with +impassioned earnestness, "when you marry, it must be with someone who +can help you; whose income will compensate for the deficiency of yours. +Look around you well: there may be some young ladies rich in the world's +wealth, even in Church Leet, who will forget your want of fortune for +your own sake." + +Did he misunderstand her? It was hardly possible. She had a large +fortune; Lucy none. But he answered as though he comprehended not. It +may be that he deemed it best to set her ill-regulated hopes at rest +for ever. + +"One can hardly suppose a temptation of that kind would fall in the way +of an obscure individual like myself. If it did, I could only reject it. +I should not marry for money. I shall never marry where I do not love." + +They had halted near one of the terrace seats. On it lay a toy of +Kate's, a little wooden "box of bells." Mechanically, her mind far away, +Eliza took it up and began, still mechanically, turning the wire which +set the bells playing with a soft but not unpleasant jingle. + +"You love Lucy Carradyne!" she whispered. + +"I fear I do," he answered. "Though I have struggled against the +conviction." + +A sudden crash startled them; shivers of glass fell before their feet; +fit accompaniment to the shattered hopes of one who stood there. Kate +Dancox, aiming at Mr. Grame's hat, had sent her ball through the window. +He leaped away to catch the culprit, and Eliza Monk sat down on the +bench, all gladness gone out of her. Her love-dream had turned out to +be a snare and a delusion. + +"Who did that?" + +Captain Monk, frightened from his after-dinner nap by the crash, came +forth in anger. Kate got a box on the ear, and was sent to bed howling. + +"You should send her to school, papa." + +"And I will," declared the Captain. "She startled me out of a sleep. Out +of a dream, too. And it is not often I dream. I thought I was hearing +the chimes again." + +"Chimes which I have not yet been fortunate enough to hear at all," said +Mr. Grame with a smile. Eliza recalled the sound of the bells she had +set in motion, and thought it must have reached her father in his sleep. + +"By George, no! You shall, though, Grame. They shall ring the new year +in when it comes." + +"Aunt Emma won't like that," laughingly commented Eliza. She was trying +to be gay and careless before Robert Grame. + +"Aunt Emma may _dis_like it!" retorted the Captain. "She has picked up +some ridiculously absurd notion, Grame, that the bells bring ill-luck +when they are heard. Women are so foolishly superstitious." + +"That must be a very far-fetched superstition," said the parson. + +"One might as well believe in witches," mocked the Captain. "I have +given in to her fancies for some years, not to cross her, and allowed +the bells to be silent: she's a good woman on the whole; but be hanged +if I will any longer. On the last day of this year, Grame, you shall +hear the chimes." + + * * * * * + +How it came about nobody exactly knew, unless it was through Hubert, but +matters were smoothed for the parson and Lucy. + +Mrs. Carradyne knew his worth, and she saw that they were as much +in love with one another as ever could be Hodge and Joan. She liked +the idea of Lucy being settled near her--and the vicarage, large and +handsome, could have its unused rooms opened and furnished. Mr. Grame +honestly avowed that he should have asked for Lucy before, but for his +poverty; he supposed that Lucy was poor also. + +"That is so; Lucy has nothing of her own," said Mrs. Carradyne to this. +"But I am not in that condition." + +"Of course not. But--pardon me--I thought your property went to your +son." + +Mrs. Carradyne laughed. "A small estate of his father's, close by here, +became my son's at his father's death," she said. "My own money is at my +disposal; the half of it will eventually be Lucy's. When she marries, I +shall allow her two hundred a year: and upon that, and your stipend, you +will have to get along together." + +"It will be like riches to me," said the young parson all in a glow. + +"Ah! Wait until you realise the outlets for money that a wife entails," +nodded Mrs. Carradyne in her superior wisdom. "Not but that I'm sure +it's good for young people, setting up together, to be straitened at +the beginning. It teaches them economy and the value of money." + +Altogether it seemed a wonderful prospect to Robert Grame. Miss Lucy +thought it would be Paradise. But a stern wave of opposition set in from +Captain Monk. + +Hubert broke the news to him as they were sitting together after dinner. +To begin with, the Captain, as a matter of course, flew into a passion. + +"Another of those beggarly parsons! What possessed them, that they +should fix upon _his_ family to play off their machinations upon! Lucy +Carradyne was his niece: she should never be grabbed up by one of them +while he was alive to stop it." + +"Wait a minute, father," whispered Hubert. "You like Robert Grame; I +know that: you would rather see him carry off Lucy than Eliza." + +"What the dickens do you mean by that?" + +Hubert said a few cautious words--hinting that, but for Lucy's being in +the way, poor Katherine's escapade might have been enacted over again. +Captain Monk relieved his mind by some strong language, sailor fashion; +and for once in his life saw he must give in to necessity. + +So the wedding was fixed for the month of February, just one year after +they had met: that sweet time of early spring, when spring comes in +genially, when the birds would be singing, and the green buds peeping +and the sunlight dancing. + +But the present year was not over yet. Lucy was sewing at her wedding +things. Eliza Monk, smarting as from an adder's sting, ran away to visit +a family who lived near Oddingly, an insignificant little place, lying, +as everybody knows, on the other side of Worcester, famous only for its +dullness and for the strange murders committed there in 1806--which have +since passed into history. But she returned home for Christmas. + +Once more it was old-fashioned Christmas weather; Jack Frost freezing +the snow and sporting his icicles. The hearty tenants, wending their way +to the annual feast in the winter twilight, said how unusually sharp the +air was, enough to bite off their ears and noses. + +The Reverend Robert Grame made one at the table for the first time, +and said grace at the Captain's elbow. He had heard about the freedom +obtaining at these dinners; but he knew he was utterly powerless +to suppress it, and he hoped his presence might prove some little +restraint, just as poor George West had hoped in the days gone by: not +that it was as bad now as it used to be. A rumour had gone abroad that +the chimes were to play again, but it died away unconfirmed, for Captain +Monk kept his own counsel. + +The first to quit the table was Hubert. Captain Monk looked up angrily. +He was proud of his son, of his tall and graceful form, of his handsome +features, proud even of his bright complexion; ay, and of his estimable +qualities. While inwardly fearing Hubert's signs of fading strength, he +defiantly refused to recognise it or to admit it openly. + +"What now?" he said in a loud whisper. "Are _you_ turning renegade?" + +The young man bent over his father's shoulder. "I don't feel well; +better let me go quietly, father; I have felt pain here all +day"--touching his left side. And he escaped. + +There was present at table an elderly gentleman named Peveril. He had +recently come with his wife into the neighbourhood and taken on lease a +small estate, called by the odd name of Peacock's Range, which belonged +to Hubert and lay between Church Dykely and Church Leet. Mr. Peveril put +an inopportune question. + +"What is the story, Captain, about some chimes which were put up in the +church here and are never allowed to ring because they caused the death +of the Vicar? I was told of it to-day." + +Captain Monk looked at Mr. Peveril, but did not speak. + +"One George West, I think. Was he parson here?" + +"Yes, he was parson here," said Farmer Winter, finding nobody else +answered Mr. Peveril, next to whom he sat. He was a very old man now, +but hale and hearty still, and a steadfast ally of his landlord. "Given +that parson his way and we should never have had the chimes put up at +all. Sweet sounding bells they are, too." + +"But how could the chimes kill him?" went on Mr. Peveril. "Did they kill +him?" + +"George West was a quarrelsome, mischief-making meddler, good for +nothing but to set the parish together by the ears; and I must beg of +you to drop his name when at my table, Peveril. As to the chimes, you +will hear them to-night." + +Captain Monk spoke in his sternest tones, and Mr. Peveril bowed. Robert +Grame had listened in surprise. He wondered what it all meant--for +nobody had ever told him of this phase of the past. The table clapped +its unsteady hands and gave a cheer for the chimes, now to be heard +again. + +"Yes, gentlemen," said the Captain, not a whit more steady than his +guests. "They shall ring for us to-night, though it brought the parson +out of his grave." + +A few minutes before twelve the butler, who had his orders, came into +the dining-room and set the windows open. His master gave him another +order and the man withdrew. Entering the drawing-room, he proceeded to +open those windows also. Mr. Peveril, and one or two more guests, sat +with the family; Hubert lay back in an easy-chair. + +"What are you about, Rimmer?" hastily cried out Mrs. Carradyne in +surprise. "Opening the windows!" + +"It is by the master's orders, ma'am," replied the butler; "he bade me +open them, that you and the ladies might get a better hearing of the +chimes." + +Mrs. Carradyne, superstitious ever, grew white as death. "_The chimes!_" +she breathed in a dread whisper. "Surely, surely, Rimmer, you must be +mistaken. The chimes cannot be going to ring again!" + +"They are to ring the New Year in," said the man. "I have known it this +day or two, but was not allowed to tell, as Madam may guess"--glancing +at his mistress. "John Cale has got his orders, and he'll set 'em going +when the clock has struck twelve." + +"Oh, is there no one who will run to stop it?" bewailed Mrs. Carradyne, +wringing her hands in all the terror of a nameless fear. "There may yet +be time. Rimmer! can you go?" + +Hubert came out of his chair laughing. Rimmer was round and fat now, +and could not run if he tried. "I'll go, aunt," he said. "Why, walking +slowly, I should get there before Rimmer." + +The words, "walking slowly," may have misled Mrs. Carradyne; or, in the +moment's tribulation, perhaps she forgot that Hubert ought not to be the +one to use much exertion; but she made no objection. No one else made +way, and Hubert hastened out, putting on his overcoat as he went towards +the church. + +It was the loveliest night; the air was still and clear, the landscape +white and glistening, the moon bright as gold. Hubert, striding along +at a quick walk, had traversed half the short distance, when the church +clock struck out the first note of midnight. And he knew he should not +be in time--unless---- + +He set off to run: it was such a very little way! Flying along without +heed to self, he reached the churchyard gate. And there he was +forced--forced--to stop to gather up his laboured breath. + +Ring, ring, ring! broke forth the chimes melodiously upon Hubert's ear. +"Stop!" he shouted, panting; "stop! stop!"--just as if John Cale could +hear the warning: and he began leaping over the gravestones in his path, +after the irreverent fashion of Miss Kate Dancox. + +"Stop!" he faintly cried in his exhaustion, dashing through the vestry, +as the strains of "The Bay of Biscay" pursued their harmonious course +overhead, sounding louder here than in the open air. "Sto----" + +He could not end the word. Pulling the little door open, he put his foot +on the first step of the narrow ladder of a staircase: and then fell +prone upon it. John Cale and young Mr. Threpp, the churchwarden's son, +who had been the clerk's companion, were descending the stairs, after +the chimes had chimed themselves out, and they had locked them up again +to (perhaps) another year, when they found some impediment below. + +"What is it?" exclaimed young Mr. Threpp. The clerk turned on his +lantern. + +It was Hubert, Captain Monk's son and heir. He lay there with a face of +deadly whiteness, a blue shade encircling his lips. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES + + +III.--RINGING AT MIDDAY + + +I + +It was an animated scene; and one you only find in England. The stubble +of the cornfields looked pale and bleak in the departing autumn, the +wind was shaking down the withered leaves from the trees, whose thinning +branches told unmistakably of the rapidly-advancing winter. But the day +was bright after the night's frost, and the sun shone on the glowing +scarlet coats of the hunting-men, and the hounds barked in every variety +of note and leaped with delight in the morning air. It was the first run +of the season, and the sportsmen were fast gathering at the appointed +spot--a field flanked by a grove of trees called Poachers' Copse. + +Ten o'clock, the hour fixed for the throw-off, came and went, and still +Poachers' Copse was not relieved of its busy intruders. Many a gentleman +fox-hunter glanced at his hunting-watch as the minutes passed, many +a burly farmer jerked his horse impatiently; while the grey-headed +huntsman cracked his long whip amongst his canine favourites and +promised them they should soon be on the scent. The delay was caused +by the non-arrival of the Master of the Hounds. + +But now all eyes were directed to a certain quarter, and by the +brightened looks and renewed stir, it might be thought that he was +appearing. A stranger, sitting his horse well and quietly at the edge of +Poachers' Copse, watched the newcomers as they came into view. Foremost +of them rode an elderly gentleman in scarlet, and by his side a young +lady who might be a few years past twenty. + +"Father and daughter, I'll vow," commented the stranger, noting that +both had the same well-carved features, the same defiant, haughty +expression, the same proud bearing. "What a grandly-handsome girl! And +he, I suppose, is the man we are waiting for. Is that the Master of the +Hounds?" he asked aloud of the horseman next him, who chanced to be +young Mr. Threpp. + +"No, sir, that is Captain Monk," was the answer. "They are saying +yonder that he has brought word the Master is taken ill and cannot hunt +to-day"--which proved to be correct. The Master had been taken with +giddiness when about to mount his horse. + +The stranger rode up to Captain Monk; judging him to be regarded--by the +way he was welcomed and the respect paid him--as the chief personage +at the meet, representing in a manner the Master. Lifting his hat, he +begged grace for having, being a stranger, come out, uninvited, to join +the field; adding that his name was Hamlyn and he was staying with Mr. +Peveril at Peacock's Range. + +Captain Monk wheeled round at the address; his head had been turned +away. He saw a tall, dark man of about five-and-thirty years, so dark +and sunburnt as to suggest ideas of his having recently come from a +warmer climate. His hair was black, his eyes were dark brown, his +features and manner prepossessing, and he spoke as a man accustomed to +good society. + +Captain Monk, lifting his hat in return, met him with cordiality. The +field was open to all, he said, but any friend of Peveril's would be +doubly welcome. Peveril himself was a muff, in so far as that he never +hunted. + +"Hearing there was to be a meet to-day, I could not resist the +temptation of joining it; it is many years since I had the opportunity +of doing so," remarked the stranger. + +There was not time for more, the hounds were throwing off. Away dashed +the Captain's steed, away dashed the stranger's, away dashed Miss +Monk's, the three keeping side by side. + +Presently came a fence. Captain Monk leaped it and galloped onwards +after the other red-coats. Miss Eliza Monk would have leaped it next, +but her horse refused it; yet he was an old hunter and she a fearless +rider. The stranger was waiting to follow her. A touch of the angry +Monk temper assailed her and she forced her horse to the leap. He had +a temper also; he did not clear it, and horse and rider came down +together. + +In a trice Mr. Hamlyn was off his own steed and raising her. She was +not hurt, she said, when she could speak; a little shaken, a little +giddy--and she leaned against the fence. The refractory horse, unnoticed +for the moment, got upon his legs, took the fence of his own accord +and tore away after the field. Young Mr. Threpp, who had been in some +difficulty with his own steed, rode up now. + +"Shall I ride back to the Hall and get the pony-carriage for you, Miss +Eliza?" asked the young man. + +"Oh, dear, no," she replied, "thank you all the same. I should prefer +to walk home." + +"Are you equal to walking?" interposed the stranger. + +"Quite. The walk will do away with this faintness. It is not the first +fall I have had." + +The stranger whispered to young Mr. Threpp--who was as good-natured a +young fellow as ever lived. Would he consent to forego the sport that +day and lead his horse to Mr. Peveril's? If so, he would accompany the +young lady and give her the support of his arm. + +So William Threpp rode off, leading Mr. Hamlyn's horse, and Miss Monk +accepted the stranger's arm. He told her a little about himself as +they walked along. It might not have been an ominous commencement, but +intimacies have grown sometimes out of a slighter introduction. Their +nearest way led past the Vicarage. Mr. Grame saw them from its windows +and came running out. + +"Has any accident taken place?" he asked hurriedly. "I hope not." + +Eliza Monk's face flushed. He had been Lucy's husband several months +now, but she could not yet suddenly meet him without a thrill of +emotion. Lucy ran out next; the pretty young wife for whom she had been +despised. Eliza answered Mr. Grame curtly, nodded to Lucy, and passed +on. + +"And, as I was telling you," continued Mr. Hamlyn, "when this property +was left to me in England, I made it a plea for throwing up my post in +India, and came home. I landed about six weeks ago, and have been since +busy in London with lawyers. Peveril, whom I knew in the days gone by, +wrote to invite me to come to him here on a week's visit, before he and +his wife leave for the South of France." + +"They are going to winter there for Mrs. Peveril's health," observed +Eliza. "Peacock's Range, the place they live at, belongs to my cousin, +Harry Carradyne. Did I understand you to say that you were not an +Englishman?" + +"I was born in the West Indies. My family were English and had settled +there." + +"What a coincidence!" exclaimed Eliza Monk with a smile. "My mother was +a West Indian, and I was born there.--There's my home, Leet Hall!" + +"A fine old place," cried Mr. Hamlyn, regarding the mansion before him. + +"You may well say 'old,'" remarked the young lady. "It has been the +abode of the Monk family from generation to generation. For my part, I +sometimes half wish it would tumble down that we might move to a more +lively locality. Church Leet is a dead-alive place at best." + +"We always want what we have not," laughed Mr. Hamlyn. "I would give all +I am worth to possess an ancestral home, no matter if it were grim and +gloomy. We who can boast of only modern wealth look upon these family +castles with an envy you have little idea of." + +"If you possess modern wealth, you possess a very good and substantial +thing," she answered, echoing his laugh.--"Here comes my aunt, full of +wonder." + +Full of alarm also. Mrs. Carradyne stood on the terrace steps, asking if +there had been an accident. + +"Nothing serious, Aunt Emma. Saladin refused the fence at Ring Gap, and +we both came down together. This gentleman was so obliging as to forego +his day's sport and escort me home. Mr.