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diff --git a/42756-8.txt b/42756-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 12e9c48..0000000 --- a/42756-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12854 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of An Isle of Surrey, by Richard Dowling - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: An Isle of Surrey - A Novel - -Author: Richard Dowling - -Release Date: May 21, 2013 [EBook #42756] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ISLE OF SURREY *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (Emory University) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://archive.org/details/61248333.2041.emory.edu - (Emory University) - - - - - - - AN ISLE OF SURREY. - - - - A Novel. - - - - - BY - - RICHARD DOWLING, - - AUTHOR OF - - "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART," - "UNDER ST. PAUL'S," "MIRACLE GOLD," ETC. - - - - - * * * * * * * * * * - _NEW EDITION_. - * * * * * * * * * * - - - - - WARD AND DOWNEY, - 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON, W.C. - 1891. - - - - - - - PRINTED BY - KELLY AND CO., MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON-THAMES - AND GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, W.C. - - - - - - - CONTENTS - -CHAP. - I.--Welford Bridge. - - II.--Crawford's House. - - III.--The Pine Groves of Leeham. - - IV.--The Missing Man. - - V.--A Second Apparition. - - VI.--Crawford's Investigations. - - VII.--A Visitor at Boland's Ait. - - VIII.--Father and Son. - - IX.--Crawford's Home. - - X.--Father and Son. - - XI.--"Can I Play with that Little Boy?" - - XII.--Philip Ray at Richmond. - - XIII.--An Invitation Accepted. - - XIV.--The Fire at Richmond. - - XV.--How William Goddard changed his Name. - - XVI.--At Play. - - XVII.--The Postman's Hail. - - XVIII.--Private Theatricals. - - XIX.--The Tow-path by Night. - - XX.--A Hostage at Crawford's House. - - XXI.--Crawford Sells a Patent. - - XXII.--William Crawford's Nightmare. - - XXIII.--"Man Overboard!" - - XXIV.--Reward for a Life. - - XXV.--A New Visitor at Crawford's House. - - XXVI.--A Bridge of Sighs. - - XXVII.--A Last Resolve. - - XXVIII.--William Crawford's Luck. - - XXIX.--An Intruder upon the Ait. - - XXX.--Hetty's Visit to the Ait. - - XXXI.--By the Boy's Bedside. - - XXXII.--Bramwell finds a Sister. - - XXXIII.--"I must go to fetch her Home." - - XXXIV.--Crawford's Plans for the Future. - - XXXV.--Husband and Wife. - - XXXVI.--Tea at Crawford's House. - - XXXVII.--Crawford Writes Home. - - XXXVIII.--William Crawford Free. - - XXXIX.--Crawford is Sleepless. - - XL.--Crawford Sleeps - - - - - - - AN ISLE OF SURREY. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - WELFORD BRIDGE. - - -There was not a cloud in the heavens. The sun lay low in the west. The -eastern sky of a May evening was growing from blue to a violet dusk. -Not a breath of wind stirred. It was long past the end of the -workman's day. - -A group of miserably clad men lounged on Welford Bridge, some gazing -vacantly into the empty sky, and some gazing vacantly into the turbid -water of the South London Canal, crawling beneath the bridge at the -rate of a foot a minute towards its outlet in the Mercantile Docks, on -the Surrey shore between Greenwich and the Pool. - -The men were all on the southern side of the bridge: they were loafers -and long-shoremen. Most of them had pipes in their mouths. They were a -disreputable-looking group, belonging to that section of the residuum -which is the despair of philanthropists--the man who has nothing -before him but work or crime, and can hardly be got to work. - -One of them was leaning against the parapet with his face turned in -mere idleness up the canal. He was not looking at anything: his full, -prominent, meaningless blue eyes were fixed on nothing. Directly in -the line of his vision, and between him and Camberwell, were -Crawford's Bay and Boland's Ait. The ait, so called by some derisive -humourist, lay in the mouth of the bay, the outer side of it forming -one bank of the canal, and the inner side corresponding with the sweep -of Crawford's Bay, formed forty feet of canal water. - -The man looking south was low-sized, red-bearded, red-whiskered, -red-haired, with a battered brown felt hat, a neckerchief of no -determinable colour, a torn check shirt, a dark blue ragged pea-jacket -of pilot cloth, no waistcoat, a pair of brown stained trousers, and -boots several sizes too large for him, turned up at the toes, and so -bagged and battered and worn that they looked as though they could not -be moved another step without falling asunder. This man would have -told a mere acquaintance that his name was Jim Ford, but he was called -by those who knew him Red Jim. - -All at once he uttered a strong exclamation of surprise without -shifting his position. - -"What is it, Jim?" asked a tall, lank, dark man by his side. - -The others of the group turned and looked in the direction in which -Jim's eyes were fixed. - -"Why," said Red Jim, in a tone of incredulity and indignation, -"there's some one in Crawford's House!" - -"Of course there is, you fool! Why, where have you been? Haven't you -heard? Have you been with the Salvation Army, or only doing a -stretch?" - -"Fool yourself!" said Red Jim. "Mind what you're saying, or perhaps -I'll stretch you a bit, long as you are already." The other men -laughed at this personal sally. It reduced long Ned Bayliss to sullen -silence, and restored Red Jim to his condition of objectless vacuity. - -"I hear," said a man who had not yet spoken, "that Crawford's House is -let." - -"Let!" cried another, as though anyone who mentioned the matter as -news must be ages behind the times. "Let! I should think it is!" - -"And yet it isn't so much let, after all," said Ned Bayliss, turning -round in a captious manner. "You can't exactly say a place is let when -a man goes to live in his own house." - -"Why, Crawford's dead this long and merry," objected a voice. - -"Well," said Ned Bayliss, "and if he is, and if he left all to his -wife for as long as she kept his name, and if she married a second -time and got her new husband to change his name instead of _her_ -changing _hers_--how is that, do you think, Matt Jordan?" - -It was plain by Ned Bayliss's manner and by the way in which this -speech was received by the listeners that he was looked up to as a -being of extraordinary mental endowment, and possessed preëminently of -the power of lucid exposition. - -"True enough," said Matt Jordan humbly, as he hitched up his trousers -and shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, and -coughed a self-deprecatory cough. "And a snug property he has come -into, I say. I only wish I was in his place." - -Jordan was a squat, ill-favoured man of forty. - -"Why," said Bayliss derisively, "a man with your points wouldn't throw -himself away on a sickly widow with only a matter of a thousand a-year -or thereabouts out of a lot of ramshackle tenement-houses and canal -wharfs. You'd look higher, Matt. Why, you'd want a titled lady, any -way. With your face and figure, you ought to be able to do a great -deal better than an elderly sickly widow, even if she is rich." - -Jordan shifted his felt hat, made no reply, and for a while there was -silence. - -Crawford's House, of which the loungers on Welford Bridge were -speaking, stood a few feet back from the inner edge of Crawford's Bay, -about three hundred yards from the bridge. Jim Ford, the first -speaker, had concluded, from seeing all the sashes of the house open, -and a woman cleaning a window, and a strip of carpet hanging out of -another, that a tenant had been found for this lonely and isolated -dwelling, which had been standing idle for years. - -"Have you seen this turncoat Crawford?" asked a man after a pause. - -No one had seen him. - -"He must have a spirit no better than a dog's to change his name for -her money," said Red Jim, without abandoning his study of Crawford's -House, on which his vacant eyes now rested with as much curiosity as -the expressionless blue orbs were capable of. - -"It would be very handy for _some_ people to change their names like -that, or in any other way that wouldn't bring a trifle of canvas and a -few copper bolts to the mind of any one in the neighbourhood of the -East India Docks," said Bayliss, looking at that point of the sky -directly above him, lest any one might fancy his words had a personal -application. - -With an oath, Red Jim turned round, and, keeping his side close to the -parapet, slouched slowly away towards the King William public-house, -which stood at the bottom of the short approach to the steep -humpbacked bridge. - -"Nice chap he is