--Mr. Hamlyn, I believe?" she +added. "My aunt, Mrs. Carradyne." + +The stranger confirmed it. "Philip Hamlyn," he said to Mrs. Carradyne, +lifting his hat. + +Gaining the hall-door with slow and gentle steps came a young man, whose +beautiful features were wasting more perceptibly day by day, and their +hectic growing of a deeper crimson. "What is wrong, Eliza?" he cried. +"Have you come to grief? Where's Saladin?" + +"My brother," she said to Mr. Hamlyn. + +Yes, it was indeed Hubert Monk. For he did not die of that run to the +church the past New Year's Eve. The death-like faint proved to be +a faint, nothing more. Nothing more _then_. But something else was +advancing with gradual steps: steps that seemed to be growing almost +perceptible now. + +Now and again Hubert fainted in the same manner; his face taking a +death-like hue, the blue tinge surrounding his mouth. Captain Monk, +unable longer to shut his eyes to what might be impending, called in +the best medical advice that Worcestershire could afford; and the +doctors told him the truth--that Hubert's days were numbered. + +To say that Captain Monk began at once to "set his house in order" would +not be quite the right expression, since it was not he himself who was +going to die. But he set his affairs straight as to the future, and +appointed another heir in his son's place--his nephew, Harry Carradyne. + +Harry Carradyne, a brave young lieutenant, was then with his regiment in +some almost inaccessible fastness of the Indian Empire. Captain Monk +(not concealing his lamentation and the cruel grief it was to himself +personally) wrote word to him of the fiat concerning poor Hubert, +together with a peremptory order to sell out and return home as the +future heir. This was being accomplished, and Harry might now be +expected almost any day. + +But it may as well be mentioned that Captain Monk, never given to be +confidential about himself or his affairs, told no one what he had done, +with one exception. Even Mrs. Carradyne was ignorant of the change in +her son's prospects and of his expected return. The one exception was +Hubert. Soon to lose him, Captain Monk made more of his son than he had +ever done, and seemed to like to talk with him. + +"Harry will make a better master to succeed you than I should have made, +father," said Hubert, as they were slowly pacing home from the +parsonage, arm-in-arm, one dull November day, some little time after the +meet of the hounds, as recorded. It was surprising how often Captain +Monk would now encounter his son abroad, as if by accident, and give him +his arm home. + +"What d'ye mean?" wrathfully responded the Captain, who never liked to +hear his own children disparaged, by themselves or by anyone else. + +Hubert laughed a little. "Harry will look after things better than I +ever should. I was always given to laziness. Don't you remember, father, +when a little boy in the West Indies, you used to tell me I was good for +nothing but to bask in the heat?" + +"I remember one thing, Hubert; and, strange to say, have remembered it +only lately. Things lie dormant in the memory for years, and then crop +up again. Upon getting home from one of my long voyages, your mother +greeted me with the news that your heart was weak; the doctor had told +her so. I gave the fellow a trimming for putting so ridiculous a notion +into her head--and it passed clean out of mine. I suppose he was right, +though." + +"Little doubt of that, father. I wonder I have lived so long." + +"Nonsense!" exploded the Captain; "you may live on yet for years. I +don't know that I did not act foolishly in sending post-haste for Harry +Carradyne." + +Hubert smiled a sad smile. "You have done quite right, father; right in +all ways; be sure of that. Harry is one of the truest and best fellows +that ever lived: he will be a comfort to you when I am gone, and the +best of all successors later. Just--a--moment--father!" + +"Why, what's the matter?" cried Captain Monk--for his son had suddenly +halted and stood with a rapidly-paling face and shortened breath, +pressing his hands to his side. "Here, lean on me, lad; lean on me." + +It was a sudden faintness. Nothing very much, and it passed off in a +minute or two. Hubert made a brave attempt at smiling, and resumed his +way. But Captain Monk did not like it at all; he knew all these things +were but the beginning of the end. And that end, though not with actual +irreverence, he was resenting bitterly in his heart. + +"Who's that coming out?" he asked, crossly, alluding to some figure +descending the steps of his house--for his sight was not what it used to +be. + +"It is Mr. Hamlyn," said Hubert. + +"Oh--Hamlyn! He seems to be always coming in. I don't like that man +somehow, Hubert. Wonder what he's lagging in the neighbourhood for?" + +Hubert Monk had an idea that he could have told. But he did not want to +draw down an explosion on his own head. Mr. Hamlyn came to meet them +with friendly smiles and hand-shakes. Hubert liked him; liked him very +much. + +Not only had Mr. Hamlyn prolonged his stay beyond the "day or two" he +had originally come for, but he evinced no intention of leaving. When +Mr. Peveril and his wife departed for the south, he made a proposal +to remain at Peacock's Range for a time as their tenant. And when the +astonished couple asked his reasons, he answered that he should like to +get a few runs with the hounds. + + +II + +The November days glided by. The end of the month was approaching, and +still Philip Hamlyn stayed on, and was a very frequent visitor at Leet +Hall. Little doubt that Miss Monk was his attraction, and the parish +began to say so without reticence. + +The parish was right. One fine, frosty morning Mr. Hamlyn sought an +interview with Captain Monk and laid before him his proposals for Eliza. + +One might have thought by the tempestuous words showered down upon him +in answer that he had proposed to smother her. Reproaches, hot and fast, +were poured forth upon the suitor's unlucky head. + +"Why, you are a stranger!" stormed the Captain; "you have not known her +a month! How dare you? It's not commonly decent." + +Mr. Hamlyn quietly answered that he had known her long enough to love +her, and went on to say that he came of a good family, had plenty of +money, and could make a liberal settlement upon her. + +"That you never will," said Captain Monk. "I should not like you for +my son-in-law," he continued candidly, calming down from his burst of +passion to the bounds of reason. "But there can be no question of it in +any way. Eliza is to become Lady Rivers." + +Mr. Hamlyn opened his eyes in astonishment. "Lady Rivers!" he echoed. +"Do you speak of Sir Thomas Rivers?--that old man!" + +"No, I do not, sir. Sir Thomas Rivers has one foot in the grave. I speak +of his eldest son. He wants her, and he shall have her." + +"Pardon me, Captain, I--I do not think Miss Monk can know anything of +this. I am sure she did not last night. I come to you with her full +consent and approbation." + +"I care nothing about that. My daughter is aware that any attempt to +oppose her will to mine would be utterly futile. Young Tom Rivers has +written to me to ask for her; I have accepted him, and I choose that she +shall accept him. She'll like it herself, too; it will be a good match." + +"Young Tom Rivers is next door to a simpleton: he is not half-baked," +retorted Mr. Hamlyn, his own temper getting up: "if I may judge by what +I've seen of him in the field." + +"Tom Rivers is a favourite everywhere, let me tell you, sir. Eliza would +not refuse him for you." + +"Perhaps, Captain Monk, you will converse with her upon this point?" + +"I intend to give her my orders--if that's what you mean," returned the +Captain. "And now, sir, I think our discussion may terminate." + +Mr. Hamlyn saw no use in prolonging it for the present. Captain Monk +bowed him out of the house and called his daughter into the room. + +"Eliza," he began, scorning to beat about the bush, "I have received an +offer of marriage for you." + +Miss Eliza blushed a little, not much: few things could make her do that +now. Once our blushes have been wasted, as hers were on Robert Grame, +their vivid freshness has faded for ever and aye. "The song has left the +bird." + +"And I have accepted it," continued Captain Monk. "He would like the +wedding to be early in the year, so you may get your rattle-traps in +order for it. Tell your aunt I will give her a blank cheque for the +cost, and she may fill it in." + +"Thank you, papa." + +"There's the letter; you can read it"--pushing one across the table to +her. "It came by special messenger last night, and I have sent my answer +this morning." + +Eliza Monk glanced at the contents, which were written on rose-coloured +paper. For a moment she looked puzzled. + +"Why, papa, this is from Tom Rivers! You cannot suppose I would marry +_him_! A silly boy, younger than I am! Tom Rivers is the greatest goose +I know." + +"How dare you say so, Eliza?" + +"Well, he is. Look at his note! Pink paper and a fancy edge!" + +"Stuff! Rivers is young and inexperienced, but he'll grow older--he is a +very nice young fellow, and a capital fox-hunter. You'd be master and +mistress too--and that would suit your book, I take it. I want to have +you settled near me, Eliza--you are all I have left, or soon will be." + +"But, papa----" + +Captain Monk raised his hand for silence. + +"You sent that man Hamlyn to me with a proposal for you. Eliza; you +_know_ that would not do. Hamlyn's property lies in the West Indies, his +home too, for all I know. He attempted to tell me that he would not take +you out there against my consent; but I know better, and what such +ante-nuptial promises are worth. It might end in your living there." + +"No, no." + +"What do you say 'no, no' for, like a parrot? Circumstances might compel +you. I do not like the man, besides." + +"But why, papa?" + +"I don't know; I have never liked him from the first. There! that's +enough. You must be my Lady Rivers. Poor old Tom is on his last legs." + +"Papa, I never will be." + +"Listen, Eliza. I had one trouble with Katherine; I will not have +another with you. She defied me; she left my home rebelliously to enter +upon one of her own setting-up: what came of it? Did luck attend her? Do +you be more wise." + +"Father," she said, moving a step forward with head uplifted; and the +resolute, haughty look which rendered their faces so much alike was very +conspicuous on hers, "do not let us oppose each other. Perhaps we can +each give way a little? I have promised to be the wife of Philip Hamlyn, +and that promise I will fulfil. You wish me to live near you: well, he +can take a place in this neighbourhood and settle down in it; and on my +part, I will promise you not to leave this country. He may have to go +from time to time to the West Indies; I will remain at home." + +Captain Monk looked steadily at her before he answered. He marked the +stern, uncompromising expression, the strong will in the dark eyes +and in every feature, which no power, not even his, might unbend. He +thought of his elder daughter, now lying in her grave; he thought of his +son, so soon to be lying beside her; he did not care to be bereft of +_all_ his children, and for once in his hard life he attempted to +conciliate. + +"Hark to me, Eliza. Give up Hamlyn--I have said I don't like the man; +give up Tom Rivers also, as you will. Remain at home with me until a +better suitor shall present himself, and Leet Hall and its broad lands +shall be yours." + +She looked up in surprise. Leet Hall had always hitherto gone in the +male line; and, failing Hubert, it would be, or ought to be, Harry +Carradyne's. Though she knew not that any steps had already been taken +in that direction. + +"Leet Hall?" she exclaimed. + +"Leet Hall and its broad lands," repeated the Captain impatiently. "Give +up Mr. Hamlyn and it shall all be yours." + +She remained for some moments in deep thought, her head bent, revolving +the offer. She was fond of pomp and power, as her father had ever been, +and the temptation to rule as sole domineering mistress in her +girlhood's home was great. But at that very instant the tall fine form +of Philip Hamlyn passed across a pathway in the distance, and she turned +from the temptation for ever. What little capability of loving had been +left to her after the advent of Robert Grame was given to Mr. Hamlyn. + +"I cannot give him up," she said in low tones. + +"What moonshine, Eliza! You are not a love-sick girl now." + +The colour dyed her face painfully. Did her father suspect aught of the +past; of where her love _had_ been given--and rejected? The suspicion +only added fuel to the fire. + +"I cannot give up Mr. Hamlyn," she reiterated. + +"Then you will never inherit Leet Hall. No, nor aught else of mine." + +"As you please, sir, about that." + +"You set me at defiance, then!" + +"I don't wish to do so, father; but I shall marry Mr. Hamlyn." + +"At defiance," repeated the Captain, as she moved to escape from his +presence; "Katherine secretly, you openly. Better that I had never had +children. Look here, Eliza: let this matter remain in abeyance for six +or twelve months, things resting as they are. By that time you may have +come to your senses; or I (yes, I see you are ready to retort it) to +mine. If not--well, we shall only then be where we are." + +"And that we should be," returned Eliza, doggedly. "Time will never +change either of us." + +"But events may. Let it be so, child. Stay where you are for the +present, in your maiden home." + +She shook her head in denial; not a line of her proud face giving way, +nor a curve of her decisive lips: and Captain Monk knew that he had +pleaded in vain. She would neither give up her marriage nor prolong the +period for its celebration. + +What could be the secret of her obstinacy? Chiefly the impossibility of +tolerating opposition to her own indomitable will. It was her father's +will over again; his might be a very little softening with years and +trouble; not much. Had she been in desperate love with Hamlyn one could +have understood it, but she was not; at most it was but a passing fancy. +What says the poet? I daresay you all know the lines, and I know I have +quoted them times and again, they are so true: + + "Few hearts have never loved, but fewer still + Have felt a second passion. _None_ a third. + The first was living fire; the next a thrill; + The weary heart can never more be stirred: + Rely on it the song has left the bird." + +Very, very true. Her passion for Robert Grame had been as living fire in +its wild intensity; it was but the shadow of a thrill that warmed her +heart for Philip Hamlyn. Possibly she mistook it in a degree; thought +more of it than it was. The feeling of gratification which arises from +flattered vanity deceives a woman's heart sometimes: and Mr. Hamlyn did +not conceal his rapturous admiration of her. + +She held to her defiant course, and her father held to his. He did not +continue to say she should not marry; he had no power for that--and +perhaps he did not want her to make a moonlight escapade of it, as +Katherine had made. So the preparation for the wedding went on, Eliza +herself paying for the rattletraps, as they had been called; Captain +Monk avowed that he "washed his hands of it," and then held his peace. + +Whether Mr. Hamlyn and his intended bride considered it best to get the +wedding over and done with, lest adverse fate, set afoot by the Captain, +should after all circumvent them, it is impossible to say, but the day +fixed was a speedy one. And if Captain Monk had deemed it "not decent" +in Mr. Hamlyn to propose for a young lady after only a month's +knowledge, what did he think of this? They were to be married on the +last day of the year. + +Was it fixed upon in defiant mockery?--for, as the reader knows, it +had proved an ominous day more than once in the Monk family. But no, +defiance had no hand in that, simply adverse fate. The day originally +fixed by the happy couple was Christmas Eve: but Mr. Hamlyn, who had to +go to London about that time on business connected with his property, +found it impossible to get back for the day, or for some days after it. +He wrote to Eliza, asking that the day should be put off for a week, if +it made no essential difference, and fixed the last day in the year. +Eliza wrote word back that she would prefer that day; it gave more time +for preparation. + +They were to be married in her own church, and by its Vicar. Great +marvel existed at the Captain's permitting this, but he said nothing. +Having washed his hands of the affair, he washed them for good: had the +bride been one of the laundry-maids in his household he could not have +taken less notice. A Miss Wilson was coming from a little distance to be +bridesmaid; and the bride and bridegroom would go off from the church +door. The question of a breakfast was never mooted: Captain Monk's +equable indifference might not have stood that. + +"I shall wish them good luck with all my heart--but I don't feel +altogether sure they'll have it!" bewailed poor Mrs. Carradyne in +private. "Eliza should have agreed to the delay proposed by her father." + + +III + +Ring, ring, ring, broke forth the chimes on the frosty midday air. Not +midnight, you perceive, but midday, for the church clock had just given +forth its twelve strokes. Another round of the dial, and the old year +would have departed into the womb of the past. + +Bowling along the smooth turnpike road which skirted the churchyard +on one side came a gig containing a gentleman, a tall, slender, +frank-looking young man, with a fair face and the pleasantest blue eyes +ever seen. He wore a white top-coat, the fashion then, and was driving +rapidly in the direction of Leet Hall; but when the chimes burst forth +he pulled up abruptly. + +"Why, what in the world----" he began--and then sat still listening to +the sweet strains of "The Bay of Biscay." The day, though in mid-winter, +was bright and beautiful, and the golden sunlight, shining from the +dark-blue sky, played on the young man's golden hair. + +"Have they mistaken midday for midnight?" he continued, as the chimes +played out their tune and died away on the air. "What's the meaning of +it?" + +He, Harry Carradyne, was not the only one to ask this. No human being +in and about Church Leet, save Captain Monk and they who executed his +orders, knew that he had decreed that the chimes should play that day at +midday. Why did he do it? What could his motive be? Surely not that they +should, by playing (according to Mrs. Carradyne's theory), inaugurate +ill-luck for Eliza! At the moment they began to play she was coming out +of church on Mr. Hamlyn's arm, having left her maiden name behind her. + +A few paces more, for he was driving gently on now, and Harry pulled up +again, in surprise, as before, for the front of the church was now in +view. Lots of spectators, gentle and simple, stood about, and a handsome +chariot, with four post-horses and a great coat-of-arms emblazoned on +its panels, waited at the church gate. + +"It must be a wedding!" decided Harry. + +The next moment the chariot was in motion; was soon about to pass him, +the bride and bridegroom within it. A very dark but good-looking man, +with an air of command in his face, he, but a stranger to Harry; she, +Eliza. She wore a grey silk dress, a white bonnet, with orange blossoms +and a veil, which was quite the fashionable wedding attire of the day. +Her head was turned, nodding its farewells yet to the crowd, and she did +not see her cousin as the chariot swept by. + +"Dear me!" he exclaimed, mentally. "I wonder who she has married?" + +Staying quietly where he was until the spectators should have dispersed, +whose way led them mostly in opposite directions, Harry next saw the +clerk come out of the church by the small vestry door, lock it and cross +over to the stile: which brought him out close to the gig. + +"Why, my heart alive!" he exclaimed. "Is it Captain Carradyne?" + +"That's near enough," said Harry, who knew the title was accorded him by +the rustic natives of Church Leet, as he bent down with his sunny smile +to shake the old clerk's hand. "You are hearty as ever, I see, John. And +so you have had a wedding here?" + +"Ay, sir, there have been one in the church. I was not in my place, +though. The Captain, he ordered me to let the church go for once, and to +be ready up aloft in the belfry to set the chimes going at midday. As +chance had it, the party came out just at the same time; Miss Eliza was +a bit late in coming, ye see; so it may be said the chimes rang 'em out. +I guess the sound astonished the people above a bit, for nobody knew +they were going to play." + +"But how was it all, Cale? Why should the Captain order them to chime at +midday?" + +John Cale shook his head. "I can't tell ye that rightly, Mr. Harry; the +Captain, as ye know, sir, never says why he does this or why he does +t'other. Young William Threpp, who had to be up there with me, thought +he must have ordered 'em to play in mockery--for he hates the marriage +like poison." + +"Who is the bridegroom?" + +"It's a Mr. Hamlyn, sir. A gentleman who is pretty nigh as haughty as +the Captain himself; but a pleasant-spoken, kindly man, as far as I've +seen: and a rich one, too." + +"Why did Captain Monk object to him?" + +"It's thought 'twas because he was a stranger to the place and has lived +over in the Indies; and he wanted Miss Eliza, so it's said, to have +young Tom Rivers. That's about it, I b'lieve, Mr. Harry." + +Harry Carradyne drove away thoughtfully. At the foot of the slight +ascent leading to Leet Hall, one of the grooms happened to be standing. +Harry handed over to him the horse and gig, and went forward on foot. + +"Bertie!" he called out. For he had seen Hubert before him, walking at a +snail's pace: the very slightest hill tried him now. The only one left +of the wedding-party, for the bridesmaid drove off from the church door. +Hubert turned at the call. + +"Harry! Why, Harry!" + +Hand locked in hand, they sat down on a bench beside the path; face +gazing into face. There had always been a likeness between them: in +the bright-coloured, waving hair, the blue eyes and the well-favoured +features. But Harry's face was redolent of youth and health; in the +other's might be read approaching death. + +"You are very thin, Bertie; thinner even than I expected to see you," +broke from the traveller involuntarily. + +"_You_ are looking well, at any rate," was Hubert's answer. "And I am so +glad you are come: I thought you might have been here a month ago." + +"The voyage was unreasonably long; we had contrary winds almost from +port to port. I got on to Worcester yesterday, slept there, and hired +a horse and gig to bring me over this morning. What about Eliza's +wedding, Hubert? I was just in time to see her drive away. Cale, with +whom I had a word down yonder, says the master does not like it." + +"He does not like it and would not countenance it: washed his hands of +it (as he told us) altogether." + +"Any good reason for that?" + +"Not particularly good, that I see. Somehow he disliked Hamlyn; and Tom +Rivers wanted Eliza, which would have pleased him greatly. But Eliza +was not without blame. My father gave way so far as to ask her to delay +things for a few months, not to marry in haste, and she would not. She +might have conceded as much as that." + +"Did you ever know Eliza concede anything, Bertie?" + +"Well, not often." + +"Who gave her away?" + +"I did: look at my gala toggery"--opening his overcoat. "He wanted +to forbid it. 'Don't hinder me, father,' I pleaded; 'it is the last +brotherly service I can ever render her.' And so," his tone changing to +lightness, "I have been and gone and done it." + +Harry Carradyne understood. "Not the last, Hubert; don't say that. I +hope you will live to render her many another yet." + +Hubert smiled faintly. "Look at me," he said in answer. + +"Yes, I know; I see how you look. But you may take a turn yet." + +"Ah, miracles are no longer wrought for us. Shall I surprise you very +much, cousin mine, if I say that were the offer made me of prolonged +life, I am not sure that I should accept it?" + +"Not unless health were renewed with it; I can understand that. You have +had to endure suffering, Bertie." + +"Ay. Pain, discomfort, fears, weariness. After working out their +torment upon me, they--why then they took a turn and opened out the +vista of a refuge." + +"A refuge?" + +"The one sure Refuge offered by God to the sick and sorrowful, the +weary and heavy-laden--Himself. I found it. I found _Him_ and all His +wonderful mercy. It will not be long now, Harry, before I see Him face +to face. And here comes His true minister, but for whom I might have +missed the way." + +Harry turned his head, and saw, advancing up the drive, a good-looking +young clergyman. "Who is it?" he involuntarily cried. + +"Your brother-in-law, Robert Grame. Lucy's husband." + +It was not the fashion in those days for a bride's mother (or one acting +as her mother) to attend the bride to church; therefore Mrs. Carradyne, +following it, was spared risk of conflict with Captain Monk on that +score. She was in Eliza's room, assisting at the putting on of the +bridal robes (for we have to go back an hour or so) when a servant came +up to say that Mr. Hamlyn waited below. Rather wondering--for he was to +have driven straight to the church--Mrs. Carradyne went downstairs. + +"Pardon me, dear Mrs. Carradyne," he said, as he shook hands, and she +had never seen him look so handsome, "I could not pass the house without +making one more effort to disarm Captain Monk's prejudices, and asking +for his blessing on us. Do you think he will consent to see me?" + +Mrs. Carradyne felt sure he would not, and said so. But she sent Rimmer +to the library to ask the question. Mr. Hamlyn pencilled down a few +anxious words on paper, folded it, and put it into the man's hand. + +No; it proved useless. Captain Monk was harder than adamant; he sent +Rimmer back with a flea in his ear, and the petition torn in two. + +"I feared so," sighed Mrs. Carradyne. "He will not this morning see even +Eliza." + +Mr. Hamlyn did not sigh in return; he spoke a cross, impatient word: he +had never been able to see reason in the Captain's dislike to him, and, +with a brief good-morning, went out to his carriage. But, remembering +something when crossing the hall, he came back. + +"Forgive me, Mrs. Carradyne; I quite forgot that I have a note for you. +It is from Mrs. Peveril, I believe; it came to me this morning, enclosed +in a letter of her husband's." + +"You have heard at last, then!" + +"At last--as you observe. Though Peveril had nothing particular to write +about; I daresay he does not care for letter writing." + +Slipping the note into her pocket, to be opened at leisure, Mrs. +Carradyne returned to the adorning of Eliza. Somehow, it was rather +a prolonged business--which made it late when the bride with her +bridesmaid and Hubert drove from the door. + +Mrs. Carradyne remained in the room--to which Eliza was not to +return--putting up this, and that. The time slipped on, and it was close +upon twelve o'clock when she got back to the drawing-room. Captain Monk +was in it then, standing at the window, which he had thrown wide open. +To see more clearly the bridal party come out of church, was the thought +that crossed Mrs. Carradyne's mind in her simplicity. + +"I very much feared they would be late," she observed, sitting down near +her brother: and at that moment the church clock began to strike twelve. + +"A good thing if they were _too_ late!" he answered. "Listen." + +She supposed he wanted to count the strokes--what else could he be +listening to? And now, by the stir at the distant gates, she saw that +the bridal party had come out. + +"Good heavens, what's that?" shrieked Mrs. Carradyne, starting from her +chair. + +"The chimes," stoically replied the Captain. And he proceeded to +hum through the tune of "The Bay of Biscay," and beat a noiseless +accompaniment with his foot. + +"_The Chimes_, Emma," he repeated, when the melody had finished itself +out. "I ordered them to be played. It's the last day of the old year, +you know." + +Laughing slightly at her consternation, Captain Monk closed the window +and quitted the room. As Mrs. Carradyne took her handkerchief from her +pocket to pass it over her face, grown white with startled terror, the +note she had put there came out also, and fell on the carpet. + +Picking it up, she stood at the window, gazing forth. Her sight was not +what it used to be; but she discerned the bride and bridegroom enter +their carriage and drive away; next she saw the bridesmaid get into the +carriage from the Hall, assisted by Hubert, and that drive off in its +turn. She saw the crowd disperse, this way and that; she even saw the +gig there, its occupant talking with John Cale. But she did not look at +him particularly; and she had not the slightest idea but that Harry was +in India. + +And all that time an undercurrent of depression was running riot in her +heart. None knew with what a strange terror she had grown to dread the +chimes. + +She sat down now and opened Mrs. Peveril's note. It treated chiefly of +the utterly astounding ways that untravelled old lady was meeting with +in foreign parts. "If you will believe me," wrote she, "the girl that +waits on us wears carpet slippers down at heel, and a short cotton +jacket for best, and she puts the tea-tray before me with the handle of +the tea-pot turned to me and the spout standing outwards, and she comes +right into the bed-room of a morning with Charles's shaving-water +without knocking." But the one sentence that arrested Mrs. Carradyne's +attention above any other was the following: "I reckon that by this time +you have grown well acquainted with our esteemed young friend. He is a +good, kindly gentleman, and I'm sure never could have done anything to +deserve his wife's treatment of him." + +"Can she mean Mr. Hamlyn?" debated Mrs. Carradyne, all sorts of ideas +leaping into her mind with a rush. "If not--what other 'esteemed friend' +can she allude to?--_she_, old herself, would call _him_ young. But Mr. +Hamlyn has not any wife. At least, had not until to-day." + +She read the note over again. She sat with it open, buried in a reverie, +thinking no end of things, good and bad: and the conclusion she at last +came to was, that, with the unwonted exercise of letter-writing, poor +old Mrs. Peveril's head had grown confused. + +"Well, Hubert, did it all go off well?" she questioned, as her nephew +entered the room, some sort of excitement on his wasted face. "I saw +them drive away." + +"Yes, it went off well; there was no hitch anywhere," replied Hubert. +"But, Aunt Emma, I have brought a friend home with me. Guess who it is." + +"Some lady or other who came to see the wedding," she returned. "I can't +guess." + +"You never would, though I were to give you ten guesses; no, though je +vous donne en mille, as the French have it. What should you say to a +young man come all the way over seas from India? There, that's as good +as telling you, Aunt Emma. Guess now." + +"Oh, Hubert!" clasping her trembling hands. "It cannot be Harry! What is +wrong?" + +Harry brought his bright face into the room and was clasped in his +mother's arms. She could not understand it one bit, and fears assailed +her. Come home in _this_ unexpected manner! Had he left the army? What +had he done? _What_ had he done? Hubert laughed and told her then. + +"He has done nothing wrong; everything that's good. He has sold out at +my father's request and left with honours--and is come home the heir of +Leet Hall. I said all along it was a shame to keep you out of the plot, +Aunt Emma." + +Well, it was glorious news for her. But, as if to tarnish its delight, +like an envious sprite of evil, deep down in her mind lay that other +news, just read--the ambiguous remark of old Mrs. Peveril's. + + +IV + +The walk on the old pier was pleasant enough in the morning sun. Though +yet but the first month in the year, the days were bright, the blue +skies without a cloud. Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn had enjoyed the fine weather +at Cheltenham for a week or two; from that pretty place they had now +come to Brighton, reaching it the previous night. + +"Oh, it is delightful!" exclaimed Eliza, gazing at the waves. She had +not seen the sea since she crossed it, a little girl, from the West +Indies. Those were not yet the days when all people, gentle and simple, +told one another that an autumn tour was essential to existence. "Look +at the sunbeams sparkling on the ripples and on the white sails of the +little boats! Philip, I should like to spend a month here." + +"All right," replied Mr. Hamlyn. + +They were staying at the Old Ship, a fashionable hotel then for ladies +as well as gentlemen, and had come out after breakfast; and they had +the pier nearly to themselves at that early hour. A yellow, gouty +gentleman, who looked as if he had quarrelled with his liver in some +clime all fire and cayenne, stood at the end leaning on his stick, +alternately looking at the sea and listlessly watching any advancing +stragglers. + +There came a sailor, swaying along, a rope in his hand; following him, +walked demurely three little girls in frocks and trousers, with their +French governess; then came two eye-glassed young men, dandified and +supercilious, who appeared to have more money than brains--and the +jaundiced man went into a gaping fit of lassitude. + +Anyone else coming? Yes; a lady and gentleman arm-in-arm: quiet, +well-dressed, good-looking. As the invalid watched their approach, a +puzzled look of doubt and surprise rose to his countenance. Moving +forward a step or two on his gouty legs, he spoke. + +"Can it be possible, Hamlyn, that we meet here?" + +Even through his dark skin a red flush coursed into Mr. Hamlyn's face. +He was evidently very much surprised in his turn, if not startled. + +"Captain Pratt!" he exclaimed. + +"Major Pratt now," was the answer, as they shook hands. "That wretched +climate played the deuce with me, and they graciously gave me a step and +allowed me to retire upon it. The very deuce, I assure you, Philip. Beg +pardon, ma'am," he added, seeing the lady look at him. + +"My wife, Mrs. Hamlyn," spoke her husband. + +Major Pratt contrived to lift his hat, and bow: which feat, what with +his gouty hands and his helpless legs and his great invalid stick, was a +work of time. "I saw your marriage in the _Times_, Hamlyn, and wondered +whether it could be you, or not: I didn't know, you see, that you were +over here. Wish you luck; and you also, ma'am. Hope it will turn out +more fortunate for you, Philip, than----" + +"Where are you staying?" broke in Mr. Hamlyn, as if something were +frightening him. + +"At some lodgings over yonder, where they fleece me," replied the Major. +"You should see the bill they've brought me in for last week. They've +made me eat four pounds of butter and five joints of meat, besides +poultry and pickles and a fruit pie! Why, I live mostly upon dry toast; +hardly dare touch an ounce of meat in a day. When I had 'em up before +me, the harpies, they laid it upon my servant's appetite--old Saul, you +know. _He_ answered them." + +Mrs. Hamlyn laughed. "There are two articles that are very convenient, +as I have heard, to some of the lodging-house keepers: their lodgers' +servant, and their own cat." + +"By Jove, ma'am, yes!" said the Major. "But I've given warning to this +lot where I am." + +Saying au revoir to Major Pratt, Mr. Hamlyn walked down the pier again +with his wife. "Who is he, Philip?" she asked. "You seem to know him +well." + +"Very well. He is a sort of connection of mine, I believe," laughed +Mr. Hamlyn, "and I saw a good deal of him in India a few years back. +He is greatly changed. I hardly think I should have known him had he +not spoken. It's his liver, I suppose." + +Leaving his wife at the hotel, Mr. Hamlyn went back again to Major +Pratt, much to the lonely Major's satisfaction, who was still leaning on +his substantial stick as he gazed at the water. + +"The sight of you has brought back to my mind all that unhappy business, +Hamlyn," was his salutation. "I shall have a fit of the jaundice now, I +suppose! Here--let's sit down a bit." + +"And the sight of you has brought it to mine," said Mr. Hamlyn, as he +complied. "I have been striving to drive it out of my remembrance." + +"I know little about it," observed the Major. "She never wrote to me at +all afterwards, and you wrote me but two letters: the one announcing the +fact of her disgrace; the other, the calamity and the deaths." + +"That is quite enough to know; don't ask me to go over the details to +you personally," said Mr. Hamlyn in a tone of passionate discomfort. "So +utterly repugnant to me is the remembrance altogether, that I have never +spoken of it--even to my present wife." + +"Do you mean you've not told her you were once a married man?" cried +Major Pratt. + +"No, I have not." + +"Then you've shown a lack of judgment which I wouldn't have given you +credit for, my friend," declared the Major. "A man may whisper to his +girl any untoward news he pleases of his past life, and she'll forgive +and forget; aye, and worship him all the more for it, though it were +the having set fire to a church: but if he keeps it as a bonne bouchée +to drop out after marriage, when she has him fast and tight, she'll +curry-comb his hair for him in style. Believe that." + +Mr. Hamlyn laughed. + +"There never was a hidden skeleton between man and wife yet but it came +to light sooner or later," went on the Major. "If you are wise, you will +tell her at once, before somebody else does." + +"What 'somebody?' Who is there here that knows it?" + +"Why, as to 'here,' I know it, and nearly spoke of it before her, as you +must have heard; and my servant knows it. That's nothing, you'll say; we +can be quiet, now I have the cue: but you are always liable to meet with +people who knew you in those days, and who knew _her_. Take my advice, +Philip Hamlyn, and tell your wife. Go and do it now." + +"I daresay you are right," said the younger man, awaking out of a +reverie. "Of the two evils it may be the lesser." And with lagging +steps, and eyes that seemed to have weights to them, he set out to walk +back to the Old Ship Hotel. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES + + +IV.--NOT HEARD + + +I + +That oft-quoted French saying, a mauvais-quart-d'heure, is a pregnant +one, and may apply to small as well as to great worries of life: most of +us know it to our cost. But, rely upon it, one of the very worst is that +when a bride or bridegroom has to make a disagreeable confession to the +other, which ought to have been made before going to church. + +Philip Hamlyn was finding it so. Standing over the fire, in their +sitting-room at the Old Ship Hotel at Brighton, his elbow on the +mantelpiece, his hand shading his eyes, he looked down at his wife +sitting opposite him, and disclosed his tale: that when he married her +fifteen days ago he had not been a bachelor, but a widower. There was +no especial reason for his not having told her, save that he hated and +abhorred that earlier period of his life and instinctively shunned its +remembrance. + +Sent to India by his friends in the West Indies to make his way in +the world, he entered one of the most important mercantile houses in +Calcutta, purchasing a lucrative post in it. Mixing in the best society, +for his introductions were undeniable, he in course of time met with a +young lady named Pratt, who had come out from England to stay with her +elderly cousins, Captain Pratt and his sister. Philip Hamlyn was caught +by her pretty doll's face, and married her. They called her Dolly: and +a doll she was, by nature as well as by name. + +"Marry in haste and repent at leisure," is as true a saying as the +French one. Philip Hamlyn found it so. Of all vain, frivolous, heartless +women, Mrs. Dolly Hamlyn turned out to be about the worst. Just a year +or two of uncomfortable bickering, of vain endeavours on his part, now +coaxing, now reproaching, to make her what she was not and never would +be--a reasonable woman, a sensible wife--and Dolly Hamlyn fled. She +decamped with a hair-brained lieutenant, the two taking sailing-ship +for England, and she carrying with her her little one-year-old boy. + +I'll leave you to guess what Philip Hamlyn's sensations were. A calamity +such as that does not often fall upon man. While he was taking steps +to put his wife legally away for ever and to get back his child, and +Captain Pratt was aiding and abetting (and swearing frightfully at the +delinquent over the process), news reached them that Heaven's vengeance +had been more speedy than theirs. The ship, driven out of her way by +contrary winds and other disasters, went down off the coast of Spain, +and all the passengers on board perished. This was what Philip Hamlyn +had to confess now: and it was more than silly of him not to have done +it before. + +He touched but lightly upon it now. His tones were low, his words when +he began somewhat confused: nevertheless his wife, gazing up at him with +her large dark eyes, gathered an inkling of his meaning. + +"Don't tell it me!" she passionately interrupted. "Do not tell me that +I am only your second wife." + +He went over to her, praying her to be calm, speaking of the bitter +feeling of shame which had ever since clung to him. + +"Did you divorce her?" + +"No, no; you do not understand me, Eliza. She died before anything could +be done; the ship was wrecked." + +"Were there any children?" she asked in a hard whisper. + +"One; a baby of a year old. He was drowned with his mother." + +Mrs. Hamlyn folded her hands one over the other, and leaned back in her +chair. "Why did you deceive me?" + +"My will was good to deceive you for ever," he confessed with emotion. +"I hate that past episode in my life; hate to think of it: I wish I +could blot it out of remembrance. But for Pratt I should not have told +you now." + +"Oh, he said you ought to tell me?" + +"He did: and blamed me for not having told you already." + +"Have you any more secrets of the past that you are keeping from me?" + +"None. Not one. You may take my honour upon it, Eliza. And now let +us----" + +She had started forward in her chair; a red flush darkening her pale +cheeks. "Philip! Philip! am I legally married? Did you describe yourself +as a _bachelor_ in the license?" + +"No, as a widower. I got the license in London, you know." + +"And no one read it?" + +"No one save he who married us: Robert Grame, and I don't suppose he +noticed it." + +Robert Grame! The flush on Eliza's cheeks grew deeper. + +"Did you _love_ her?" + +"I suppose I thought so when I married her. It did not take long to +disenchant me," he added with a harsh laugh. + +"What was her Christian name?" + +"Dolly. Dora, I believe, by register. My dear wife, I have told you all. +In compassion to me let us drop the subject, now and for ever." + +Was Eliza Hamlyn--sitting there with pale, compressed lips, sullen eyes, +and hands interlocked in pain--already beginning to reap the fruit she +had sown as Eliza Monk by her rebellious marriage? Perhaps so. But not +as she would have to reap it later on. + +Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn spent nearly all that year in travelling. In +September they came to Peacock's Range, taking it furnished for a term +of old Mr. and Mrs. Peveril, who had not yet come back to it. It stood +midway, as may be remembered, between Church Leet and Church Dykely, so +that Eliza was close to her old home. Late in October a little boy was +born: it would be hard to say which was the prouder of him, Philip +Hamlyn or his wife. + +"What would you like his name to be?" Philip asked her one day. + +"I should like it to be Walter," said Mrs. Hamlyn. + +"_Walter!