to talk of changing a name for money being -disgraceful!" said Bayliss, when the other was out of hearing. "He was -as near as ninepence to doing time over them canvas and bolts at the -East India. Look at him now, going to the William as if he had money! -_He_ isn't the man that could stand here if he had a penny in his -rags." The speaker jingled some coins in his own pocket to show how -he, being a man of intellectual resources and strong will, could -resist temptation before which common clay, such as Red Jim was made -of, must succumb. - -Red Jim did not enter the William. As he reached the door he stopped -and looked along the road. A man coming from the western end drew up -in front of him and said: - -"Is that Welford Bridge?" pointing to where the group of loungers -stood, with the upper portions of their bodies illumined by the -western glow against the darkening eastern sky. - -"Yes," said Jim sullenly, "that's Welford Bridge." - -"Do you know where Crawford's Bay is, here on the South London Canal? -Is that the canal bridge?" - -"I know where Crawford's Bay is right enough," said the other -doggedly. He was not disposed to volunteer any information. "Do you -want to go to Crawford's Bay? If you do, I can show you the way. I'm -out of work, gov'nor, and stone broke." - -"Very good. Come along and show me Crawford's House. I'll pay you for -your trouble." - -Red Jim led the way back to the bridge. - -"Who has he picked up?" asked Bayliss jealously, as the two men passed -the group. - -None of the loungers answered. - -"He's turning down Crawford Street," said Bayliss, when the two men -had gone a hundred yards beyond the bridge. - -"So he is," said another. Bayliss was the most ready of speech, and -monopolised the conversation. His mates regarded him as one rarely -gifted in the matter of language; as one who would, without doubt, -have made an orator if ambition had led the way. - -"I wonder what Red Jim is bringing that man down Crawford Street for? -No good, I'm sure." - -"Seems a stranger," suggested the other man. "Maybe he wants Jim to -show him the way." - -"Ay," said Bayliss in a discontented tone. "There's a great deal to be -seen down Crawford Street! Lovely views; plenty of rotting doors. Now, -if they only got in on the wharf, Jim could show him the old empty -ice-house there. Do you know, if any one was missing hereabouts, and a -good reward was offered, I'd get the drags and have a try in the -ice-house. There's ten feet of water in it if there's an inch, so I'm -told." - -"It is a lonesome place. I wonder they don't pump the water out." - -"Pump it out, you fool! How could they? Why, 'twould fill as fast as -any dozen fire-engines could pump it out. The water from the canal -soaks into it as if the wall was a sieve." - -Nothing more was said for a while. Then suddenly, Bayliss, whose eyes -were turned towards the bay, uttered an oath, and exclaimed, "We're a -heap of fools, that's what we are, not to guess. Why, it must be -Crawford, the new Crawford--not the Crawford that's dead and buried, -but the one that's alive and had the gumption to marry the sickly -widow for her money! There he is at the window with that girl I saw -going into the house to-day." - -Bayliss stretched out his long lean arm, and pointed with his thin -grimy hand over the canal towards Crawford's House, at one of the -windows of which a man and woman could be seen looking out into the -dark turbid waters of Crawford's Bay. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - CRAWFORD'S HOUSE. - - -Crawford Street, into which the stranger and his uncouth conductor had -turned, was a narrow, dingy, neglected blind lane. The end of it was -formed of a brick wall, moss-grown and ragged. On the right hand side -were gates and doors of idle wharves, whose rears abutted on the bay; -on the left, a long low unbroken wall separating the roadway from a -desolate waste, where rubbish might be shot, according to a -dilapidated and half-illegible notice-board; but on the plot were only -two small mounds of that dreary material, crowned with a few battered -rusty iron and tin utensils of undeterminable use. - -In the street, which was a couple of hundred yards long, stood the -only dwelling. Opposite the door Red Jim drew up, and, pointing, said, -"That's Crawford's House. I belong to this neighourhood. I'm called -after the place. My name is James Ford. I'm called after the place, -same as a lord is called after a place. They found me twenty-nine -years ago on the tow-path. Nobody wanted me much then or since. Maybe -you're the new Mr. Crawford, and, like me, called after the place -too?" He spoke in a tone of curiosity. - -At the question, his companion started, looking at Red Jim out of a -pair of keen, quick, furtive eyes. "I told you I would pay you for -showing me the place. Here's sixpence. If you want any information of -me, you'll have to pay me for it. If you really care to know my name, -I'll tell it to you for that sixpence." The stranger laughed a short -sharp laugh, handed Red Jim the coin, and kept his hand outstretched -as if to take it back. - -Jim turned on his heel, and slunk away muttering. - -The stranger knocked with his fist on the door, from which the knocker -was missing. The panels had originally been painted a grass-green, now -faded down to the sober hue of the sea. - -The door was opened by a tall slender girl, whose golden-brown hair -was flying in wild confusion over her white forehead and red cheeks, -and across her blue eyes, in which, as in the hair, flashed a glint of -gold. She smiled and laughed apologetically, and thrust her floating -hair back from her face with both her hands. - -"Miss Layard?" said the stranger, raising his hat and bowing. He -thought, "What beauty, what health, what spirits, what grace, what -youth, what deliciousness!" - -"Yes," she answered, stepping back for him to enter. "Mr. Crawford?" -she asked in her turn. - -"My name is Crawford," he said going in. "I--I was not quite prepared -to find you what you are, Miss Layard--I mean so--so young. When your -brother spoke to me of his sister, I fancied he meant some one much -older than himself." - -She smiled, and laughed again as she led him into the front room, now -in a state of chaotic confusion. - -"We did not expect you till later. My brother has not come home yet. -We have only moved in to-day, and we are, O! in such dreadful -confusion." - -On the centre of the floor was spread a square of very old threadbare -carpet, leaving a frame of worn old boards around it. In the centre of -the carpet stood a small dining-table. Nothing else in the room was -in its place. The half-dozen poor chairs, the chiffonnier, the one -easy-chair, the couch, were all higgledy-piggledy. The furniture was -of the cheapest kind, made to catch the inexperienced eye. Although -evidently not old, it was showing signs of decrepitude. It had once, -no doubt, looked bright and pleasant enough, but now the spring seats -of the chairs were bulged, and the green plush expanse of the couch -rose and fell like miniature grazing-land of rolling hillocks. - -The young girl placed a seat for her visitor, and took one herself -with another of those bright cheerful laughs which were delicious -music, and seemed to make light and perfume in the darkening cheerless -room. - -"My brother told me you were not likely to be here until ten; but your -rooms are all ready, if you wish to see them." - -She leant back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap, a -picture of beautiful, joyous girlhood. - -He regarded her with undisguised admiration. She returned his looks -with smiling, unruffled tranquillity. - -"So," he said in a low voice, as though he did not wish the noise of -his own words to distract his sense of seeing, concentrated on her -face and lithe graceful figure, "you got my rooms ready, while you -left your own in chaos?" - -"You are too soon," she answered, nodding her head playfully. "If you -had not come until ten, we should have had this room in order. As you -see, it was well we arranged the other rooms first. Would you like to -see them?" - -"Not just now. I am quite content here for the present," he said, with -a gallant gesture towards her. - -"I don't think my brother will be very long. In fact, when you knocked -I felt quite sure it was Alfred. O! here he is. Pardon me," she cried, -springing up, and hurrying to the door. - -In a few minutes Alfred Layard was shaking hands with the other man, -saying pleasantly and easily, "I do not know, Mr. Crawford, whether it -is I ought to welcome you, or you ought to welcome me. You are at once -my landlord and my tenant." - -"And you, on your side, necessarily are my landlord