_" + +"Yes. I like the name to begin with, but I once had a dear little +brother named Walter, just a year younger than I. He died before we came +home to England. Have you any objection to the name?" + +"Oh, no, no objection," he slowly said. "I was only thinking whether you +would have any. It was the name given to my first child." + +"That can make no possible difference--it was not my child," was her +haughty answer. So the baby was named Walter James; the latter name +also chosen by Eliza, because it had been old Mr. Monk's. + +In the following spring Mr. Hamlyn had to go to the West Indies. Eliza +remained at home; and during this time she became reconciled to her +father. + +Hubert brought it about. For Hubert lived yet. But he was a mere shadow +and had to take entirely to the house, and soon to his room. Eliza came +to see him, again and again; and finally over Hubert's sofa peace was +made--for Captain Monk loved her still, just as he had loved Katherine, +for all her rebellion. + +Hubert lingered on to the summer. And then, on a calm evening, when one +of the glorious sunsets that he had so loved to look upon was illumining +the western sky, opening up to his dying view, as he had once said, the +very portals of Heaven, he passed peacefully away to his rest. + + +II + +The next change that set in at Leet Hall concerned Miss Kate Dancox. +That wilful young pickle, somewhat sobered by the death of Hubert in the +summer, soon grew unbearable again. She had completely got the upper +hand of her morning governess, Miss Hume--who walked all the way from +Church Dykely and back again--and of nearly everyone else; and Captain +Monk gave forth his decision one day when all was turbulence--a resident +governess. Mrs. Carradyne could have danced a reel for joy, and wrote to +a governess agency in London. + +One morning about this time (which was already glowing with the tints of +autumn) a young lady got out of an omnibus in Oxford Street, which had +brought her from a western suburb of London, paid the conductor, and +then looked about her. + +"There!" she exclaimed in a quaint tone of vexation, "I have to cross +the street! and how am I to do it?" + +Evidently she was not used to the bustle of London streets or to +crossing them alone. She did it, however, after a few false starts, and +so turned down a quiet side street and rang the bell of a house in it. +A slatternly girl answered the ring. + +"Governess-agent--Mrs. Moffit? Oh, yes; first-floor front," said she +crustily, and disappeared. + +The young lady found her way upstairs alone. Mrs. Moffit sat in state +in a big arm-chair, before a large table and desk, whence she daily +dispensed joy or despair to her applicants. Several opened letters and +copies of the daily journals lay on the table. + +"Well?" cried she, laying down her pen, "what for you?" + +"I am here by your appointment, made with me a week ago," said the young +lady. "This is Thursday." + +"What name?" cried Mrs. Moffit sharply, turning over rapidly the leaves +of a ledger. + +"Miss West. If you remember, I----" + +"Oh, yes, child, my memory's good enough," was the tart interruption. +"But with so many applicants it's impossible to be certain as to faces. +Registered names we can't mistake." + +Mrs. Moffit read her notes--taken down a week ago. "Miss West. Educated +in first-class school at Richmond; remained in it as teacher. Very good +references from the ladies keeping it. Father, Colonel in India." + +"But----" + +"You do not wish to go into a school again?" spoke Mrs. Moffit, closing +the ledger with a snap, and peremptorily drowning what the applicant was +about to say. + +"Oh, dear, no, I am only leaving to better myself, as the maids say," +replied the young lady, smiling. + +"And you wish for a good salary?" + +"If I can get it. One does not care to work hard for next to nothing." + +"Or else I have--let me see--two--three situations on my books. Very +comfortable, I am instructed, but two of them offer ten pounds a-year, +the other twelve." + +The young lady drew herself slightly up with an involuntary movement. +"Quite impossible, madam, that I could take any one of them." + +Mrs. Moffit picked up a letter and consulted it, looking at the young +lady from time to time, as if taking stock of her appearance. "I +received a letter this morning from the country--a family require a +well-qualified governess for their one little girl. Your testimonials as +to qualifications might suit--and you are, I believe, a gentlewoman----" + +"Oh, yes; my father was----" + +"Yes, yes, I remember--I've got it down; don't worry me," impatiently +spoke the oracle, cutting short the interruption. "So far you might +suit: but in other respects--I hardly know what to think." + +"But why?" asked the other timidly, blushing a little under the intent +gaze. + +"Well, you are very young, for one thing; and they might think you too +good-looking." + +The girl's blush grew red as a rose; she had delicate features and it +made her look uncommonly pretty. A half-smile sat in her soft, dark +hazel eyes. + +"Surely that could not be an impediment. I am not so good-looking as all +that!" + +"That's as people may think," was the significant answer. "Some families +will not take a pretty governess--afraid of their sons, you see. This +family says nothing about looks; for aught I know there may be no sons +in it. 'Thoroughly competent'--reading from the letter--'a gentlewoman +by birth, of agreeable manners and lady-like. Salary, first year, to be +forty pounds.'" + +"And will you not recommend me?" pleaded the young governess, her +voice full of entreaty. "Oh, please do! I know I should be found fully +competent, and promise you that I would do my best." + +"Well, there may be no harm in my writing to the lady about you," +decided Mrs. Moffit, won over by the girl's gentle respect--with which +she did not get treated by all her clients. "Suppose you come here again +on Monday next?" + +The end of the matter was that Miss West was engaged by the lady +mentioned--no other than Mrs. Carradyne. And she journeyed down into +Worcestershire to enter upon the situation. + +But clever (and generally correct) Mrs. Moffit made one mistake, +arising, no doubt, from the chronic state of hurry she was always in. +"Miss West is the daughter of the late Colonel William West," she wrote, +"who went to India with his regiment a few years ago, and died there." +What Miss West had said to her was this: "My father, a clergyman, died +when I was a little child, and my uncle William, Colonel West, the only +relation I had left, died three years ago in India." Mrs. Moffit somehow +confounded the two. + +This might not have mattered on the whole. But, as you perceive, it +conveyed a wrong impression at Leet Hall. + +"The governess I have engaged is a Miss West; her father was a military +man and a gentleman," spake Mrs. Carradyne one morning at breakfast to +Captain Monk. "She is rather young--about twenty, I fancy; but an older +person might never get on at all with Kate." + +"Had good references with her, I suppose?" said the Captain. + +"Oh, yes. From the agent, and especially from the ladies who have +brought her up." + +"Who was her father, do you say?--a military man?" + +"Colonel William West," assented Mrs. Carradyne, referring to the letter +she held. "He went to India with his regiment and died there." + +"I'll refer to the army-list," said the Captain; "daresay it's all +right. And she shall keep Kate in order, or I'll know the reason why." + + * * * * * + +The evening sunlight lay on the green plain, on the white fields from +which the grain had been reaped, and on the beautiful woods glowing with +the varied tints of autumn. A fly was making its way to Leet Hall, and +its occupant, looking out of it on this side and that, in a fever of +ecstasy, for the country scene charmed her, thought how favoured was the +lot of those who could live out their lives amidst its surroundings. + +In the drawing-room at the Hall, watching the approach of this same fly, +stood Mrs. Hamlyn, a frown upon her haughty face. Philip Hamlyn was +still detained in the West Indies, and since her reconciliation to her +father, she would go over with her baby-boy to the Hall and remain there +for days together. Captain Monk liked to have her, and he took more +notice of the baby than he had ever taken of a baby yet. For when Kate +was an infant he had at first shunned her, because she had cost +Katherine her life. This baby, little Walter, was a particularly forward +child, strong and upright, walked at ten months old, and much resembled +his mother in feature. In temper also. The young one would stand +sturdily in his little blue shoes and defy his grandpapa already, and +assert his own will, to the amused admiration of Captain Monk. + +Eliza, utterly wrapt up in her child, saw her father's growing love for +him with secret delight; and one day when he had the boy on his knee, +she ventured to speak out a thought that was often in her heart. + +"Papa," she said, with impassioned fervour, "_he_ ought to be the heir, +your own grandson; not Harry Carradyne." + +Captain Monk simply stared in answer. + +"He lies in the _direct_ succession; he has your own blood in his veins. +Papa, you ought to see it." + +Certainly the gallant sailor's manners were improving. For perhaps the +first time in his life he suppressed the hot and abusive words rising to +his tongue--that no son of that man, Hamlyn, should come into Leet +Hall--and stood in silence. + +"_Don't_ you see it, papa?" + +"Look here, Eliza: we'll drop the subject. When my brother, your uncle, +was dying, he wrote me a letter, enjoining me to make Emma's son the +heir, failing a son of my own. It was right it should be so, he said. +Right it is; and Harry Carradyne will succeed me. Say no more." + +Thus forbidden to say more, Eliza Hamlyn thought the more, and her +thoughts were not pleasant. At one time she had feared her father might +promote Kate Dancox to the heirship, and grew to dislike the child +accordingly. Latterly, for the same reason, she had disliked Harry +Carradyne; hated him, in fact. She herself was the only remaining child +of the house, and her son ought to inherit. + +She stood this evening at the drawing-room window, this and other +matters running in her mind. Miss Kate, at the other end of the room, +had prevailed on Uncle Harry (as she called him) to play a game at toy +ninepins. Or perhaps he had prevailed on her: anything to keep her +tolerably quiet. She was in her teens now, but the older she grew +the more troublesome she became; and she was remarkably small and +childish-looking, so that strangers took her to be several years +younger than she really was. + +"This must be your model governess arriving, Aunt Emma," exclaimed Mrs. +Hamlyn, as the fly came up the drive. + +"I hope it is," said Mrs. Carradyne; and they all looked out. "Oh, yes, +that's an Evesham fly--and a ramshackle thing it appears." + +"I wonder you did not send the carriage to Evesham for her, mother," +remarked Harry, picking up some of the nine-pins which Miss Kate had +swept off the table with her hand. + +Mrs. Hamlyn turned round in a blaze of anger. "Send the carriage to +Evesham for the governess. What absurd thing will you say next, Harry?" + +The young man laughed in good humour. "Does it offend one of your +prejudices, Eliza?--a thousand pardons, then. But really, nonsense +apart, I can't see why the carriage should not have gone for her. We are +told she is a gentlewoman. Indeed, I suppose anyone else would not be +eligible, as she is to be made one of ourselves." + +"And think of the nuisance it will be! Do be quiet, Harry! Kate ought to +have been sent to school." + +"But your father would not have her sent, you know, Eliza," spoke Mrs. +Carradyne. + +"Then----" + +"Miss West, ma'am," interrupted Rimmer, the butler, showing in the +traveller. + +"Dear me, how very young!" was Mrs. Carradyne's first thought. "And what +a lovely face!" + +She came in shyly. In her whole appearance there was a shrinking, timid +gentleness, betokening refinement of feeling. A slender, lady-like girl, +in a plain, dark travelling-suit and a black bonnet lined and tied with +pink, a little lace border shading her nut-brown hair. The bonnets in +those days set off a pretty face better than do these modern ones. +That's what the Squire tells us. + +Mrs. Carradyne advanced and shook hands cordially; Eliza bent her +head slightly from where she stood; Harry Carradyne stood up, a +pleasant welcome in his blue eyes and in his voice, as he laughingly +congratulated her upon the ancient Evesham fly not having come to grief +en route. Kate Dancox pressed forward. + +"Are you my new governess?" + +The young lady smiled and said she believed so. + +"Aunt Eliza hates governesses; so do I. Do you expect to make me obey +you?" + +The governess blushed painfully; but took courage to say she hoped she +should. Harry Carradyne thought it the very loveliest blush he had ever +seen in all his travels, and she the sweetest-looking girl. + +And when Captain Monk came in he quite took to her appearance, for he +hated to have ugly people about him. But every now and then there was a +look in her face, or in her eyes, that struck him as being familiar--as +if he had once known someone who resembled her. Pleasing, soft, dark +hazel eyes they were as one could wish to see, with goodness in their +depths. + + +III + +Months passed away, and Miss West was domesticated in her new home. It +was not all sunshine. Mrs. Carradyne, ever considerate, strove to render +things agreeable; but there were sources of annoyance over which she had +no control. Kate, when she chose, could be verily a little elf, a demon; +as Mrs. Hamlyn often put it, "a diablesse." And she, that lady herself, +invariably treated the governess with a sort of cool, indifferent +contempt; and she was more often at Leet Hall than away from it. The +Captain, too, gave way to fits of temper that simply terrified Miss +West. Reared in the quiet atmosphere of a well-trained school, she had +never met with temper such as this. + +On the other hand--yes, on the other hand, she had an easy place of it, +generous living, was regarded as a lady, and--she had learnt to love +Harry Carradyne for weal or for woe. + +But not--please take notice--not unsolicited. Tacitly, at any rate. +If Mr. Harry's speaking blue eyes were to be trusted and Mr. Harry's +tell-tale tones when with her, his love, at the very least, equalled +hers. Eliza Hamlyn, despite the penetration that ill-nature generally +can exercise, had not yet scented any such treason in the wind: or there +would have blown up a storm. + +Spring was to bring its events; but first of all it must be said that +during the winter little Walter Hamlyn was taken ill at Leet Hall when +staying there with his mother. The malady turned out to be gastric +fever, and Mr. Speck was in constant attendance. For the few days +that the child lay in danger, Eliza was almost wild. The progress to +convalescence was very slow, lasting many weeks; and during that time +Captain Monk, being much with the little fellow, grew to be fond of him +with an unreasonable affection. + +"I'm not sure but I shall leave Leet Hall to him after all," he suddenly +observed to Eliza one day, not noticing that Harry Carradyne was +standing in the recess of the window. "Halloa! are you there, Harry? +Well, it can't be helped. You heard what I said?" + +"I heard, Uncle Godfrey: but I did not understand." + +"Eliza thinks Leet Hall ought to go in the direct line--through her--to +this child. What should you say to that?" + +"What could he say to it?" imperiously demanded Eliza. "He is only your +nephew." + +Harry looked from one to the other in a sort of bewildered surprise: and +there came a silence. + +"Uncle Godfrey," he said at last, starting out of a reverie, "you have +been good enough to make me your heir. It was unexpected on my part, +unsolicited; but you did do it, and you caused me to leave the army in +consequence, to give up my fair prospects in life. I am aware that this +deed is not irrevocable, and certainly you have the right to do what you +will with your own property. But you must forgive me for saying that you +should have made quite sure of your intentions beforehand: before taking +me up, if it be only to throw me aside again." + +"There, there, we'll leave it," retorted Captain Monk testily. "No +harm's done to you yet, Mr. Harry; I don't know that it will be." + +But Harry Carradyne felt sure that it would be; that he should be +despoiled of the inheritance. The resolute look of power on Eliza's +face, bent on him as he quitted the chamber, was an earnest of that. +Captain Monk was not the determined man he had once been; that was over. + +"A pretty kettle of fish, this is," ruefully soliloquised Harry, as he +marched along the corridor. "Eliza's safe to get her will; no doubt of +that. And I? what am I to do? I can't repurchase and go back amongst +them again like a returned shilling; at least, I won't; and I can't turn +Parson, or Queen's Counsel, or Cabinet Minister. I'm fitted for nothing +now, that I see, but to be a gentleman-at-large; and what would the +gentleman's income be?" + +Standing at the corridor window, softly whistling, he ran over ways and +means in his mind. He had a pretty house of his own, Peacock's Range, +formerly his father's, and about four hundred a-year. After his +mother's death it would not be less than a thousand a-year. + +"That means bread and cheese at present. Later---- Heyday, young lady, +what's the matter?" + +The school room door, close by, had opened with a burst, and Miss Kate +Dancox was flying down the stairs--her usual progress the minute lessons +were over. Harry strolled into the room. The governess was putting the +littered table straight. + +"Any admission, ma'am?" cried he quaintly, making for a chair. "I should +like to ask leave to sit down for a bit." + +Alice West laughed, and stirred the fire by way of welcome; he was a +very rare visitor to the school-room. The blaze, mingling with the rays +of the setting sun that streamed in at the window, played upon her sweet +face and silky brown hair, lighted up the bright winter dress she wore, +and the bow of pink ribbon that fastened the white lace round her +slender, pretty throat. + +"Are you so much in need of a seat?" she laughingly asked. + +"Indeed I am," was the semi-grave response. "I have had a shock." + +"A very sharp one, sir?" + +"Sharp as steel. Really and truly," he went on in a different tone, as +he left the chair and stood up by the table, facing her; "I have just +heard news that may affect my whole future life; may change me from a +rich man to a poor one." + +"Oh, Mr. Carradyne!" Her manner had changed now. + +"I was the destined inheritor, as you know--for I'm sure nobody has been +reticent upon the subject--of these broad lands," with a sweep of the +hand towards the plains outside. "Captain Monk is now pleased to inform +me that he thinks of substituting for me Mrs. Hamlyn's child." + +"But would not that be very unjust?" + +"Hardly fair--as it seems to me. Considering that my good uncle obliged +me to give up my own prospects for it." + +She stood, her hands clasped in sympathy, her face full of earnest +sadness. "How unkind! Why, it would be cruel!" + +"Well, I confess I felt it to be so at the first blow. But, standing +at the outside window yonder, pulling myself together, a ray or two +of light crept in, showing me that it may be for the best after all. +'Whatever _is_, is right,' you know." + +"Yes," she slowly said--"if you can think so. But, Mr. Carradyne, should +you not have anything at all?--anything to live upon after Captain +Monk's death?" + +"Just a trifle, I calculate, as the Americans say--and it is calculating +I have been--so that I need not altogether starve. Would you like to +know how much it will be?" + +"Oh, please don't laugh at me!"