and my tenant -also. Let us welcome one another, and hope we may be good friends." - -With a wave of his hand he included the girl in this proposal. - -"Agreed!" cried Layard cheerfully, as he again shook the short plump -hand of the elder man. - -"You see," said Crawford, explaining the matter with a humorous toss -of the head and a chuckle, "your brother is my tenant, since he has -taken this house, and I am his tenant, since I have taken two rooms in -this house. I have just been saying to Miss Layard," turning from the -sister to the brother, "that when you spoke to me of your sister who -looked after your little boy, I imagined she must be much older than -you." - -"Instead of which you find her a whole ten years younger," said -Layard, putting his arm round the girl's slim waist lightly and -affectionately; "and yet, although she is only a child, she is as wise -with her little motherless nephew as if she were Methuselah's sister." - -The girl blushed and escaped from her brother's arm. - -"You would think," she said, "that there was some credit in taking -care of Freddie. Why, he's big enough and good enough to take care of -himself, and me into the bargain. I asked Mr. Crawford, Alfred, if he -would like to look at his rooms, but he seemed to wish to see you." - -"And I am here at last," said Layard. "Well, shall we go and look at -them now? You observe the confusion we are in here. We cannot, I fear, -offer you even a cup of tea to drink to our better acquaintance." - -Crawford rose, and the three left the room and began ascending the -narrow massive and firm old stairs. - -To look at brother and sister, no one would fancy they were related. -He was tall and lank, with dark swarthy face, deep-sunken small grey -eyes, not remarkable for their light, dark brown hair, and snub nose. -The most remarkable feature of his face was his beard--dark dull brown -which looked almost dun, and hung down from each side of his chin in -two enormous thin streamers. His face in repose was the embodiment of -invincible melancholy; but by some unascertainable means it was able -to light up under the influence of humour, or affection, or joy, in a -way all the more enchanting because so wholly unexpected. - -Alfred Layard was thirty years of age, and had been a widower two -years, his young wife dying a twelve-month after the birth of her only -child Freddie, now three. - -William Crawford was a man of very different mould; thick-set, -good-looking, with bold brown eyes, clean-shaven face, close thick -hair which curled all over a massive head, full lips that had few -movements, and handsome well cut forehead too hollow for beauty in the -upper central region. The face was singularly immobile, but it had a -look of energy and resolution about it that caught the eye and held -the attention, and ended in arousing something between curiosity and -fear in the beholder. Plainly, a man with a will of his own, and -plenty of energy to carry that will out. In all his movements, even -those of courtesy, there was a suggestion of irrepressible vigour. His -age was about five or six and thirty. - -It was an odd procession. In front, the gay fair girl with azure eyes, -golden-brown hair, and lithe form, ascending with elastic step. Behind -her, the thick-set, firm, resolute figure of the elder man, with dark, -impassive, immobile features, bold dark eyes, and firm lips, moving as -though prepared to meet opposition and ready to overcome it. Last, the -tall, lank angular form of the young widower, with plain, almost ugly, -face, deep-set eyes, snub nose, dull complexion, and long melancholy -dun beard, flowing like a widow's streamers in two thin scarves behind -him. Here were three faces, one of which was always alight, a second -which could never light, and a third usually dull and dead, but which -could light at will. - -"This is the sitting-room," said Hetty, standing at the threshold. -"You said you would prefer having the back room furnished as the -sitting-room, Alfred told me." - -"Yes, certainly, the back for the sitting-room," said Crawford, as -they entered. He looked round sharply with somewhat the same -surprising quickness of glance which had greeted Red Jim's question at -the door. It conveyed the idea of a man at once curious and on his -guard. - -His survey seemed to satisfy him, for he ceased to occupy himself with -the room, and said, turning to the brother and sister, with a short -laugh, "This, as you know, is my first visit to Crawford Street. I had -no notion what kind of a place it was; and when I am here, two or -three days in the month, and a week additional each quarter, I should -like to be quiet and much to myself. I don't, of course, my dear Mr. -Layard, mean with regard to your sister and you," he bowed, "but the -people all round. They are not a very nice class of people, are they?" -with a shrug of his shoulders at people who were not very nice. - -"There are no people at all near us," answered Layard cheerfully. "No -one else lives in the street, and we have the canal, or rather the -Bay, at the back." - -"Capital! capital!" cried Crawford in a spiritless voice, though he -rubbed his hands as if enjoying himself immensely. "You, saving for -the presence of Miss Layard and your little boy, whose acquaintance, -by the way, I have not yet made, are a kind of Robinson Crusoe here." - -"O!" cried Hetty, running to the window and pointing out, "the real -Robinson Crusoe is here." - -"Where? I hope he has Man Friday, parrot, and all; walking to the -window, where they stood looking out, the girl, with her round arm, -pointing into the gathering dusk. In the window-place, they were -almost face to face. Instead of instantly following the direction of -Hetty's arm, he followed the direction of his thoughts, and while her -eyes were gazing out of the window, his were fixed upon her face. - -"There," she said, upon finding his eyes were not in the direction of -her hand. - -"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I can see no one." - -He was now looking out of the window. - -"But you can see his island." - -"Again I beg your pardon, but I can see no island." - -"What you see there is an island. That is not the tow-path right -opposite: that is Boland's Ait." - -"Boland's Ait! Yes, I have heard of Boland's Ait. I have nothing to do -with it, I believe?" he turned to Layard. - -"I think not." - -"O, no!" said the girl laughing; "the whole island is the property of -Mr. Francis Bramwell, a most mysterious man, who is either an -astrologer, or an author, or a pirate, or something wonderful and -romantic." - -"Why," cried her brother in amused surprise, "where on earth did you -get this information?" - -"From Mrs. Grainger, whom you sent to help me to-day. Mrs. Grainger -knows the history of the whole neighbourhood from the time of Adam." - -"The place cannot have existed so long," said Crawford, with another -of his short laughs; "for it shows no sign of having been washed even -as far back as the Flood. Is your Crusoe old or young?" - -"Young, I am told, and handsome. I assure you the story is quite -romantic." - -"And is there much more of the story of this Man Friday, or whatever -he is?" asked Crawford carelessly, as he moved away from the window -towards the door. - -"Well," said she, "that is a good deal to begin with; and then it is -said he has been ruined by some one or other, or something or other, -either betting on horses or buying shares in railways to the moon, and -that he did these foolish things because his wife ran away from him; -and now he lives all alone on his island, and leaves it very seldom, -and never has any visitors, or hardly any, and is supposed to be -writing a book proving that woman is a mistake and ought to be -abolished." - -"The brute!" interpolated Crawford, bowing to Hetty, as though in -protest against any one who could say an unkind thing of the sex to -which she belonged. - -"Isn't it dreadful?" cried the girl in a tone of comic distress. -She was still standing by the window, one cheek and side of her -golden-brown hair illumined by the fading light, and her blue eyes -dancing with mischievous excitement. "And they say that, much as he -hates women, he hates men more." - -"Ah! that is a redeeming feature," said Crawford. "A misanthropist is -intelligible, but a misogynist is a thing beyond reason, and hateful." - -"But, Hetty," said Layard, "if the man lives so very much to himself -and does not leave his house, how is all this known?" - -"Why, because all the women have not been abolished yet. Do you fancy -there ever was a mystery a woman could not find out? It is the -business of women to fathom mysteries. I'll engage that before we are -a week here I shall