--for it suddenly struck the girl that he +was laughing, perhaps in reproof, and that she had spoken too freely. +"I ought not to have asked that; I was not thinking--I was too sorry +to think." + +"But I may as well tell you, if you don't mind. I have a very pretty +little place, which you have seen and heard of, called by that +delectable title Peacock's Range----" + +"Is Peacock's Range yours?" she interrupted, in surprise. "I thought it +belonged to Mr. Peveril." + +"Peacock's Range is mine and was my father's before me, Miss Alice. It +was leased to Peveril for a term of years, but I fancy he would be glad +to give it up to-morrow. Well, I have Peacock's Range and about four +hundred pounds a-year." + +Her face brightened. "Then you need not talk about starving," she said, +gaily. + +"And, later, I shall have altogether about a thousand a-year. Though I +hope it will be very long before it falls to me. Do you think two people +might venture to set up at Peacock's Range, and keep, say, a couple of +servants upon four hundred a-year? Could they exist upon it?" + +"Oh, dear, yes," she answered eagerly, quite unconscious of his drift. +"Did you mean yourself and some friend?" + +He nodded. + +"Why, I don't see how they could spend it all. There'd be no rent to +pay. And just think of all the fruit and vegetables in the garden +there!" + +"Then I take you at your word, Alice," he cried, impulsively, passing +his arm round her waist. "You are the 'friend.' My dear, I have long +wanted to ask you to be my wife, and I did not dare. This place, Leet +Hall, encumbered me: for I feared the opposition that I, as its heir, +should inevitably meet." + +She drew away from him, with doubting, frightened eyes. Mr. Harry +Carradyne brought all the persuasion of his own dancing blue ones to +bear upon her. "Surely, Alice, you will not say me nay!" + +"I dare not say yes," she whispered. + +"What are you afraid of?" + +"Of it altogether; of your friends. Captain Monk +would--would--perhaps--turn me out. And there's Mrs. Carradyne!" + +Harry laughed. "Captain Monk can have no right to any voice in my +affairs, once he throws me off; he cannot expect to have a finger in +everyone's pie. As to my mother--ah, Alice, unless I am much mistaken, +she will welcome you with love." + +Alice burst into tears: emotion was stirring her to its depths. +"_Please_ to let it all be for a time," she pleaded. + +"If you speak it would be sure to lead to my being turned away." + +"I _will_ let it be for a time, my darling, so far as speaking about +it goes: for more reasons than one it may be better. But you are my +promised wife, Alice; always recollect that." + +And Mr. Harry Carradyne, bold as a soldier should be, took a few kisses +from her unresisting lips to enforce his mandate. + + +IV + +Some time rolled on, calling for no particular record. Mr. Hamlyn's West +Indian property, which was large and lucrative, had been giving him +trouble of late; at least, those who had the care of it gave it, and he +was obliged to go over occasionally to see after it in person. Between +times he stayed with his wife at Peacock's Range; or else she joined him +in London. Their town residence was in Bryanston Square; a pretty house, +but not large. + +It had been an unfavourable autumn; cold and wet. Snow had fallen in +November, and the weather continued persistently dull and dreary. One +gloomy afternoon towards the close of the year, Mrs. Hamlyn, shivering +over her drawing-room fire, rang impatiently for more coal to be piled +upon it. + +"Has Master Walter come in yet?" she asked of the footman. + +"No, ma'am. I saw him just now playing in front there." + +She went to the window. Yes, running about the paths of the Square +garden was the child, attended by his nurse. He was a sturdy little +fellow. His mother, wishing to make him hardy, sent him out in all +weathers, and the boy throve upon it. He was three years old now, but +looked older; and he was as clever and precocious as some children are +at five or six. Her heart thrilled with a strange joy only at the sight +of him: he was her chief happiness in life, her idol. Whether he would +succeed to Leet Hall she knew not; since that one occasion, Captain Monk +had said no more upon the subject, for or against it. + +Why need she have longed for it so fervently? to the setting at naught +the express wishes of her deceased uncle and to the detriment of Harry +Carradyne? It was simply covetousness. As his father's eldest son (there +were no younger ones yet) the boy would inherit a fine property, a large +income; but his doting mother must give him Leet Hall as well. + +Her whole heart went out to the child as she watched him playing there. +A few snowflakes were beginning to fall, and twilight would soon be +drawing on, but she would not call him in. Standing thus at the window, +it gradually grew upon her to notice that something was standing back +against the opposite rails, looking fixedly at the houses. A young, fair +woman apparently, with a profusion of light hair; she was draped in a +close dark cloak which served to conceal her figure, just as the thick +veil she wore concealed her face. + +"I believe it is _this_ house she is gazing at so attentively--and at +_me_," thought Mrs. Hamlyn. "What can she possibly want?" + +The woman did not move away and Mrs. Hamlyn did not move; they remained +staring at one another. Presently Walter burst into the room, laughing +in glee at having distanced his nurse. His mother turned, caught him +in her arms and kissed him passionately. Wilful though he was by +disposition, and showing it at times, he was a lovable, generous child, +and very pretty: great brown eyes and auburn curls. His life was all +sunshine, like a butterfly's on a summer's day; his path as yet one of +roses without their thorns. + +"Mamma, I've got a picture-book; come and look at it," cried the eager +little voice, as he dragged his mother to the hearthrug and opened the +picture-book in the light of the blaze. "Penelope bought it for me." + +She sat down on a footstool, the book on her lap and one arm round him, +her treasure. Penelope waited to take off his hat and pelisse, and was +told to come for him in five minutes. + +"It's not my tea-time yet," cried he defiantly. + +"Indeed, then, Master Walter, it is long past it," said the nurse. "I +couldn't get him in before, ma'am," she added to her mistress. "Every +minute I kept expecting you'd be sending one of the servants after us." + +"In five minutes," repeated Mrs. Hamlyn. "And what's _this_ picture +about, Walter? Is it a little girl with a doll?" + +"Oh, dat bootiful," said the eager little lad, who was not yet as +advanced in speech as he was in ideas. "It says she----dere's papa!" + +In came Philip Hamlyn, tall, handsome, genial. Walter ran to him and was +caught in his arms. He and his wife were just a pair for adoring the +child. + +But nurse, inexorable, appeared again at the five minutes' end, and +Master Walter was carried off. + +"You came home in a cab, Philip, did you not? I thought I heard one +stop." + +"Yes; it is a miserable evening. Raining fast now." + +"Raining!" she repeated, rather wondering to hear it was not snowing. +She went to the window to look out, and the first object her eyes caught +sight of was the woman; leaning in the old place against the railings, +in the growing twilight. + +"I'm not sorry to see the rain; we shall have it warmer now," remarked +Mr. Hamlyn, who had drawn a chair to the fire. "In fact, it's much +warmer already than it was this morning." + +"Philip, step here a minute." + +His wife's tone had dropped to a half-whisper, sounding rather +mysterious, and he went at once. + +"Just look, Philip--opposite. Do you see a woman standing there?" + +"A woman--where?" cried he, looking of course in every direction but +the right one. + +"Just facing us. She has her back against the railings." + +"Oh, ay, I see now; a lady in a cloak. She must be waiting for some +one." + +"Why do you call her a lady?" + +"She looks like one--as far as I can see in the gloom. Does she not? +Her hair does, any way." + +"She has been there I cannot tell you how long, Philip; half-an-hour, +I'm sure; and it seems to me that she is _watching_ this house. A lady +would hardly do that." + +"This house? Oh, then, Eliza, perhaps she's watching for one of the +servants. She might come in, poor thing, instead of standing there in +the rain." + +"Poor thing, indeed!--what business has any woman to watch a house in +this marked manner?" retorted Eliza. "The neighbourhood will be taking +her for a female detective." + +"Nonsense!" + +"She has given me a creepy feeling; I can tell you that, Philip." + +"But why?" he exclaimed. + +"I can't tell you why; I don't know why; it is so. Do not laugh at me +for confessing it." + +Philip Hamlyn did laugh; heartily. "Creepy feelings" and his +imperiously strong-minded wife could have but little affinity with one +another. + +"We'll have the curtains drawn, and the lights, and shut her out," said +he cheerily. "Come and sit down, Eliza; I want to show you a letter I've +had to-day." + +But the woman waiting outside there seemed to possess for Eliza Hamlyn +somewhat of the fascination of the basilisk; for she never stirred from +the window until the curtains were drawn. + +"It is from Peveril," said Mr. Hamlyn, producing the letter he had +spoken of from his pocket. "The lease he took of Peacock's Range is not +yet out, but he can resign it now if he pleases, and he would be glad to +do so. He and his wife would rather remain abroad, it seems, than return +home." + +"Yes. Well?" + +"Well, he writes to me to ask whether he can resign it; or whether I +must hold him to the promise he made me--that I should rent the house +to the end of the term. I mean the end of the lease; the term he holds +it for." + +"Why does he want to resign it? Why can't things go on as at present?" + +"I gather from an allusion he makes, though he does not explicitly state +it, that Mr. Carradyne wishes to have the place in his own hands. What +am I to say to Peveril, Eliza?" + +"Say! Why, that you must hold him to his promise; that we cannot give +up the house yet. A pretty thing if I had no place to go down to at +will in my own county!" + +"So far as I am concerned, Eliza, I would prefer to stay away from the +county--if your father is to continue to treat me in the way he does. +Remember what it was in the summer. I think we are very well here." + +"Now, Philip, I have _said_. I do not intend to release our hold on +Peacock's Range. My father will be reconciled to you in time as he is +to me." + +"I wonder what Harry Carradyne can want it for?" mused Philip Hamlyn, +bowing to the imperative decision of his better half. + +"To live in it, I should say. He would like to show his resentment to +papa by turning his back on Leet Hall. It can't be for anything else." + +"What cause for resentment has he? He sent for him home and made him his +heir." + +"_That_ is the cause. Papa has come to his senses and changed his mind. +It is our darling little Walter who is to be the heir of Leet Hall, +Philip--and papa has so informed Harry Carradyne." + +Philip Hamlyn gazed at his wife in doubt. He had never heard a word of +this; instinct had kept her silent. + +"I hope not," he emphatically said, breaking the silence. + +"_You hope not?_" + +"Walter shall never inherit Leet Hall with my consent, Eliza. Harry +Carradyne is the right and proper heir, and no child of mine, as I hope, +must or shall displace him." + +Mrs. Hamlyn treated her husband to one of her worst looks, telling of +contempt as well as of power; but she did not speak. + +"Listen, Eliza. I cannot bear injustice, and I do not believe it ever +prospers in the long run. Were your father to bequeath--my dear, I beg +of you to listen to me!--to bequeath his estates to little Walter, to +the exclusion of the true heir, rely upon it the bequest would _never +bring him good_. In some way or other it would not serve him. Money +diverted by injustice from its natural and just channel does not carry +a blessing with it. I have noted this over and over again in going +through life." + +"Anything more?" she contemptuously asked. + +"And Walter will not need it," he continued persuasively, passing her +question as unheard. "As my son, he will be amply provided for." + +A very commonplace interruption occurred, and the subject was dropped. +Nothing more than a servant bringing in a letter for his master, just +come by hand. + +"Why, it is from old Richard Pratt!" exclaimed Mr. Hamlyn, as he turned +to the light. + +"I thought Major Pratt never wrote letters," she remarked. "I once heard +you say he must have forgotten how to write." + +He did not answer. He was reading the note, which appeared to be a short +one. She watched him. After reading it through he began it again, a +puzzled look upon his face. Then she saw it flush all over, and he +crushed the note into his pocket. + +"What is it about, Philip?" + +"Pratt wants a prescription for gout that I told him of. I'm sure I +don't know whether I can find it." + +He had answered in a dreamy tone with thoughts preoccupied, and quitted +the room hastily, as if in search of it. + +Eliza wondered why he should flush up at being asked for a prescription, +and why he should have suddenly lost himself in a reverie. But she had +not much curiosity as to anything that concerned old Major Pratt--who +was at present staying in lodgings in London. + +Downstairs went Mr. Hamlyn to the little room he called his library, +seated himself at the table under the lamp, and opened the note again. +It ran as follows:-- + + "DEAR PHILIP HAMLYN,--The other day, when calling here, you spoke + of some infallible prescription to cure gout that had been given + you. I've symptoms of it flying about me--and be hanged to it! + Bring it to me yourself to-morrow; I want to see you. _I suppose + there was no mistake in the report that that ship did go + down?_--and that none of the passengers were saved from it? + + "Truly yours, + "RICHARD PRATT." + +"What can he possibly mean?" muttered Philip Hamlyn. + +But there was no one to answer the question, and he sat buried in +thought, trying to answer it himself. Starting up from the useless task, +he looked in his desk, found the infallible prescription, and then +snatched his watch from his pocket. + +"Too late," he decided impatiently; "Pratt would be gone to bed. He goes +at all kinds of unearthly hours when out of sorts." So he went upstairs +to his wife again, the prescription displayed in his hand. + +Morning came, bringing the daily routine of duties in its train. Mrs. +Hamlyn had made an engagement to go with some friends to Blackheath, to +take luncheon with a lady living there. It was damp and raw in the early +portion of the day, but promised to be clear later on. + +"And then my little darling can go out to play again," she said, hugging +the child to her. "In the afternoon, nurse; it will be drier then; it is +really too damp this morning." + +Parting from him with fifty kisses, she went down to her comfortable and +handsome carriage, her husband placing her in. + +"I wish you were coming with me, Philip! But, you see, it is only ladies +to-day. Six of us." + +Philip Hamlyn laughed. "I don't wish it at all," he answered; "they +would be fighting for me. Besides, I must take old Pratt his +prescription. Only picture his storm of anger if I did not." + +Mrs. Hamlyn was not back until just before dinner: her husband, she +heard, had been out all day, and was not yet in. Waiting for him in the +drawing-room listlessly enough, she walked to the window to look out. +And there she saw with a sort of shock the same woman standing in the +same place as the previous evening. Not once all day long had she +thought of her. + +"This is a strange thing!" she exclaimed. "I am _sure_ it is this house +that she is watching." + +On the impulse of the moment she rang the bell and called the man who +answered it to the window. He was a faithful, attached servant, had +lived with them ever since they were married, and previously to that in +Mr. Hamlyn's family in the West Indies. + +"Japhet," said his mistress, "do you see that woman opposite? Do you +know why she stands there?" + +Japhet's answer told nothing. They had all seen her downstairs, +yesterday evening as well as this, and wondered what she could be +watching the house for. + +"She is not waiting for any of the servants, then; not an acquaintance +of theirs?" + +"No, ma'am, that I'm sure she's not. She is a stranger to us all." + +"Then, Japhet, I think you shall go over and question her," spoke his +mistress impulsively. "Ask her who she is and what she wants. And tell +her that a gentleman's house cannot be watched with impunity in this +country--and she will do well to move away before the police are called +to her." + +Japhet looked at his mistress and hesitated; he was an elderly man and +cautious. "I beg your pardon, madam," he began, "for venturing to say as +much, but I think it might be best to let her alone. She'll grow tired +of stopping there. And if her motive is to attract pity, and get alms +sent out, why the fact of speaking to her might make her bold enough to +ask for them. If she comes there to-morrow again, it might be best for +the master to take it up himself." + +For once in her life Mrs. Hamlyn condescended to listen to the opinion +of an inferior, and Japhet was dismissed without orders. Close upon +that, a cab came rattling down the square, and stopped at the door. Her +husband leaped out of it, tossed the driver his fare--he always paid +liberally--and let himself in with his latch-key. To Mrs. Hamlyn's +astonishment she had seen the woman dart from her standing-place to the +middle of the road, evidently to look at or to accost Mr. Hamlyn. But +his movements were too quick: he was within in a moment and had closed +the outer door. She then walked rapidly away, and disappeared. + +Eliza Hamlyn stood there lost in thought. The nurse came in to take the +child; Mr. Hamlyn had gone to his room to dress for dinner. + +"Have you seen the woman who has been standing out there yesterday +evening and this, Penelope?" she asked of the nurse, speaking upon +impulse. + +"Oh, yes, ma'am. She has been there all the blessed afternoon. She came +into the garden to talk to us." + +"Came into the garden to talk to you?" repeated Mrs. Hamlyn. "What did +she talk about?" + +"Chiefly about Master Walter, ma'am. She seemed to be much taken with +him; clasped him in her arms and kissed him, and said how old was he, +and was he difficult to manage, and that he had his father's beautiful +brown eyes----" + +Penelope stopped abruptly. Mistaking the hard stare her mistress was +unconsciously giving her for one of displeasure, she hastened to excuse +herself. The fact was, Mrs. Hamlyn's imagination was beginning to run +riot. + +"I couldn't help her speaking to me, ma'am, or her kissing the child; +she took me by surprise. That was all she said--except that she asked +whether you were likely to be going into the country soon, away from the +house here. She didn't stay five minutes with us, but went back to stand +by the railings again." + +"Did she speak as a lady or as a common person?" quite fiercely demanded +Mrs. Hamlyn. "Is she young?--good-looking?" + +"Oh, I think she is a lady," replied the girl, her accent decisive. "And +she's young, as far as I could see, but she had a thick veil over her +face. Her hair is lovely, just like threads of pale gold," concluded +Penelope, as Mr. Hamlyn's step was heard. + +He took his wife into the dining-room, apologising for being late. She, +giving full range to the fancies she had called up, heard him in silence +with a hardening haughty face. + +"Philip, you know who that woman is," she suddenly exclaimed during a +temporary absence of Japhet from the dining-room. "What is it that she +wants with you?" + +"I!" he returned, in a surprise very well feigned if not real. "What +woman? Do you mean the one who was standing out there yesterday?" + +"You know I do. She has been there again--all the blessed afternoon, +as Penelope expresses it. Asking questions of the girl about you--and +me--and Walter; and saying the child has your beautiful brown eyes. +_I ask you who is she?_" + +Mr. Hamlyn laid down his knife and fork to gaze at his wife. He looked +quite at sea. + +"Eliza, I assure you I know nothing about it. Or about her." + +"Indeed! Don't you think it may be some acquaintance, old or new? +Possibly someone you knew in the days gone by--come over seas to see +whether you are yet in the land of the living? She has wonderful hair, +which looks like spun gold." + +All in a moment, as the half-mocking words left her lips, some idea +seemed to flash across Philip Hamlyn, bringing with it distress and +fear. His face turned to a burning red and then grew white as the hue +of the grave. + + + + +THE SILENT CHIMES + + +V.