know twice as much as I do now of our romantic -neighbour." - -"And then," said Crawford, showing signs of flagging interest, and -directing his attention once more to the arrangement of the room, -"perhaps Miss Layard will follow this Crusoe's example, and write a -book against men." - -"No, no. I like men." - -He turned round and looked fully at her. "And upon my word, Miss -Layard," said he warmly, "I think you would find a vast majority of -men very willing to reciprocate the feeling." - -Hetty laughed, and so did her brother. - -"As I explained," said Crawford, "I shall want these rooms only once a -month. I shall have to look after the property in this neighbourhood. -I think I shall take a leaf out of our friend Crusoe's book, and keep -very quiet and retired. I care to be known in this neighbourhood as -little as possible. There is property of another kind in town. It, -too, requires my personal supervision. I shall make this place my -head-quarters, and keep what changes of clothes I require here. It is -extremely unlikely I shall have any visitors. By the way, in what -direction does Camberwell lie?" He asked the question with an -elaborate carelessness which did not escape Alfred Layard. - -"Up there," said Layard, waving his left hand in a southerly -direction. - -Once more Crawford approached the window. This time he leaned out, -resting his hand on the sill. - -In front of him lay Boland's Ait, a little island about a hundred -yards long and forty yards wide in the middle, tapering off to a point -at either end. Beyond the head of the island, pointing south, the -tow-path was visible, and beyond the tail of the island the tow-path -again, and further off Welford Bridge, lying north. - -Hetty was leaning against the wainscot of the old-fashioned deep -embrasure. - -"Does that tow-path lead to Camberwell?" asked Crawford. - -"Yes," answered the girl, making a gesture to the left. - -"Is it much frequented?" asked he in a voice he tried to make -commonplace, but from which he could not banish the hint of anxiety. - -"O, no, very few people go along it." - -"But now, I suppose, people sometimes come from that direction," -waving his left hand, "for a walk?" - -"Well," said the girl demurely, "the scenery isn't very attractive; -but there is nothing to prevent people coming, if they pay the toll." - -"O, there _is_ a toll?" he said in a tone of relief, as if the -knowledge of such a barrier between him and Camberwell were a source -of satisfaction to him. - -"Yes; a halfpenny on weekdays and a penny on Sundays." - -He leaned further out. The frame of the window shook slightly. "We -must have this woodwork fixed," he said a little peevishly. "What -building is this here on your left?--a store of some kind with the -gates off." - -"That's the empty ice-house. It belongs to you, I believe." - -"Ah! the empty ice-house. So it is. I never saw an ice-house before." - -"It is full of water," said the girl, again drawing on the charwoman's -store of local information. "It makes me quite uncomfortable to think -of it." - -The man, bending out of the window, shuddered, and shook the -window-frame sharply. "There seems to be a great deal of water about -here, and it doesn't look very ornamental." - -"No," said Hetty; "but it's very useful." - -Crawford's eyes were still directed to the left, but not at so sharp -an angle as to command a view of the vacant icehouse. He was gazing -across the head of the island at the tow-path. - -Suddenly he drew in with a muttered imprecation; the window-frame -shook violently, and a large piece of mortar fell and struck him on -the nape of the neck. He sprang back with a second half-uttered -malediction, and stood bolt upright a pace from the window, but did -not cease to gaze across the head of the island. - -Along the tow-path a tall man was advancing rapidly, swinging his arms -in a remarkable manner as he walked. - -"No, no, not hurt to speak of," he answered, with a hollow laugh, in -reply to a question of Layard's, still keeping his eyes fixed on the -tow-path visible beyond Boland's Ait. "The mortar has gone down my -back. I shall change my coat and get rid of the mortar. My portmanteau -has come, I perceive. Thank you, I am not hurt. Good evening for the -present," he added, as brother and sister moved towards the door. - -Although he did not stir further from the window, they saw he was in -haste they should be gone, so they hurried away, shutting the door -behind them. - -When they had disappeared he went back to the window, and muttered -in a hoarse voice: "I could have sworn it was Philip Ray--Philip Ray, -her brother, who registered an oath he would shoot me whenever or -wherever he met me, and he is the man to keep his word. He lives at -Camberwell. It must have been he. If it was he, in a few minutes he -will come out on the tow-path at the other end of the island; in two -minutes--in three minutes at the very outside--he must come round the -tail of the island, and then I can make sure whether it is Philip Ray -or not. He will be only half the distance from me that he was before, -and there will be light enough to make sure." - -He waited two, three, four, five minutes--quarter of an hour, but from -behind neither end of the island did the man emerge on the tow-path. -There could be no doubt of this, for from where he stood a long -stretch of the path was visible north and south beyond the island, and -William Crawford's eyes swung from one end of the line to the other as -frequently as the pendulum of a clock. - -At length, when half-an-hour had passed, and it was almost dark, he -became restless, excited, and in the end went down-stairs. In the -front room he found Layard on the top of a step-ladder. He said: - -"I was looking out of my window, and a man, coming from the northern -end of the tow-path, disappeared behind the island, behind Boland's -Ait. He has not come back and he has not come out at the other end. -Where can he have gone? Is there some way of getting off the tow-path -between the two points?" The speaker's manner was forced into a form -of pleasant wonder; but there were strange white lines, like lines of -fear, about his mouth and the corners of his eyes, "Is there a gate or -way off the tow-path?" - -"No. The man _must_ have come off the tow path or gone into the water -and been drowned," said Layard, not noticing anything peculiar in the -other, and answering half-playfully. - -"That would be too good," cried Crawford with a start, apparently -taken off his guard. - -"Eh?" cried Layard, facing round suddenly. He was in the act of -driving in a brass-headed nail. The fervour in Crawford's tone caught -his ear and made him suspend the blow he was about to deliver. - -"Oh, nothing," said the other, with one of his short laughs. "A -bad-natured joke. I meant it would be too much of a joke to think -a man could be drowned in such a simple way. But this man hid -himself behind the island and did not come forth at either end for -half-an-hour, and I thought I'd ask you what you thought, as the -circumstance piqued me. Good-night." - -When he found himself in his own room he closed the window, pulled -down the blind, hasped the shutters, and drew the curtains. He looked -round on the simple unpretending furniture suspiciously, and muttered: - -"He here--if it were he, and I think it was, appearing and -disappearing in such a way! He cannot have found me out? Curse him, -curse her; ay, curse her! Is not that all over now? She was to blame, -too." - -He walked up and down the room for an hour. - -"If that was Philip Ray, where did he go to? He seems to have -vanished. Layard knows every foot of this place. It was Philip Ray, -and he did vanish! Could he have seen me and recognised me? or could -he have tracked me, and is he now out on that little quay or wharf -under my window, _waiting_ for me? Ugh!" - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - THE PINE GROVES OF LEEHAM. - - -Below London Bridge, and just at the end of the Pool, the Thames makes -a sharp bend north, and keeps this course for close on a mile. Then it -sweeps in a gentle curve eastward for half a mile; after this it -suddenly turns south, and keeps on in a straight line for upwards of a -mile. The part of London bounded on three sides by these sections of -the river is not very densely populated if the acreage is considered. -Much of it is taken up with the vast system of the Mercantile Docks; -large spaces are wholly unbuilt on; the South London Canal, its -tow-path, and double row of wharves and yards, cover a large area; and -one of the most extensive gasworks in the metropolis and a convergence -of railway lines take up space to the exclusion of people. There are -stretches of this district as lonely by night as the top of Snowdon. - -Little life stirs by day on the canal; after dark the waters and the -tow-path are as deserted as a village graveyard. Along the railroad by -day no human foot travels but the milesman's, and at night the traffic -falls off to a mere echo of its incessant mighty roar by day. The -gasworks are busy, and glowing and flaming and throbbing all through -the hours of gloom and darkness, but people cannot get near them. They -are enclosed by high walls on all sides except one, and on that side -lies the South London Canal, which crawls and crawls unhastened and -unrefreshed by the waters of any lock. The solitude of the tow-path -after dark is enhanced at the point where it passes opposite the -gasworks by the appearance of life across the water, and the -impossibility of reaching that life, touching the human hands that -labour there, receiving aid from kindly men if aid were needed. The -tow-path at this point is narrow and full of fathomless shadows, in -which outcasts, thieves, and murderers might lurk; deep doorways, -pilasters, and ruined warehouses, where misery or crime could hide or -crouch. - -But of all the loneliness by night in this region which is vaguely -styled the Mercantile Docks, the deepest, the most affecting, the most -chilling is that which dwells in the tortuous uninhabited approaches -leading from the docks to the river north and south, and east and west -from Deptford to Rotherhithe. - -Out of the same spirit of mocking humour which gave the name of -Boland's Ait to the little island in the canal, these solitary ways -are called the Pine Groves. The pine-wood which gives them their name -has ceased to be a landscape ornament many years, and now stands -upright about ten feet high on either side of the roads, in the form -of tarred planks. - -There are miles of this monotonous black fencing, with no house or -gate to break the depressing sameness. By day the Pine Groves are busy -with the rumble of heavy traffic from the docks and wharves; by night -they are as deserted as the crypt of St. Paul's. - -Between the great gasworks and the docks, and at a point upon which -the canal, the main railway, and three of these Pine Groves converge, -there is an oasis of houses, a colony of men, a village, as it were, -in this desert made by man in the interest of trade and commerce. -This patch of inhabited ground supports at most two hundred houses. -The houses are humble, but not squalid. The inhabitants are not -longshore-men, nor are they mostly connected with the sea or things -maritime. They seem to be apart and distinct from the people found -within a rifle-shot of the place. Although they are no farther than a -thousand yards from Welford Bridge, to judge by their manners and -speech, they are so much better mannered, civilised, and refined, that -a thousand years and a thousand miles might lie between them and the -longshore-men and loafers from whom William Crawford had been supplied -with a guide in Red Jim. This oasis in the desert of unbuilt space, -this refuge from the odious solitude by night of the Pine Groves, this -haunt of Arcadian respectability in the midst of squalid and vicious -surroundings, is honoured in the neighbourhood by the name of Leeham, -and is almost wholly unknown in any other part of London. It will not -do to say it has been forgotten, for it has never been borne in -memory. The taxman and the gasman and the waterman, and the people who -own houses there, know Leeham; but no other general outsiders. It is -almost as much isolated from the rest of London as the Channel -Islands. - -It has not grown or diminished since the railway was built. No one -ever thinks of pulling down an old house or building up a new one. -Time-worn brass knockers are still to be found on the doors, and -old-fashioned brass fenders and fireirons on the hearths within. -Families never seem to move out of the district, and it never recruits -its population from the outer world. Now and then, indeed, a young man -of Leeham may bring home a bride from one of the neighbouring tribes; -but this is not often. A whole family is imported never. It is the -most unprogressive spot in all Her Majesty's dominions. - -At first it seems impossible to account for so respectable a -settlement in so squalid and savage a district. Who are the people of -Leeham? And how do they live? When first put, the question staggers -one. Most of the houses are not used for trade. Indeed, except at the -point where the three Pine Groves meet, there is hardly a shop in the -place. Where the East and West and River Pine Groves meet, there -stands a cluster of shops, not more than a dozen, and the one -public-house, the Neptune. But the name of this house is the only -thing in the business district telling of the sea. Here is no maker of -nautical instruments, no marine-store dealer, no curiosity shop for -the purchase of the spoil of other climes brought home by Jack Tar, no -music-hall or singing-saloon, no slop-shop, no cheap photographer. - -Here are a couple of eating-houses, noticeable for low prices and -wholesome food; a butcher's, and two beef-and-ham shops, two grocers', -and a greengrocer's, two bakers', and an oil-and-colour man's. These, -with the Neptune, or nucleus, form by night the brightly lighted -business region of the settlement. This point is called the Cross. - -Leeham repudiated the sea, and would have nothing to do with it at any -price. Down by the docks the sea may be profitable, but it has not a -good reputation. It is inclined to be rowdy, disreputable. Jack Tar -ashore may not be worse than other men, but he is more noisy and less -observant of convention. He is too much given to frolic. He is not -what any solid man would call respectable. - -No one ever thought of impugning the respectability, as a class, of -gasmen or railway officials. In fact, both are bound to be -respectable. Leeham had, no doubt, some mysterious internal resources, -but its chief external dependence was on the enormous gasworks and the -railway hard by. Hundreds of men were employed in the gashouse and on -the railway, and Leeham found a roof and food for three-fourths of the -number. There were quiet houses for those whose means enabled them to -keep up a separate establishment, and cheap lodgings for those who -could afford only a single room. No man living in a dwelling-house of -Leeham was of good repute unless he had private means, or was employed -at either the railway-yard or the gasworks--called, for the sake of -brevity, the yard and the works. But it was a place in which many -widows and spinsters had their homes, and sought to eke out an income -from the savings of their dead husbands, fathers, or brothers, by some -of the obscure forms of industry open to women of small needs and very -small means. - -The greengrocer's shop at Leeham Cross, opposite the Neptune, was -owned by Mrs. Pemberton, an enormously fat, very florid widow of -fifty. She almost invariably wore a smile on her expansive -countenance, and was well known in the neighbourhood for her good -nature and good temper. In fact, she was generally spoken of as "Mrs. -Pemberton, that good-natured soul." The children all idolised her; for -when they came of errands to buy, or for exercise and safety and a -sight of the world with their mothers, Mrs. Pemberton never let them -go away empty-handed as long as there was a small apple, or a bunch of -currants, or a couple of nuts in the shop. - -On that evening late in May when Red Jim showed Crawford the way to -Crawford's House, Mrs. Pemberton stood at her shop door. She held her -arms a-kimbo, and looked up and down the Cross with the expression of -one who does not notice what she sees, and who is not expecting -anything from the direction in which she is looking. The stout florid -woman standing at the door of the greengrocer's was as unlike the -ordinary Mrs. Pemberton as it was in the power of a troubled mind to -make her. At this hour very few people passed Leeham Cross, and for a -good five minutes no one had gone by her door. - -Mrs. Pemberton had not remained constantly at the door. Once or twice -she stepped back for a moment, and threw her head on one side, and -held her ear up as if listening intently; then, with a sigh, she came -back to her post at the threshold. There must have been something very -unusual in the conditions of her life to agitate this placid -sympathetic widow so much. - -Presently a woman of fine presence came in view, hastening towards the -greengrocery. This was Mrs. Pearse, a widow like Mrs. Pemberton, and -that good lady's very good friend. - -"I needn't ask you; I can see by your face," said Mrs. Pearse, as she -came up. "She is no better." - -"She is much worse," said Mrs. Pemberton in a half-frightened, -half-tearful way; "she is dying." - -"Dying!" said the other woman. "I didn't think it would come to that." - -"Well, it hurts me sore to say it, but I don't think she'll live to -see the morning." - -"So bad as that? Well, Mrs. Pemberton, I am sorry. Along with -everything else, I am sorry for the trouble it will give you." - -"O! don't say anything about that; I am only thinking of the poor lady -herself. She's going fast, as far as I am a judge. And then, what's to -become of the child? Poor innocent little fellow! he has no notion of -what is happening. How could he? he's little more than a baby of three -or four." - -"Poor little fellow! I do pity him. Has she said anything to you?" - -"Not a word." - -"Not even told you her name? - -"No." - -"Does she know, Mrs. Pemberton, how bad she is? Surely, if she knew -the truth of her state of health, she'd say a word to you, if it was -only for the child's sake. She would not die, if she knew she was -dying, and say nothing that could be of use to her little boy." - -"You see, when the doctor was here this morning, he told her she was -dangerously ill, but he did not tell her there was no hope. So I did -my best to put a good face on the matter, and tried to persuade the -poor thing that she'd be on the mending hand before nightfall. But she -has got worse and worse all day, and I am sure when the doctor comes -(I'm expecting him every minute) he'll tell her she's not long for -this world. It's my opinion she won't last the night." - -"Dear, dear, dear!--but I'm sorry." - -"Here he is. Here's the doctor!" - -"I'll run home now, Mrs. Pemberton, and give the children their -supper. I'll come back in an hour to hear what the doctor says, and to -do anything for you I can." - -"Thank you! Thank you, Mrs. Pearse! I shall be very glad to see you, -for I am grieved and half-terrified." - -"I'll be sure to come. Try to bear up, Mrs. Pemberton," said -kind-hearted Mrs. Pearse, hurrying off just as the doctor came up to -the door. - -True to her promise, Mrs. Pearse was back at the Cross. By this time -the shutters of Mrs. Pemberton's shop were up; but the door stood -ajar. Mrs. Pearse pushed it open and entered. - -Mrs. Pemberton was sitting on a chair, surrounded by hampers and -baskets of fruit and vegetables, in the middle of the shop. She was -weeping silently, unconsciously, the large tears rolling down her -round florid face. Her hands were crossed in her lap. Her eyes were -wide open, and her whole appearance that of one in helpless despair. - -When she saw her visitor come in, she rose with a start, brushed the -tears out of her eyes, and cried, seizing the hand of the other woman -and pressing her down on a chair: - -"I am so glad to see you, Mrs. Pearse! It is so good of you to come! I -am in sore distress and trouble!" - -"There, dear!" said the visitor in soothing tones. "Don't take on like -that. All may yet be well. What does the doctor say about the poor -soul?" - -"All will never be well again for her. The doctor says she is not -likely to see another day, short as these nights are. O my--O my -heart! but it grieves me to think of her going, and she so young. And -to think of what a pretty girl she must have been; to think of how -handsome she must have been before the trouble, whatever it is, came -upon her and wore her to a shadow." - -"And I suppose she has not opened her mind to you even yet about this -trouble?" - -The question was not asked out of idle curiosity, but from deep-seated -interest in the subject of the conversation. For this was not the -first or the tenth talk these two kindly friends had about the sick -woman upstairs. - -"She has said no more to me than the dead. My reading of it is, that -she made a bad match against the will of her people, and that her -husband deserted her and her child." - -"And what about the boy? Does the poor sufferer know how bad she is?" - -"Yes; she knows that there's not any hope, and the doctor told me to -be prepared for the worst, and that she might die in a couple of -hours. Poor soul! I shall be sorry!" - -Mrs. Pemberton threw her apron over her head and wept and sobbed; Mrs. -Pearse weeping the while, for company. - -When Mrs. Pemberton was able to control herself she drew down her -apron and said: - -"I never took to any other lodger I had so much as I took to this poor -woman. Her loneliness and her sorrow made me feel to her as if she had -been my own child. Then I know she must be very poor, although she -always paid me to the minute. But bit by bit I have missed whatever -little jewellery she had, and now I think all is gone. But she is not -without money; for, when I was talking to her just now, she told me -that she had enough in her work-box to pay all expenses. O, Mrs. -Pearse, it is hard to hear the poor young thing talking in that way of -going, and I, who must be twice her age, well and hearty!" - -Again the good woman broke down and had to pause in her story. - -"She told me no one should be at any expense on her account; and as -for the boy, she said she knew a gentleman, one who had been a friend -of hers years ago, and that he would surely take charge of the child, -and that she had sent word to a trusty messenger to come and fetch the -boy to this friend, and that she would not see or hear from any one -who knew her in her better days. I can't make it out at all. There is -something hidden, some mystery in the matter." - -"Mystery, Mrs. Pemberton? Of course there is. But, as you say, most -likely she made a bad match, and is afraid to meet her people, and has -been left to loneliness and sorrow and poverty by a villain of a -husband. She hasn't made away with her wedding-ring, has she?" - -"No; nor with the keeper. But I think all else is gone in the way of -jewellery. I left Susan, the servant, with her just now. She said she -wished to be quiet for a while, as she wanted to write a letter. Now -that the shop is shut I can't bear to be away from her, and when I am -in the room I can't bear to see her with her poor swollen red face, -and I don't think she is always quite right in her mind, for the -disease has spread, and the doctor says she can hardly last the night. -Poor, poor young creature!" - -Here for the third time, kind sympathetic Mrs. Pemberton broke down, -and for some minutes neither of the women spoke. - -At length Mrs. Pemberton started and rose from her chair, saying -hastily: - -"She must have finished the letter. I hear Susan coming down the -stairs." - -The girl entered the shop quickly and with an alarmed face. - -"The lady wants to see you at once, ma'am. She seems in a terrible -hurry, and looks much worse." - -Mrs. Pemberton hastened out of the shop, asking Mrs. Pearse to wait. - -In a few minutes she returned, carrying a letter in her hand, and -wearing a look of intense trouble and perplexity on her honest face. - -"I am sure," she said, throwing herself on a chair, "I do not know -whether I am asleep or awake, or whether I am to believe my eyes and -my ears. Do you know where she told me she is sending the child -now--to-night--for she cannot die easy until 'tis done." - -"I cannot tell. Where?" - -"I heard her say the words quite plainly, but I could not believe my -ears. The words are quite plain on this letter, though they are -written in pencil, but I cannot believe my eyes. Read what is on this -envelope, and I shall know whether I have lost my reason or not. -That's where she says the child is to go. This is the old friend she -says will look after the little boy!" - -She handed the letter she held in her hand to her friend. Mrs. Pearse -read: - - "Francis Bramwell, Esq., - Boland's Ait, - South London Canal." - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - THE MISSING MAN. - - -It was near ten o'clock that night before Alfred Layard and his sister -gave up trying to get their new home into order. Even then much -remained to be done, but Mrs. Grainger, the charwoman who had been -assisting Hetty all day, had to go home to prepare supper for her -husband, and when she was gone the brother and sister sat down to -their own. - -Alfred Layard was employed in the gasworks. His duties did not oblige -him to be at business early; but they kept him there until late in the -evening. He had a very small salary, just no more than enough to live -on in strict economy. He had rented a little cottage during his brief -married life, and the modest furniture in the room where the brother -and sister now sat at supper had been bought for his bride's home out -of his savings. Just as his lease of the cottage expired he heard of -this house, and that