--SILENT FOR EVER + + +I + +Breakfast was on the table in Mr. Hamlyn's house in Bryanston Square, +and Mrs. Hamlyn waited, all impatience, for her lord and master. Not +in any particular impatience for the meal itself, but that she might +"have it out with him"--the phrase was hers, not mine, as you will see +presently--in regard to the perplexity existing in her mind connected +with the strange appearance of the damsel watching the house, in her +beauty and her pale golden hair. + +Why had Philip Hamlyn turned sick and faint--to judge by his changing +countenance--when she had charged him at dinner, the previous evening, +with knowing something of this mysterious woman? Mysterious in her +actions, at all events; probably in herself. Mrs. Hamlyn wanted to +know that. No further opportunity had then been given for pursuing the +subject. Japhet had returned to the room, and before the dinner was at +an end, some acquaintance of Mr. Hamlyn had fetched him out for the +evening. And he came home with so fearful a headache that he had lain +groaning and turning all through the night. Mrs. Hamlyn was not a model +of patience, but in all her life she had never felt so impatient as +now. + +He came into the room looking pale and shivery; a sure sign that he was +suffering; that it was not an invented excuse. Yes, the pain was better, +he said, in answer to his wife's question; and might be much better +after a strong cup of tea; he could not imagine what had brought it on. +_She_ could have told him, though, had she been gifted with the magical +power of reading minds, and have seen the nervous apprehension that was +making havoc with his. + +Mrs. Hamlyn gave him his tea in silence, and buttered a dainty bit of +toast to tempt him to eat. But he shook his head. + +"I cannot, Eliza. Nothing but tea this morning." + +"I am sorry you are ill," she said, by-and-by. "I fear it hurts you to +talk; but I want to have it out with you." + +"Have it out with me!" cried he, in real or feigned surprise. "Have what +out with me?" + +"Oh, you know, Philip. About that woman who has been watching the house +these two days; evidently watching for you." + +"But I told you I knew nothing about her: who she is, or what she is, or +what she wants. I really do not know." + +Well, so far that was true. But all the while a sick fear lay on his +heart that he did know; or, rather, that he was destined to know very +shortly. + +"When I told you her hair was like threads of fine, pale gold, you +seemed to start, Philip, as if you knew some girl or woman with such +hair, or had known her." + +"I daresay I have known a score of women with such hair. My dear little +sister who died, for instance." + +"Do not attempt to evade the subject," was the haughty reprimand. +"If----" + +Mrs. Hamlyn's sharp speech was interrupted by the entrance of Japhet, +bringing in the morning letters. Only one letter, however, for they +were not as numerous in those days as they are in these. + +"It seems to be important, ma'am," Japhet remarked, with the privilege +of an old servant, as he handed it to his mistress. She saw it was from +Leet Hall, in Mrs. Carradyne's handwriting, and bore the words: "In +haste," above the address. + +Tearing it open Eliza Hamlyn read the short, sad news it contained. +Captain Monk had been taken suddenly ill with inward inflammation. Mr. +Speck feared the worst, and the Captain had asked for Eliza. Would she +come down at once? + +"Oh, Philip, I must not lose a minute," she exclaimed, passing the +letter to him, and forgetting the pale gold hair and its owner. "Do +you know anything about the Worcestershire trains?" + +"No," he answered. "The better plan will be to get to the station as +soon as possible, and then you will be ready for the first train that +starts." + +"Will you go down with me, Philip?" + +"I cannot. I will take you to the station." + +"Why can't you?" + +"Because I cannot just now leave London. My dear, you may believe me, +for it is the truth. _I cannot do so._ I wish I could." + +And she saw it was true: for his tone was so earnest as to tell of pain. + +Making what haste she could, kissing her boy a hundred times, and +recommending him to the special care of his nurse and of his father +during her absence, she drove with her husband to the station, and +was just in time for a train. Mr. Hamlyn watched it steam out of the +station, and then looked up at the clock. + +"I suppose it's not too early to see him," he muttered. "I'll chance +it, at any rate. Hope he will be less suffering than he was yesterday, +and less crusty, too." + +Dismissing his carriage, for he felt more inclined to walk than to +drive, he went through the park to Pimlico, and gained the house of +Major Pratt. + +This was Friday. On the previous Wednesday evening a note had been +brought to Mr. Hamlyn by Major Pratt's servant, a sentence in which, +as the reader may remember, ran as follows:-- + + "_I suppose there was no mistake in the report that that ship did + go down?--and that none of the passengers were saved from it?_" + +This puzzled Philip Hamlyn: perhaps somewhat troubled him in a hazy kind +of way. For he could only suppose that the ship alluded to must be the +sailing-vessel in which his first wife, false and faithless, and his +little son of a twelvemonth old had been lost some five or six years +ago--the _Clipper of the Seas_. And the next day (Thursday) he had gone +to Major Pratt's, as requested, to carry the prescription for gout he +had asked for, and also to inquire of the Major what he meant. + +But the visit was a fruitless one. Major Pratt was in bed with an attack +of gout, so ill and so "crusty" that nothing could be got out of him +excepting a few bad words and as many groans. Mr. Hamlyn then questioned +Saul--of whom he used to see a good deal in India, for he had been the +Major's servant for years and years. + +"Do you happen to know, Saul, whether the Major wanted me for anything +in particular? He asked me to call here this morning." + +Saul began to consider. He was a tall, thin, cautious, slow-speaking +man, honest as the day, and very much attached to his master. + +"Well, sir, he got a letter yesterday morning that seemed to put him +out, for I found him swearing over it. And he said he'd like you to see +it." + +"Who was the letter from? What was it about?" + +"It looked like Miss Caroline's writing, sir, and the postmark was +Essex. As to what it was about--well, the Major didn't directly tell me, +but I gathered that it might be about----" + +"About what?" questioned Mr. Hamlyn, for the man had come to a dead +standstill. "Speak out, Saul." + +"Then, sir," said Saul, slowly rubbing the top of his head, and the few +grey hairs left on it, "I thought--as you tell me to speak--it must be +something concerning that ship you know of; she that went down on her +voyage home, Mr. Philip." + +"The _Clipper of the Seas_?" + +"Just so, sir; the _Clipper of the Seas_. I thought it by this," added +Saul: "that pretty nigh all day afterwards he talked of nothing but that +ship, asking me if I should suppose it possible that the ship had not +gone down and every soul on board, leastways of her passengers, with +her. 'Master,' said I, in answer, 'had that ship not gone down and all +her passengers with her, rely upon it, they'd have turned up long before +this.' 'Ay, ay,' stormed he, 'and Caroline's a fool.'--Which of course +meant his sister, you know, sir." + +Philip Hamlyn could not make much of this. So many years had elapsed now +since news came out to the world that the unfortunate ship, _Clipper of +the Seas_, went down off the coast of Spain on her homeward voyage, and +all her passengers with her, as to be a fact of the past. Never a doubt +had been cast upon any part of the tidings, so far as he knew. + +With an uneasy feeling at his heart, he went off to the city, to call +upon the brokers, or agents, of the ship: remembering quite well who +they were, and that they lived in Fenchurch Street. An elderly man, +clerk in the house for many years, and now a partner, received him. + +"The _Clipper of the Seas_?" repeated the old gentleman, after listening +to what Mr. Hamlyn had to say. "No, sir, we don't know that any of her +passengers were saved; always supposed they were not. But lately we have +had some little cause to doubt whether one or two might not have been." + +Philip Hamlyn's heart beat faster. + +"Will you tell me why you think this?" + +"It isn't that we think it; at best 'tis but a doubt," was the reply. +"One of our own ships, getting in last month from Madras, had a sailor +on board who chanced to remark to me, when he was up here getting his +pay, that it was not the first time he had served in our employ: he had +been in that ship that was lost, the _Clipper of the Seas_. And he went +on to say, in answer to a remark of mine about all the passengers having +been lost, that that was not quite correct, for that one of them had +certainly been saved--a lady or a nurse, he didn't know which, and also +a little child that she was in charge of. He was positive about it, he +added, upon my expressing my doubts, for they got to shore in the same +small boat that he did." + +"Is it true, think you?" gasped Mr. Hamlyn. + +"Sir, we are inclined to think it is not true," emphatically spoke the +old gentleman. "Upon inquiring about this man's character, we found that +he is given to drinking, so that what he says cannot always be relied +upon. Again, it seems next to an impossibility that if any passenger +were saved we should not have heard of it. Altogether we feel inclined +to judge that the man, though evidently believing he spoke truth, was +but labouring under an hallucination." + +"Can you tell me where I can find the man?" asked Mr. Hamlyn, after a +pause. + +"Not anywhere at present, sir. He has sailed again." + +So that ended it for the day. Philip Hamlyn went home and sat down to +dinner with his wife, as already spoken of. And when she told him that +the mysterious lady waiting outside must be waiting for him--probably +some acquaintance of his of the years gone by--it set his brain working +and his pulses throbbing, for he suddenly connected her with what he had +that day heard. No wonder his head ached! + +To-day, after seeing his wife off by train, he went to find Major Pratt. +The Major was better, and could talk, swearing a great deal over the +gout, and the letter. + +"It was from Caroline," he said, alluding to his sister, Miss Pratt, who +had been with him in India. "She lives in Essex, you know, Philip." + +"Oh, yes, I know," answered Philip Hamlyn. "But what is it that Caroline +says in her letter?" + +"You shall hear," said the Major, producing his sister's letter and +opening it. "Listen. Here it is. 'The strangest thing has happened, +brother! Susan went to London yesterday to get my fronts recurled at the +hairdresser's, and she was waiting in the shop, when a lady came out of +the back room, having been in there to get a little boy's hair cut. +Susan was quite struck dumb when she saw her: _she thinks it was poor +erring Dolly_; never saw such a likeness before, she says; could almost +swear to her by the lovely pale gold hair. The lady pulled her veil over +her face when she saw Susan staring at her, and went away with great +speed. Susan asked the hairdresser's people if they knew the lady's +name, or who she was, but they told her she was a stranger to them; had +never been in the shop before. Dear Richard, this is troubling me; I +could not sleep all last night for thinking of it. Do you suppose it +is possible that Dolly and the boy were not drowned? Your affectionate +sister, Caroline.' Now, did you ever read such a letter?" stormed the +Major. "If that Susan went home and said she'd seen St. Paul's blown up, +Caroline would believe it. Who's Susan, d'ye say? Why, you've lost your +memory, Philip. Susan was the English maid we had with us in Calcutta." + +"It cannot possibly be true," cried Mr. Hamlyn with quivering lips. + +"True, no! of course it can't be, hang it! Or else what would you do?" + +That might be logical though not satisfactory reasoning. And Mr. Hamlyn +thought of the woman said to be watching for him, and her pale gold +hair. + +"She was a cunning jade, if ever there was one, mark you, Philip Hamlyn; +that false wife of yours and kin of mine; came of a cunning family on +the mother's side. Put it that she _was_ saved: if it suited her to let +us suppose she was drowned, why, she'd do it. _I_ know Dolly." + +And poor Philip Hamlyn, assenting to the truth of this with all his +heart, went out to face the battle that might be coming upon him, +lacking the courage for it. + + +II + +The cold, clear afternoon air touching their healthy faces, and Jack +Frost nipping their noses, raced Miss West and Kate Dancox up and down +the hawthorn walk. It had pleased that arbitrary young damsel, who was +still very childish, to enter a protest against going beyond the grounds +that fine winter's day; she would be in the hawthorn walk, or nowhere; +and she would run races there. As Miss West gave in to her whims for +peace' sake in things not important, and as she was young enough +herself not to dislike running, to the hawthorn walk they went. + +Captain Monk was recovering rapidly. His sudden illness had been caused +by drinking some cold cider when some out-door exercise had made him +dangerously hot. The alarm and apprehension had now subsided; and Mrs. +Hamlyn, arriving three days ago in answer to the hasty summons, was +thinking of returning to London. + +"You are cheating!" called out Kate, flying off at a tangent to cross +her governess's path. "You've no right to get before me!" + +"Gently," corrected Miss West. "My dear, we have run enough for to-day." + +"We haven't, you ugly, cross old thing! Aunt Eliza says you _are_ ugly. +And--" + +The young lady's amenities were cut short by finding herself suddenly +lifted off her feet by Mr. Harry Carradyne, who had come behind them. + +"Let me alone, Harry! You are always coming where you are not wanted. +Aunt Eliza says so." + +A sudden light, as of mirth, illumined Harry Carradyne's fresh, frank +countenance. "Aunt Eliza says all those things, does she? Well, Miss +Kate, she also says something else--that you are now to go indoors." + +"What for? I shan't go in." + +"Oh, very well. Then that dandified silk frock for the new year that +the dressmaker is waiting to try on can be put aside until midsummer." + +Kate dearly loved new silk frocks, and she raced away. The governess +followed more slowly, Mr. Carradyne talking by her side. + +For some months now their love-dream had been going on; aye, and the +love-making too. Not altogether surreptitiously; neither of them would +have liked that. Though not expedient to proclaim it yet to Captain +Monk and the world, Mrs. Carradyne knew of it and tacitly sanctioned it. + +Alice West turned her face, blushing uncomfortably, to him as they +walked. "I am glad to have this opportunity of saying something to +you," she spoke with hesitation. "Are you not upon rather bad terms +with Mrs. Hamlyn?" + +"She is with me," replied Harry. + +"And--am _I_ the cause?" continued Alice, feeling as if her fears were +confirmed. + +"Not at all. She has not fathomed the truth yet, with all her +penetration, though she may have some suspicion of it. Eliza wants to +bend me to her will in the matter of the house, and I won't be bent. +Old Peveril wishes to resign the lease of Peacock Range to me; I wish +to take it from him, and Eliza objects. She says Peveril promised her +the house until the seven years' lease was out, and that she means to +keep him to his bargain." + +"Do you quarrel?" + +"Quarrel! no," laughed Harry Carradyne. "I joke with her, rather than +quarrel. But I don't give in. She pays me some left-handed compliments, +telling me that I am no gentleman, that I'm a bear, and so on; to which +I make my bow." + +Alice West was gazing straight before her, a troubled look in her eyes. +"Then you see that I _am_ the remote cause of the quarrel, Harry. But +for thinking of me, you would not care to take the house on your own +hands." + +"I don't know that. Be very sure of one thing, Alice: that I shall not +stay an hour longer under the roof here if my uncle disinherits me. That +he, a man of indomitable will, should be so long making up his mind is +a proof that he shrinks from committing the injustice. The suspense it +keeps me in is the worst of all. I told him so the other evening when +we were sitting together and he was in an amiable mood. I said that any +decision he might come to would be more tolerable than this prolonged +suspense." + +Alice drew a long breath at his temerity. + +Harry laughed. "Indeed, I quite expected to be ordered out of the room +in a storm. Instead of that, he took it quietly, civilly telling me to +have a little more patience; and then began to speak of the annual new +year's dinner, which is not far off now." + +"Mrs. Carradyne is thinking that he may not hold the dinner this year, +as he has been so ill," remarked the young lady. + +"He will never give that up, Alice, as long as he can hold anything; and +he is almost well again, you know. Oh, yes; we shall have the dinner and +the chimes also." + +"I have never heard the chimes," she said. "They have not played since I +came to Church Leet." + +"They are to play this year," said Harry Carradyne. "But I don't think +my mother knows it." + +"Is it true that Mrs. Carradyne does not like to hear the chimes? I seem +to have gathered the idea, somehow," added Alice. But she received no +answer. + +Kate Dancox was changeable as the ever-shifting sea. Delighted with the +frock that was in process, she extended her approbation to its maker; +and when Mrs. Ram, a homely workwoman, departed with her small bundle in +her arms, it pleased the young lady to say she would attend her to her +home. This involved the attendance of Miss West, who now found herself +summoned to the charge. + +Having escorted Mrs. Ram to her lowly door, and had innumerable +intricate questions answered touching trimmings and fringes, Miss Kate +Dancox, disregarding her governess altogether, flew back along the road +with all the speed of her active limbs, and disappeared within the +churchyard. At first Alice, who was growing tired and followed slowly, +could not see her; presently, a desperate shriek guided her to an +unfrequented corner where the graves were crowded. Miss Kate had come +to grief in jumping over a tombstone, and bruised both her knees. + +"There!" exclaimed Alice, sitting down on the stump of an old tree, +close to the low wall. "You've hurt yourself now." + +"Oh, it's nothing," returned Kate, who did not make much of smarts. And +she went limping away to Mr. Grame, then doing some light work in his +garden. + +Alice sat on where she was, reading the inscriptions on the tombstones; +some of them so faint with time as to be hardly discernible. While +standing up to make out one that seemed of a rather better class than +the rest, she observed Nancy Cale, the clerk's wife, sitting in the +church-porch and watching her attentively. The poor old woman had been +ill for a long time, and Alice was surprised to see her out. Leaving the +inscriptions, she went across the churchyard. + +"Ay, my dear young lady, I be up again, and thankful enough to say it; +and I thought as the day's so fine, I'd step out a bit," she said, in +answer to the salutation. An intelligent woman, and quite sufficiently +cultivated for her work--cleaning the church and washing the parson's +surplices. "I thought John was in the church here, and came to speak to +him; but he's not, I find; the door's locked." + +"I saw John down by Mrs. Ram's just now; he was talking to Nott, the +carpenter," observed Alice. "Nancy, I was trying to make out some of +those old names; but it is difficult to do so," she added, pointing to +the crowded corner. + +"Ay, I see, my dear," nodded Nancy. "_His_ be worn a'most right off. I +think I'd have it done again, an I was you." + +"Have what done again?" + +"The name upon your poor papa's gravestone." + +"The _what_?" exclaimed Alice. And Nancy repeated her words. + +Alice stared at her. Had Mrs. Cale's wits vanished in her illness? "Do +you know what you are saying, Nancy?" she cried; "I don't. What had papa +to do with this place? I think you must be wandering." + +Nancy stared in her turn. "Sure, it's not possible," she said slowly, +beginning to put two and two together, "that you don't know who you are, +Miss West? That your papa died here? and lies buried here?" + +Alice West turned white, and sat down on the opposite bench to Nancy. +She did know that her father had died at some small country living he +held; but she never suspected that it was at Church Leet. Her mother had +gone to London after his death, and set up a school--which succeeded +well. But soon she died, and the ladies who took to the school before +her death took to Alice with it. The child was still too young to be +told by her mother of the serious past--or Mrs. West deemed her to be +so. And she had grown up in ignorance of her father's fate and of where +he died. + +"When we heard, me and John, that it was a Miss West who had come to the +Hall to be governess to Parson Dancox's child, the name struck us both," +went on Nancy. "Next we looked at your face, my dear, to trace any +likeness there might be, and we thought we saw it--for you've got your +papa's eyes for certain. Then, one day when I was dusting in here, I let +fall a hymn-book from the Hall pew; in picking it up it came open, and +the name writ in it stared me in the face, '_Alice_ West.' After that, +we had no manner of doubt, him and me, and I've often wished to talk +with you and tell you so. My dear, I've had you on my knee many a time +when you were a little one." + +Alice burst into tears of agitation. "I never knew it! I never knew it. +Dear Nancy, what did papa die of?" + +"Ah, that was a sad piece of business--he was killed," said Nancy. And +forthwith, rightly or wrongly, she, garrulous with old age, told all the +history. + +It was an exciting interview, lasting until the shades of evening +surprised them. Miss Kate Dancox might have gone roving to the other +end of the globe, for all the attention given her just then. Poor +Alice cried and sighed, and trembled inwardly and outwardly. "To think +that it should just be to this place that I should come as governess, +and to the house of Captain Monk!" she wailed. "Surely he did not +_kill_ papa!--intentionally!" + +"No, no; nobody has ever thought that," disclaimed Nancy. "The Captain +is a passionate man, as is well-known, and they quarrelled, and a hot +blow, not intentional, must have been struck between 'em. And all +through them blessed chimes, Miss Alice! Not but that they be sweet +to listen to--and they be going to ring again this New Year's Eve." + +Drawing her warm cloak about her, Nancy Cale set off towards her +cottage. Alice West sat on in the sheltered porch, utterly bewildered. +Never in her life had she felt so agitated, so incapable of sound and +sober thought. _Now_ it was explained why the bow-windowed sitting-room +at the Vicarage would always strike her as being familiar to her memory; +as though she had at some time known one that resembled it, or perhaps +seen one like it in a dream. + +"Well, I'm sure!" + +The jesting salutation came from Harry Carradyne. Despatched in search +of the truants, he had found Kate at the Vicarage, making much of the +last new baby there, and devouring a sumptuous tea of cakes and jam. +Miss West? Oh, Miss West was sitting in the church porch, talking to +old Nancy Cale, she said to Harry. + +"Why! What is it?" he exclaimed in dismay, finding that the burst of +emotion which he had taken to be laughter, meant tears. "What has +happened, Alice?" + +She could no more have kept the tears in than she could +help--presently--telling him the news. He sat down by her and held her +close to him, and pressed for it. She was the daughter of George West, +who had died in the dispute with Captain Monk in the dining-room at +the hall so many years before, and who was lying here in the corner of +the churchyard; and she had never, never known it! + +Mr. Carradyne was somewhat taken to; there was no denying it; chiefly by +surprise. + +"I thought your father was a soldier, Alice--Colonel West; and died when +serving in India. I'm sure it was said so when you came." + +"Oh, no, that could not have been said," she cried; "unless Mrs. Moffit, +the agent, made a mistake. It was my uncle who died in India. No one +here ever questioned me about my parents, knowing they were dead. Oh, +dear," she went on in agitation, after a silent pause, "what am I to do +now? I cannot stay at the Hall. Captain Monk would not allow it either." + +"No need to tell him," quoth Mr. Harry. + +"And--of course--we must part. You and I." + +"Indeed! Who says so?" + +"I am not sure that it would be right to--to--you know." + +"To what? Go on, my dear." + +Alice sighed; her eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the fast-falling +twilight. "Mrs. Carradyne will not care for me when she knows who I am," +she said in low tones. + +"My dear, shall I tell you how it strikes me?" returned Harry: "that my +mother will be only the more anxious to have you connected with us by +closer and dearer ties, so as to atone to you, in even a small degree, +for the cruel wrong which fell upon your father. As to me--it shall be +made my life's best and dearest privilege." + +But when a climax such as this takes place, the right or the wrong thing +to be done cannot be settled in a moment. Alice West did not see her way +quite clearly, and for the present she neither said nor did anything. + +This little matter occurred on the Friday in Christmas week; on the +following day, Saturday, Mrs. Hamlyn was returning to London. Christmas +Day this year had fallen on a Monday. Some old wives hold a superstition +that when that happens, it inaugurates but small luck for the following +year, either for communities or for individuals. Not that that fancy has +anything to do with the present history. Captain Monk's banquet would +not be held until the Monday night: as was customary when New Year's Eve +fell on a Sunday. He had urged his daughter to remain over New Year's +Day; but she declined, on the plea that as she had been away from her +husband on Christmas Day, she would like to pass New Year's Day with +him. The truth being that she wanted to get to London to see after that +yellow-haired lady who was supposed to be peeping after Philip Hamlyn. + +On the Saturday morning Mrs. Hamlyn was driven to Evesham in the close +carriage, and took the train to London. Her husband, ever kind and +attentive, met her at the Paddington terminus. He was looking haggard, +and seemed to be thinner than when she left him nine days ago. + +"Are you well, Philip?" she asked anxiously. + +"Oh, quite well," quickly answered poor Philip Hamlyn, smiling a warm +smile, that he meant to look like a gay one. "Nothing ever ails me." + +No, nothing might ail him bodily; but mentally--ah, how much! That +awful terror lay upon him thick and threefold; it had not yet come to +any solution, one way or the other. Major Pratt had taken up the very +worst view of it; and spent his days pitching hard names at misbehaving +syrens, gifted with "the deuce's own cunning" and with mermaids' shining +hair. + +"And how have things been going, Penelope?" asked Mrs. Hamlyn of the +nurse, as she sat in the nursery with her boy upon her knee. "All +right?" + +"Quite so, ma'am. Master Walter has been just as good as gold." + +"Mamma's darling!" murmured the doting mother, burying her face in his. +"I have been thinking, Penelope, that your master does not look well," +she added after a minute. + +"No, ma'am? I've not noticed it. We have not seen much of him up here; +he has been at his club a good deal--and dined three or four times with +old Major Pratt." + +"As if she would notice it!--servants never notice anything!" thought +Eliza Hamlyn in her imperious way of judging the world. "By the way, +Penelope," she said aloud in light and careless tones, "has that woman +with the yellow hair been seen about much?--has she presumed again to +accost my little son?" + +"The woman with the yellow hair?" repeated Penelope, looking at +her mistress, for the girl had quite forgotten the episode. "Oh, +I remember--she that stood outside there and came to us in the +square-garden. No, ma'am, I've seen nothing at all of her since that +day." + +"For there are wicked people who prowl about to kidnap children," +continued Mrs. Hamlyn, as if she would condescend to explain her +inquiry, "and that woman looked like one. Never suffer her to approach +my darling again. Mind that, Penelope." + +The jealous heart is not easily reassured. And Mrs. Hamlyn, restless and +suspicious, put the same question to her husband. It was whilst they +were waiting in the drawing-room for dinner to be announced, and she had +come down from changing her apparel after her journey. How handsome she +looked! a right regal woman! as she stood there arrayed in dark blue +velvet, the firelight playing upon her proud face, and upon the diamond +earrings and brooch she wore. + +"Philip, has that woman been prowling about here again?" + +Just for an imperceptible second, for thought is quick, it occurred to +Philip Hamlyn to temporize, to affect ignorance, and say, What woman? +just as if his mind was not full of the woman, and of nothing else. But +he abandoned it as useless. + +"I have not seen her since; not at all," he answered: and though his +words were purposely indifferent, his wife, knowing all his tones and +ways by heart, was not deceived. "He is afraid of that woman," she +whispered to herself; "or else afraid of _me_." But she said no more. + +"Have you come to any definite understanding with Mr. Carradyne in +regard to Peacock's Range, Eliza?" + +"He will not come to any; he is civilly obstinate over it. Laughs in +my face with the most perfect impudence, and tells me: 'A man must be +allowed to put in his own claim to his own house, when he wants to do +so.'" + +"Well, Eliza, that seems to be only right and fair. Peveril made no +positive agreement with us, remember." + +"_Is_ it right and fair? That may be your opinion, Philip, but it is +not mine. We shall see, Mr. Harry Carradyne!" + +"Dinner is served, ma'am," announced the old butler. + +That evening passed. Sunday passed, the last day of the dying year; and +Monday morning, New Year's Day, dawned. + +New Year's Day. Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn were seated at the breakfast-table. +It was a bright, cold, sunny morning, showing plenty of blue sky. Young +Master Walter, in consideration of the day, was breakfasting at their +table, seated in his high chair. + +"Me to have dinner wid mamma to-day! Me have pudding!" + +"That you shall, my sweetest; and everything that's good," assented +his mother. + +In came Japhet at this juncture. "There's a little boy in the hall, sir, +asking to see you," said he to his master. "He----" + +"Oh, we shall have plenty of boys here to-day, asking for a new year's +gift," interposed Mrs. Hamlyn, rather impatiently. "Send him a shilling, +Philip." + +"It's not a poor boy, ma'am," answered Japhet, "but a little gentleman: +six or seven years old, he looks. He says he particularly wants to see +master." + +Philip Hamlyn smiled. "Particularly wants a shilling, I expect. Send +him in, Japhet." + +The lad came in. A well-dressed beautiful boy, refined in looks and +demeanour, bearing in his face a strange likeness to Mr. Hamlyn. He +looked about timidly. + +Eliza, struck with the resemblance, gazed at him. Her husband spoke. +"What do you want with me, my lad?" + +"If you please, sir, are you Mr. Hamlyn?" asked the child, going forward +with hesitating steps. "Are you my papa?" + +Every drop of blood seemed to leave Philip Hamlyn's face and fly to his +heart. He could not speak, and looked white as a ghost. + +"Who are you? What is your name?" imperiously demanded Philip's wife. + +"It is Walter Hamlyn," replied the lad, in clear, pretty tones. + +And now it was Mrs. Hamlyn's turn to look white. Walter Hamlyn?--the +name of her own dear son! when she had expected him to say Sam Smith, +or John Jones! What insolence some people had! + +"Where do you come from, boy? Who sent you here?" she reiterated. + +"I come from mamma. She would have sent me before, but I caught cold, +and was in bed all last week." + +Mr. Hamlyn rose. It was a momentous predicament, but he must do the best +he could in it. He was a man of nice honour, and he wished with all his +heart that the earth would open and engulf him. "Eliza, my love, allow +me to deal with this matter," he said, his voice taking a low, tender, +considerate tone. "I will question the boy in another room. Some +mistake, I reckon." + +"No, Philip, you must put your questions before me," she said, resolute +in her anger. "What is it you are fearing? Better tell me all, however +disreputable it may be." + +"I dare not tell you," he gasped; "it is not--I fear--the disreputable +thing you may be fancying." + +"Not dare! By what right do you call this gentleman 'papa'?" she +passionately demanded of the child. + +"Mamma told me to. She would never let me come home to him before +because of not wishing to part from me." + +Mrs. Hamlyn gazed at him. "Where were you born?" + +"At Calcutta; that's in India. Mamma brought me home in the _Clipper of +the Seas_, and the ship went down, but quite everybody was not lost in +it, though papa thought so." + +The boy had evidently been well instructed. Eliza Hamlyn, grasping the +whole truth now, staggered in terror. + +"Philip! Philip! is it true? Was it _this_ you feared?" + +He made a motion of assent and covered his face. "Heaven knows I would +rather have died." + +He stood back against the window-curtains, that they might shade his +pain. She fell into a chair and wished he _had_ died, years before. + +But what was to be the end of it all? Though Eliza Hamlyn went straight +out and despatched that syren of the golden hair with a poison-tipped +bodkin (and possibly her will might be good to do it), it could not make +things any the better for herself. + + +III + +New Year's Night at Leet Hall, and the banquet in full swing--but not, +as usual, New Year's Eve. + +Captain Monk headed his table, the parson, Robert Grame, at his right +hand, Harry Carradyne on his left. Whether it might be that the world, +even that out-of-the-way part of it, Church Leet, was improving in +manners and morals; or whether the Captain himself was changing: certain +it was that the board was not the free board it used to be. Mrs. +Carradyne herself might have sat at it now, and never once blushed by +as much as the pink of a seashell. + +It was known that the chimes were to play this year; and, when midnight +was close at hand, Captain Monk volunteered a statement which astonished +his hearers. Rimmer, the butler, had come into the room to open the +windows. + +"I am getting tired of the chimes, and all people have not liked them," +spoke the Captain in slow, distinct tones. "I have made up my mind to do +away with them, and you will hear them to-night, gentlemen, for the last +time." + +"_Really_, Uncle Godfrey!" cried Harry Carradyne, in most intense +surprise. + +"I hope they'll bring us no ill-luck to-night!" continued Captain Monk +as a grim joke, disregarding Harry's remark. "Perhaps they will, though, +out of sheer spite, knowing they'll never have another chance of it. +Well, well, they're welcome. Fill your glasses, gentlemen." + +Rimmer was throwing up the windows. In another minute the church clock +boomed out the first stroke of twelve, and the room fell into a dead +silence. With the last stroke the Captain rose, glass in hand. + +"A happy New Year to you, gentlemen! A happy New Year to us all. May it +bring to us health and prosperity!" + +"And God's blessing," reverently added Robert Grame aloud, as if to +remedy an omission. + +Ring, ring, ring! Ah, there it came, the soft harmony of the chimes, +stealing up through the midnight air. Not quite as loudly heard perhaps, +as usual, for there was no wind to waft it, but in tones wondrously +clear and sweet. Never had the strains of "The Bay of Biscay" brought +to the ear more charming melody. How soothing it was to those enrapt +listeners; seeming to tell of peace. + +But soon another sound arose to mingle with it. A harsh, grating sound, +like the noise of wheels passing over gravel. Heads were lifted; glances +expressed surprise. With the last strains of the chimes dying away in +the distance, a carriage of some kind galloped up to the hall door. + +Eliza Hamlyn alighted from it--with her child and its nurse. As +quickly as she could make opportunity after that scene enacted in +her breakfast-room in London in the morning, that is, as soon as her +husband's back was turned, she had quitted the house with the maid and +child, to take the train for home, bringing with her--it was what she +phrased it--her shameful tale. + +A tale that distressed Mrs. Carradyne to sickness. A tale that so +abjectly terrified Captain Monk, when it was imparted to him on Tuesday +morning, as to take every atom of fierceness out of his composition. + +"Not Hamlyn's wife!" he gasped. "Eliza!" + +"No, not his wife," she retorted, a great deal too angry herself to be +anything but fierce and fiery. "That other woman, that false first wife +of his, was not drowned, as was set forth, and she has come to claim him +with their son." + +"His wife; their son," muttered the Captain as if he were bewildered. +"Then what are you?--what is your son? Oh, my poor Eliza." + +"Yes, what are we? Papa, I will bring him to answer for it before his +country's tribunal--if there be law in the land." + +No one spoke to this. It may have occurred to them to remember that +Mr. Hamlyn could not legally be punished for what he did in innocence. +Captain Monk opened the glass doors and walked on to the terrace, as +if the air of the room were oppressive. Eliza went out after him. + +"Papa," she said, "there now exists all the more reason for your making +my darling _your_ heir. Let it be settled without delay. He must succeed +to Leet Hall." + +Captain Monk looked at his daughter as if not understanding her. "No, +no, no," he said. "My child, you forget; trouble must be obscuring your +faculties. None but a _legal_ descendant of the Monks could be allowed +to have Leet Hall. Besides, apart from this, it is already settled. I +have seen for some little time now how unjust it would be to supplant +Harry Carradyne." + +"Is _he_ to be your heir? Is it so ordered?" + +"Irrevocably. I have told him so this morning." + +"What am I to do?" she wailed in bitter despair. "Papa, what is to +become of me--and of my unoffending child?" + +"I don't know: I wish I did know. It will be a cruel blight upon us all. +You will have to live it down, Eliza. Ah, child, if you and Katherine +had only listened to me, and not made those rebellious marriages!" + +He turned away as he spoke in the direction of the church, to see that +his orders were being executed there. Harry Carradyne ran after him. +The clock was striking midday as they entered the churchyard. + +Yes, the workmen were at their work--taking down the bells. + +"If the time were to come over again, Harry," began Captain Monk as they +were walking homeward, he leaning upon his nephew's arm, "I wouldn't +have them put up. They don't seem to have brought luck somehow, as the +parish has been free to say. Not but that it must be utter nonsense." + +"Well, no, they don't, uncle," assented Harry. + +"As one grows in years, one gets to look at things differently, lad. +Actions that seemed laudable enough when one's blood was young and hot, +crop up again then, wearing another aspect. But for those chimes, poor +West would not have died as he did. I have had him upon my mind a good +bit lately." + +Surely Captain Monk was wonderfully changing! And he was leaning heavily +upon Harry's arm. + +"Are you tired, uncle? Would you like to sit down on this bench and +rest?" + +"No, I'm not tired. It's West I'm thinking about. He lies on my mind +sadly. And I never did anything for the wife or child to atone to them! +It's too late now--and has been this many a year." + +Harry Carradyne's heart began to beat a little. Should he say what +he had been hoping to say sometime? He might never have a better +opportunity than this. + +"Uncle Godfrey," he spoke in low tones, "would you--would you like to +see Mr. West's daughter? His wife has been dead a long while; but--would +you like to see her--Alice?" + +"Ay," fervently spoke the old man. "If she be in the land of the living, +bring her to me. I'll tell her how sorry I am, and how I would undo the +past if I could. And I'll ask her if she'll be to me as a daughter." + +So then Harry Carradyne told him all. It was Alice West who was +already under his roof, and who, fate and fortune permitting, _Heaven_ +permitting, would sometime be Alice Carradyne. + +Down sat Captain Monk on a bench of his own accord. Tears rose to his +eyes. The sudden revulsion of feeling was great: and truly he was a +changed man. + +"You spoke of Heaven, Harry. I shall begin to think it has forgiven me. +Let us be thankful." + +But Captain Monk found he had more to thank Heaven for ere many minutes +had elapsed. As Harry Carradyne sat by him in silence, marvelling at the +change, yet knowing that the grievous blow which was making havoc of +Eliza had effected the completeness of the subduing, he caught sight of +an approaching fly. Another fly from the railway station at Evesham. + +"How dare you come here, you villain!" shouted Captain Monk, rising in +threatening anger, as the fly's inmate called to the driver to stop and +began to get out of it. "Are you not ashamed to show your face to me, +after the evil you have inflicted upon my daughter?" + +Philip Hamlyn, smiling kindly and calmly, caught Captain Monk's lifted +hands. "No evil, sir," he said, soothingly. "It was all a mistake. Eliza +is my true and lawful wife." + +"Eh? What's that?" said the Captain quite in a whisper, his lips +trembling. + +Quietly Philip Hamlyn explained. He had taken the previous day to +investigate the matter, and had followed his wife down by a night train. +His first wife _was_ dead. She had been drowned in the _Clipper of the +Seas_, as was supposed. The child was saved, with his nurse: the only +two passengers who were saved. The nurse made her way to a place in the +south of France, where, as she knew, her late mistress's sister lived, +Mrs. O'Connett, formerly Miss Sophia Pratt. Mrs. O'Connett, a young +widow, had just lost her only child, a boy about the age of the little +one rescued from the cruel seas. She seized on him with feverish +avidity, adopted him as her own, quitted the place for another +Anglo-French town where she was not previously known, taught the child +to call her "Mamma," and had never let it transpire that the boy was not +hers. But now, after the lapse of a few years, Mrs. O'Connett was on the +eve of marriage with an Irish Major. To him she told the truth; and, as +he did not want to marry the child as well as herself, he persuaded her +to return him to his father. Mrs. O'Connett brought the child to London, +ascertained Mr. Hamlyn's address, and all about him, and watched about +to speak to him, alone if possible, unknown to his wife. Remembering +what had been the behaviour of the child's mother, she was by no means +sure of a good reception from Philip himself, or what adverse influence +might be brought to bear by the new ties he had formed. Mrs. O'Connett +had the same remarkable and lovely hair that her sister had had, whom +she very much resembled; she had also a talent for underhand ways. + +That was the truth--and I have had to tell it in a nutshell, space +growing limited. Philip Hamlyn had ascertained it all beyond possibility +of dispute, had seen Mrs. O'Connett, and had brought down the good +tidings. + +Of all the curious sights this record has afforded, perhaps the most +surprising was to see Captain Monk pass his arm lovingly within that of +Philip Hamlyn and march off with him to Leet Hall as if he were a prize +to be coveted. "Here he is, Eliza," said he; "he has come to cheer both +you and me." + +For once in her life Eliza Hamlyn was subdued to meekness. She kissed +her husband and shed happy tears. She was his lawful wife, and the +little one was his lawful child. True, there was an elder son; but, +compared with what had been feared, that was a slight evil. + +"We must make them true brothers, Eliza," whispered Philip Hamlyn. "They +shall share alike all I have and all I leave behind me. And our own +little one must be called James in future." + +"And you and I will be good friends from henceforth," cried Captain Monk +warmly, clasping Philip Hamlyn's ready hand. "I have been to blame in +more ways than one, giving the reins unduly to my arbitrary temper. +It seems to me, however, that life holds enough of real angles for us +without creating any for ourselves." + +And surely it did seem, as Mrs. Carradyne would have liked to point out +aloud, that those chimes had been fraught with messages of evil. For had +not all these blessings set in with their removal?