the owner or agent would be glad to let it at a -rent almost nominal on the condition of two rooms being reserved and -kept in order for him. - -The place just suited Layard. It was within a short distance of the -gashouse, and he calculated that the arrangement would save him twenty -pounds a year. - -"Well, Hetty," said he, with one of his surprisingly pleasant smiles, -as the supper went on, "how do you like the life of a lodging-house -keeper?" - -"So far I like it very much indeed, although I have had no chance of -pillage yet." - -"Never mind the pillage for a while. I must see if there is any -handbook published on the subject of the 'Lodger Pigeon.' I am not -quite sure there is a book of the kind. I have a notion the art is -traditional, handed down by word of mouth, and that you have to be -sworn of the guild or something of that kind. Before we had our -knockdown in the world, in father's time, when I lived in lodgings in -Bloomsbury, I knew a little of the craft--as a victim, mind you; but -now I have forgotten all about it, except that neither corks nor -stoppers had appreciable effect in retarding the evaporation of wine -or spirits, and that fowl or game or meat always went too bad twelve -hours after it was cooked to be of further use to me. Tea also would -not keep in the insalubrious air of Bloomsbury." - -"Well," said the girl, with a smile, "I suppose I must only live in -hope. I cannot expect to be inspired. It would, perhaps, be -unreasonable to expect that the sight of our first lodger for -half-an-hour would make me perfect in the art of turning him to good -account. It is a distressing thing to feel one is losing one's -opportunity; but then, what is one to do?" she asked pathetically, -spreading out her hands to her brother in comic appeal. - -"It is hard," said he with anxiety; then brightening he added, "Let us -pray for better times, better luck, more light. By the way, Hetty, now -that we have fully arranged our method of fleecing the stranger, what -do you think of him? How do you find him? Do you like him?" - -"I find him very good-looking and agreeable." - -"I hope there is no danger of your falling in love with him. Remember, -he is a married man," said the brother, shaking a minatory finger at -the girl opposite him; "and bear in mind bigamy is a seven years' -affair." - -"It's very good of you to remind me, Alfred," she said gravely. "But -as I have not been married, I don't see how I could commit bigamy." - -"You are not qualified _yet_ to commit it yourself, but you might -become an accessory." - -"By the way, Alfred, now that I think of it," said she, dropping her -playful manner and looking abstracted and thoughtful, with a white -finger on her pink cheek, "I did notice a remarkable circumstance -about our new lodger. Did you?" - -"No," said the brother, throwing himself back in his chair and -looking at the ceiling, "except that he has a habit of winking both -his eyes when he is in thought, which always indicates a man fond of -double-dealing. Don't you see, Hetty?--one eye winked, single-dealing; -two eyes, double-dealing. What can be more natural? There is one thing -about trade I can never make out. Book keeping by double-entry is an -interesting, respectable, and laudable affair, and yet double-dealing -is a little short of infamous." - -"I don't understand what you are saying, Alfred," said the girl in a -voice of reproach and despair. "I don't think you know yourself, and I -am sure it's nonsense." - -"Yes, dear." - -"No; I'm not joking," she cried impatiently. "I _did_ observe -something very remarkable about Mr. Crawford, under the circumstances. -Did you not notice he never spoke of his wife, or even referred to -her, although he got all this property through her or from her?" - -Layard looked down from the dingy ceiling. "Of course, you are right, -child. I did not notice it at the time; but now I recollect he neither -spoke of his wife nor made any reference to her. It was strange. And -now that I think of it, he did not upon our previous meeting. It is -strange. I suppose he is ashamed to own he owes everything to his -wife." - -"Well," said the girl hotly, "if he had the courage to take her money -he might have the courage to own it, particularly as he is aware we -know all about him." - -"All about him?" said the brother in surprise. "Indeed, we don't know -all about him; we know very little about him--that is, unless this -wonderful wife of Grainger told you." - -"No; she told me nothing about him. But we know that the money -belonged to Mrs. Crawford and not to him, and that he changed his name -to marry the widow, as otherwise her property would go somewhere -else." - -"To Guy's Hospital. But it would not go to the hospital if she -remained unmarried. The fact of the matter is, I believe, that this -Crawford--I mean the original one--was a self-made man, and very proud -of his own achievements, and wished to keep his name associated with -his money as long as possible. You see, when he married he was an -elderly, if not an old man, and his wife was a young and very handsome -woman. Now she is middle-aged and an invalid." - -"Then," cried Hetty with sprightly wrath, "I think it the more -shameful for him to make no allusion to her. But you have not told me -all the story. Tell it to me now, there's a good, kind, dear Alfred. -But first I'll clear away, and run up for a moment to see how Freddie -is in his new quarters. He was so tired after the day that he fell -asleep before his head touched the pillow." - -She found the boy sleeping deeply in his cot beside her own bed. She -tucked him in, although the clothes had not been disarranged, and then -bent down over him, laying her forearm all along his little body, and, -drawing him to her side, kissed him first on the curls and then on the -cheek, and then smoothed with her hand the curl she had kissed, as -though her tender lips had disturbed it. After this she ran down -quickly, and, entering the sitting-room, said, as she took her chair, -"He hasn't stirred since I put him to bed, poor chap. I hope he won't -find this place very lonely. He will not even see another child here. -And now, Alfred," she added, taking up some work, "tell me all you -know about our lodger, for I have heard little or nothing yet." - -"Well, what I know is soon told. His old name was Goddard, William -Goddard. He came to live at Richmond some time ago, and lodged next -door to Mrs. Crawford's house. She was then an invalid, suffering -from some affection which almost deprived her of the use of her limbs. -She went out only in a carriage or Bath-chair. He met her frequently, -and became acquainted with her, often walking beside her in her -Bath-chair. Her bedroom was on the first floor of her house; his was -on the first floor of the next house. One night the lower part of her -house caught fire. He crept on a stone ledge running along both houses -at the level of the first floor window. He had a rope, and by it -lowered her down into the garden and saved her life, every one said. -The shock, strange to say, had a beneficial effect upon her health. -She recovered enough strength to be able to walk about, and--she -married him." - -The girl paused in her work, dropping her hands and her sewing, and -falling into a little reverie, with her head on one side. - -"So that he is a kind of hero," she said softly. - -"Yes; a kind of hero. I don't think his risk was very great, for he -could have jumped at any time, and got off with a broken leg or so." - -"A broken leg or so!" cried she indignantly. "Upon my word, Alfred, -you do take other people's risks coolly. I don't wonder at her -marrying him, and I am very sorry I said anything against him awhile -ago. The age of chivalry is not gone. Now, if she was young and -good-looking--but forty, and an invalid----" - -"And very rich," interrupted the brother, stretching himself out -on the infirm couch and blowing a great cloud of smoke from his -briar-root pipe. - -"Your cynicism is intolerable, Alfred. It is most unmanly and -ungenerous, and I for one have made up my mind to like, to admire -Mr.