--even in the very +hour that their fate was sealed! + +Harry Carradyne had drawn his uncle from the room; he now came in again, +bringing Alice West. Her face was a picture of agitation, for she had +been made known to Captain Monk. Harry led her up to Mrs. Hamlyn, with a +beaming smile and a whisper. + +"Eliza, as we seem to be going in generally for amenities, won't you +give just a little corner of your heart to _her_? We owe her some +reparation for the past. It is her father who lies in that grave at +the north end of the churchyard." + +Eliza started. "Her father! Poor George West her father?" + +"Even so." + +Just a moment's struggle with her rebellious spirit and Mrs. Hamlyn +stooped to kiss the trembling girl. "Yes, Alice, we do owe you +reparation amongst us, and we must try to make it," she said heartily. +"I see how it is: you will reign here with Harry; and I think he will +be able, after all, to let us keep Peacock's Range." + +There came a grand wedding, Captain Monk himself giving Alice away. But +Mr. and Mrs. Hamlyn did not retain Peacock's Range; they and their boys, +the two Walters, had to look out for another local residence; for Mrs. +Carradyne retired to Peacock's Range herself. Now that Leet Hall had a +young mistress, she deemed it policy to quit it; though it should have +as much of her as it pleased as a visitor. And Captain Godfrey Monk made +himself happier in these peaceful days than he had ever been in his +stormy ones. + +And that's the history. If I had to begin it again, I don't think +I should write it; for I have had to take its details from other +people--chiefly from the Squire and old Mr. Sterling, of the Court. +There's nothing of mine in it, so to say, and it has been only a bother. + +And those unfortunate chimes have nearly passed out of memory with the +lapse of years. The "Silent Chimes" they are always called when, by +chance, allusion is made to them, and will be so called for ever. + + +THE END + + + LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS LIMITED, + STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. + + + + +MRS. HENRY WOOD'S NOVELS + +_SALE TWO AND A HALF MILLIONS._ + +EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS. + + +1. + +EAST LYNNE. + +_FOUR HUNDRED AND EIGHTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"'East Lynne' is so full of incident, so exciting in every page, and so +admirably written, that one hardly knows how to go to bed without +reading to the very last page."--THE OBSERVER. + +"A work of remarkable power which displays a force of description and a +dramatic completeness we have seldom seen surpassed. The interest of the +narrative intensifies itself to the deepest pathos. The closing scene +is in the highest degree tragic, and the whole management of the story +exhibits unquestionable genius and originality."--THE DAILY NEWS. + +"'East Lynne' has been translated into the Hindustani and Parsee +languages, and the success of it has been very great."--DANIEL +BANDMANN'S JOURNAL. + +"I was having a delightful conversation with a clever Indian officer, +and listening to his reminiscences of being sent out to serve in +China with Gordon. He gave me an account of how he tried to keep the +regimental library together under difficulties, and how 'East Lynne' was +sent to them from England. Gordon got hold of it, and was fascinated. He +used to come riding from a distance, at some risk, to get hold of the +volumes as they were to be had."--EXTRACT FROM A LETTER. + + +2. + +THE CHANNINGS. + +_TWO HUNDREDTH THOUSAND._ + +"'The Channings' will probably be read over and over again, and it can +never be read too often."--THE ATHENÆUM. + + +3. + +MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. + +_ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"The boldness, originality, and social scrutiny displayed in this work +remind the reader of Adam Bede. It would be difficult to place beside +the death of Edgar Halliburton anything in fiction comparable with its +profound pathos and simplicity. It is long since the novel-reading world +has had reason so thoroughly to congratulate itself upon the appearance +of a new work as in the instance of 'Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles.' It is +a fine work; a great and artistic picture."--THE MORNING POST. + + +4. + +THE SHADOW OF ASHLYDYAT. + +_ONE HUNDRED AND TENTH THOUSAND._ + +"'The Shadow of Ashlydyat' is very clever, and keeps up the constant +interest of the reader. It has a slight supernatural tinge, which gives +the romantic touch to the story which Sir Walter Scott so often used +with even greater effect; but it is not explained away at the end as +Sir Walter Scott's supernatural touches generally, and inartistically, +were."--THE SPECTATOR. + +"The genius of Mrs. Henry Wood shines as brightly as ever. There is a +scene or two between Maria Godolphin and her little girl just before she +dies, which absolutely melt the heart. The death-bed scene likewise is +exquisitely pathetic."--THE COURT JOURNAL. + + +5. + +LORD OAKBURN'S DAUGHTERS. + +_ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"The story is admirably told."--THE SPECTATOR. + + +6. + +VERNER'S PRIDE. + +_EIGHTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"'Verner's Pride' is a first-rate novel in its breadth of outline and +brilliancy of description. Its exciting events, its spirited scenes, and +its vivid details, all contribute to its triumph. The interest this work +awakens, and the admiration it excites in the minds of its readers, +must infallibly tend to the renown of the writer, while they herald the +welcome reception of the work wherever skill in construction of no +ordinary kind, or a ready appreciation of character, which few possess, +can arouse attention or win regard."--THE SUN. + + +7. + +ROLAND YORKE. + +_ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"In all respects worthy of the hand that wrote 'The Channings' and 'East +Lynne.' There is no lack of excitement to wile the reader on, and from +the first to the last a well-planned story is sustained with admirable +spirit and in a masterly style."--THE DAILY NEWS. + + +8. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + ++The First Series.+ + +_FIFTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"We regard these stories as almost perfect of their kind."--THE +SPECTATOR. + +"Fresh, lively, vigorous, and full of clever dialogue, they will meet +with a ready welcome. The Author is masterly in the skill with which she +manages her successive dramas."--STANDARD. + +"It is an agreeable change to come upon a book like Johnny +Ludlow."--SATURDAY REVIEW. + +"Vigour of description and a strong grasp of character."--ATHENÆUM. + +"The Author has given proof of a rarer dramatic instinct than we had +suspected among our living writers of fiction."--NONCONFORMIST. + +"Tales full of interest."--VANITY FAIR. + +"Fresh, clear, simple, strong in purpose and in execution, these stories +have won admiration as true works of inventive art. Without a single +exception they maintain a powerful hold upon the mind of the reader, and +keep his sympathies in a continued state of healthy excitement."--DAILY +TELEGRAPH. + + +9. + +MILDRED ARKELL. + +_EIGHTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"Mrs. Henry Wood certainly possesses in a wholly exceptional degree the +power of uniting the most startling incident of supernatural influence +with a certain probability and naturalness which compels the most +critical and sceptical reader, having once begun, to go on reading.... +He finds himself conciliated by some bit of quiet picture, some accent +of poetic tenderness, some sweet domestic touch telling of a heart +exercised in the rarer experiences; and as he proceeds he wonders more +and more at the manner in which the mystery, the criminality, the +plotting, and the murdering reconciles itself with a quiet sense of the +justice of things; and a great moral lesson is, after all, found to lie +in the heart of all the turmoil and exciting scene-shifting. It is this +which has earned for Mrs. Wood so high a place among popular novelists, +and secured her admittance to homes from which the sensational novelists +so-called are excluded."--THE NONCONFORMIST. + + +10. + +SAINT MARTIN'S EVE. + +_SEVENTY-SIXTH THOUSAND._ + +"A good novel."--THE SPECTATOR. + +"Mrs. Wood has spared no pains to accumulate the materials for a +curiously thrilling story."--THE SATURDAY REVIEW. + + +11. + +TREVLYN HOLD. + +_Sixty-fifth Thousand._ + +"We cannot read a page of this work without discovering a graphic force +of delineation which it would not be easy to surpass."--THE DAILY NEWS. + + +12. + +GEORGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. + +_SIXTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"The name of Mrs. Henry Wood has been familiar to novel-readers for many +years, and her fame widens and strengthens with the increase in the +number of her books."--THE MORNING POST. + + +13. + +THE RED COURT FARM. + +_EIGHTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"When we say that a plot displays Mrs. Wood's well-known skill in +construction, our readers will quite understand that their attention +will be enchained by it from the first page to the last."--THE WEEKLY +DISPATCH. + + +14. + +WITHIN THE MAZE. + +_ONE HUNDRED AND TWELFTH THOUSAND._ + +"The decided novelty and ingenuity of the plot of 'Within the Maze' +renders it, in our eyes, one of Mrs. Henry Wood's best novels. It +is excellently developed, and the interest hardly flags for a +moment."--THE GRAPHIC. + + +15. + +ELSTER'S FOLLY. + +_SIXTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"Mrs. Wood fulfils all the requisites of a good novelist: she interests +people in her books, makes them anxious about the characters, and +furnishes an intricate and carefully woven plot."--THE MORNING POST. + + +16. + +LADY ADELAIDE. + +_SIXTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"One of Mrs. Henry Wood's best novels."--THE STAR. + +"Mme. Henry Wood est fort célèbre en Angleterre, et ses romans--très +moraux et très bien écrits--sont dans toutes les mains et revivent dans +toutes les mémoires. _Le serment de lady Adelaïde_ donneront à nos +lecteurs une idée très suffisante du talent si élevé de mistress Henry +Wood."--L'INSTRUCTION PUBLIQUE. + + +17. + +OSWALD CRAY. + +_SIXTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"Mrs. Wood has certainly an art of novel-writing which no rival +possesses in the same degree and kind. It is not, we fancy, a common +experience for anyone to leave one of these novels unfinished."--THE +SPECTATOR. + + +18. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + ++The Second Series.+ + +_THIRTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"The author has given proof of a rarer dramatic instinct than we had +suspected among our living writers of fiction. It is not possible by +means of extracts to convey any adequate sense of the humour, the +pathos, the dramatic power and graphic description of this book."--THE +NONCONFORMIST. + +"Mrs. Henry Wood has made a welcome addition to the list of the works of +contemporary fiction."--ATHENÆUM (_second notice_). + +"These most exquisite studies."--NONCONFORMIST (_second notice_). + +"The tales are delightful from their unaffected and sometimes pathetic +simplicity."--STANDARD (_second notice_). + +"To write a short story really well is the most difficult part of the +art of fiction; and 'Johnny Ludlow' has succeeded in it in such a manner +that his--or rather her--art looks like nature, and is hardly less +surprising for its excellence than for the fertility of invention on +which it is founded."--GLOBE. + +"Freshness of tone, briskness of movement, vigour, reality, humour, +pathos. It is safe to affirm that there is not a single story which will +not be read with pleasure by both sexes, of all ages."--ILLUSTRATED +LONDON NEWS. + + +19. + +ANNE HEREFORD. + +_FORTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"Mrs. Wood's story, 'Anne Hereford,' is a favourable specimen of her +manner, the incidents are well planned, and the narrative is easy and +vigorous."--ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS. + + +20. + +DENE HOLLOW. + +_SIXTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"Novel-readers wishing to be entertained, and deeply interested in +character and incident, will find their curiosity wholesomely gratified +by the graphic pages of 'Dene Hollow,' an excellent novel, without the +drawbacks of wearisome digressions and monotonous platitudes so common +in the chapters of modern fiction."--THE MORNING POST. + + +21. + +EDINA. + +_FORTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"The whole situation of the book is clever, and the plot is well +managed."--ACADEMY. + +"Edina's character is beautifully drawn."--THE LITERARY WORLD. + + +22. + +A LIFE'S SECRET. + +_SIXTY-FIFTH THOUSAND._ + +"Now that the rights of capital and labour are being fully inquired +into, Mrs. Wood's story of 'A Life's Secret' is particularly opportune +and interesting. It is based upon a plot that awakens curiosity and +keeps it alive throughout. The hero and heroine are marked with +individuality, the love-passages are finely drawn, and the story +developed with judgment."--THE CIVIL SERVICE GAZETTE. + +"If Mrs. Wood's book does not tend to eradicate the cowardice, folly, +and slavish submission to lazy agitators among the working men, all we +can say is that it ought to do so, for it is at once well written, +effective, and truthful."--THE ILLUSTRATED TIMES. + + +23. + +COURT NETHERLEIGH. + +_FORTY-SIXTH THOUSAND._ + +"We always open one of Mrs. Wood's novels with pleasure, because we are +sure of being amused and interested."--THE TIMES. + +"Lisez-le; l'émotion que vous sentirez peu à peu monter à votre coeur +est saine et fortifiante. Lisez-le; c'est un livre honnête sorti d'une +plume honnête et vous pourrez le laisser traîner sur la table."--LE +SIGNAL (_Paris_). + + +24. + +LADY GRACE. + +_TWENTY-FIRST THOUSAND._ + +"'Lady Grace' worthily continues a series of novels thoroughly English +in feeling and sentiment, and which fairly illustrate many phases of our +national life."--MORNING POST. + + +25. + +BESSY RANE. + +_FORTY-SECOND THOUSAND._ + +"The power to draw minutely and carefully each character with +characteristic individuality in word and action is Mrs. Wood's especial +gift. This endows her pages with a vitality which carries the reader to +the end, and leaves him with the feeling that the veil which in real +life separates man from man has been raised, and that he has for once +seen and known certain people as intimately as if he had been their +guardian angel. This is a great fascination."--THE ATHENÆUM. + + +26. + +THE UNHOLY WISH. + +_FIFTEENTH THOUSAND._ + +"The characters and situations of which the author made her books are, +indeed, beyond criticism; their interest has been proved by the +experience of generations."--PALL-MALL GAZETTE. + + +27. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + ++Third Series.+ + +_TWENTY-THIRD THOUSAND._ + +"The peculiar and unfailing charm of Mrs. Wood's style has rarely been +more apparent than in this succession of chronicles, partly of rustic +life, some relating to the fortunes of persons in a higher class, but +all remarkable for an easy simplicity of tone, true to nature."--MORNING +POST. + + +28. + +THE MASTER OF GREYLANDS. + +_FIFTIETH THOUSAND._ + +"A book by Mrs. Wood is sure to be a good one, and no one who opens +'The Master of Greylands' in anticipation of an intellectual treat will +be disappointed. The keen analysis of character, and the admirable +management of the plot, alike attest the clever novelist."--JOHN BULL. + + +29. + +ORVILLE COLLEGE. + +_THIRTY-EIGHTH THOUSAND._ + +"Mrs. Wood's stories bear the impress of her versatile talent and +well-known skill in turning to account the commonplaces of daily life as +well as the popular superstitions of the multitude."--THE LITERARY +WORLD. + + +30. + +POMEROY ABBEY. + +_FORTY-EIGHTH THOUSAND._ + +"All the Pomeroys are very cleverly individualised, and the way in which +the mystery is worked up, including its one horribly tragic incident, is +really beyond all praise."--THE MORNING POST. + + +31. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + ++Fourth Series.+ + +_FIFTEENTH THOUSAND._ + +"Fresh, clear, simple, strong in purpose and in execution, these stories +have won admiration as true works of inventive art. Without a single +exception they maintain a powerful hold upon the mind of the reader, and +keep his sympathies in a continual state of healthy excitement."--DAILY +TELEGRAPH. + + +32. + +ADAM GRAINGER. + +_FIFTEENTH THOUSAND._ + +"Mrs. Wood fulfils all the requisites of a good novelist; she interests +people in her books, makes them anxious about the characters, and +furnishes an intricate and carefully woven plot."--MORNING POST. + + +33. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + ++Fifth Series.+ + +_FIFTEENTH THOUSAND._ + +"Freshness of tone, briskness of movement, vigour, reality, humour, +pathos. It is safe to affirm that there is not a single story which will +not be read with pleasure by both sexes, of all ages."--ILLUSTRATED +LONDON NEWS. + + +34. + +JOHNNY LUDLOW. + + +Sixth Series.+ +New Edition.+ + + +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. + +A few errors in punctuation were corrected silently. Also the following +corrections were made, on page + + 152 "TRAGDEY" changed to "TRAGEDY" (In chapter header) + 170 "Todhetly" changed to "Todhetley" (from Mr. Todhetley. That was) + 188 "bank-notes" changed to "bank-note" (the bank-note did not turn + up) + 223 "by-and-bye" changed to "by-and-by" (would join them by-and-by.) + 239 "Danäe" changed to "Danaë" (Jupiter went courting Danaë) + 284 "I" added (Section header) + 324 "an" changed to "as" (give up Tom Rivers also, as you will) + 349 "a" added (than he had ever taken of a baby yet). + +Otherwise the original was preserved, including inconsistent spelling +and hyphenation. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Johnny Ludlow, Sixth Series, by Mrs. Henry Wood + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40963 *** |