----" - -A knock at the door prevented her finishing the sentence. - -"Come in," cried Layard, springing up and moving towards the door. - -"I am afraid it is a most unreasonable hour to disturb you." - -"Not at all," said Layard, setting a chair for the lodger. "My sister -and I were merely chatting. We are not early people, you must know. I -haven't to be at the works until late, so we generally have our little -talks nearer to midnight than most people. Pray sit down." - -Crawford sat down somewhat awkwardly, winking both his eyes rapidly as -he did so. He gave one of his short, sharp laughs. - -"You will think me very foolish, no doubt," he said, looking from one -to the other and winking rapidly, "but, do you know, what you said -about that man going into the canal has had a most unaccountable and -unpleasant effect upon me. I feel quite unnerved. As you are aware, I -am not acquainted with the neighbourhood. Would it be asking too much -of you, Mr. Layard, to go out with me for a few minutes and ascertain -for certain that no accident has befallen this man--that is, if Miss -Layard would not be afraid of being left alone for a little while? If -my mind is not set at rest I know I shall not sleep a wink to-night." - -"Afraid? Afraid of what, Mr. Crawford? Good gracious, I am not afraid -of anything in the world," cried the girl, rising. "Of course Alfred -will go with you." - -Layard expressed his willingness, and in a short time the two men were -out of the house in the dark lane, where burned only one lamp at the -end furthest from the main road. - -"I do not know how we are to find out about this man," said Layard, as -they turned from the blind street into Welford Road; "could you -describe him?" - -Layard thought Crawford must be a very excitable and somewhat -eccentric man to allow himself to be troubled by a purely playful -speech as to the pedestrian on the tow-path; but he felt he had been -almost unjust to Crawford when talking to his sister, and he was -anxious for this reason, and because of a desire to conciliate his -lodger, to gratify him by joining in this expedition, which he looked -on as absurd. - -"Yes; I can describe him. He wore a black tail-coat, a round black -hat, a black tie, and dark tweed trousers. He was nearer your height -and build than mine. The chief things in his face are a long straight -nose, dark and very straight brows, and dark eyes. He has no colour -in his cheeks." - -Layard drew up in amazement. - -"Do you mean to say," he asked with emphasis, "that you could see all -this at such a distance?" - -"I," the other answered with a second's hesitation--"I used a glass." - -"O!" said Layard; and they resumed their walk, and nothing further was -said until they came to the bridge, on which they stood looking up the -tow-path, along which the pedestrian ought to have come. - -Layard broke the silence. - -"Unless we are to make a commotion, I don't see what we can do beyond -asking the toll-man. The gate is shut now. It must be eleven o'clock, -and this place owns an early-to-bed population." - -He was now beginning to regret his too easy participation in his -lodger's absurd quest. - -"Do not let us make any commotion, but just ask the toll-man quietly -if such a man went through his gate," said Crawford hastily. "I know -my uneasiness is foolish, but I cannot help it." - -They turned from the parapet over which they had been looking, and -Layard led the way a little down the road, and, then turning sharp to -the right, entered the approach to the toll-house. - -As they emerged from the darkness of the approach, the toll-taker was -crossing the wharf or quay towards the gate. He passed directly under -a lamp, and opened the gate which closed the path at the bridge. - -Crawford caught Layard by the arm, and held him back, whispering: - -"Wait!" - -From the gloom of the arch a young man stepped out into the light of -the lamp. He wore a black tailed-coat, a black tie, a black round hat, -and dark tweed trousers. His nose was straight, and his brows -remarkably dark and straight. Upon the whole, a young man of rather -gloomy appearance. - -"It's all right," whispered Crawford quickly into Layard's ear; -"that's the man. Come away." - -He drew his companion forcibly along the approach back to the road. - -"It's well I didn't make a fool of myself," he whispered. "Come on -quickly. I am ashamed even to meet this man after my childish fears." - -They were clear of the approach, and retracing their steps over the -bridge, before the pedestrian emerged from the darkness of the -approach. When he gained Welford Road he went on straight--that is, in -a direction opposite to that taken by the two. - -"I am greatly relieved," said Crawford, rubbing his perspiring -forehead with his handkerchief. - -"I am not," thought Layard. "I am afraid there is something wrong with -Crawford's upper storey." - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - A SECOND APPARITION. - - -When Alfred Layard got back to the house he was far from easy in his -mind about his lodger. In appearance Crawford was the least -imaginative man in the world. His face, figure, and manner indicated -extreme practicalness. No man could have less of the visionary or the -seer about him. One would think he treated all things in life as a -civil engineer treats things encountered in his profession. And yet -here was this man giving way to absurd and sentimental timidity about -nothing at all. - -Of course, Layard himself would have been greatly shocked if he -thought any harm had come to that solitary pedestrian on the tow-path; -but not one man in a thousand would have allowed the circumstance of -the man's non-appearance and the jesting words he himself had used to -occupy his mind five minutes, to say nothing of suffering anxiety -because of the circumstance, and sallying out to make inquiries and -clear it up. - -He did not bargain for such eccentricity as this when he agreed to -live for a few days a month under the same roof with William Crawford. -He would say nothing to Hetty of his fears, or rather uneasiness; but -it would be necessary for him to suggest precautions. - -When Crawford had bidden the brother and sister good-night finally, -and the two were again alone in the front sitting-room, and Alfred had -told Hetty, with no alarming comment, what had occurred since they -left the house, she cried, "Now, sceptic, what have you to say? Could -anything be more humane or kind-hearted than the interest he took in -that unknown man, a man he could absolutely have never seen once in -all his life? You were in the act of implying that he saved the widow -because she was rich, and married her because she was rich, when, lo! -Sir Oracle, down comes Mr. Crawford to see what had happened to that -man, the unknown man! Tell me, was _he_ rich? Is _he_ going to marry -_him?_" - -"I confess things look very black for my theory," said the brother, -from the couch, where he lay smoking placidly. - -"I do believe," she cried with animation, "that you are rather sorry -he turned out so nobly. I do believe you would rather he showed no -interest in that man on the tow-path." - -"Candidly, Hetty, I would." - -"It is all jealousy on your part, and you ought to be ashamed of -yourself. Are you?" - -"No--o--o," he said slowly, "I can't say I am much ashamed of myself -on that account." - -"Then," she said, "it is worse not to repent than to sin, and your -condition is something dreadful. Now, my impression is that Mr. -Crawford never thought of money at all when he married his wife. I -believe he married her for pure love, and the fact of her being an -invalid was a reason for his loving her all the more. To me he is a -Bayard," cried this enthusiastic young person with flushing cheek, and -eyes in which the gold glinted more than ever. - -"He's too stout, my dear," said the brother placidly from his couch. - -"What!" cried she indignantly. "Too stout to marry for love! You are -outrageous!" - -"No; not to marry for love, but to be a Bayard. You know as well as I -do our lodger would not cut a good figure on horseback," said the -brother with calm decision. - -"You are intolerable, Alfred, and I will not speak to you again on the -subject. Nothing could be in worse taste than what you have been -saying," said the girl, gathering herself daintily together and -looking away from him. - -"Besides, you do an injustice to our lodger." - -"I wish, Alfred, if you find it necessary to refer to Mr. Crawford, -that you would do so in some other way than by calling him our lodger. -It is not respectful." - -"Not respectful to whom?" - -"To me," with a very stately inclination of the gallant little head. - -"I see. Well, I will call him Mr. Bayard," said the brother with -provoking amiability. - -"I am sure, Alfred, I do not know how you can be so silly." - -"Evil communications, my dear." - -"The gentleman's name is Crawford, and why should you not call him -Crawford?" - -"Just to avoid the monotony." - -"And, I think, Alfred, to annoy me." - -"Perhaps." - -"Well, I must say that is very good-natured of you." - -"But I aim at an identical result." - -"I don't understand you." - -"To avoid monotony, too. You are always so good-humoured and -soft-tempered it is a treat to see you ruffled and on your dignity. -But there, Hetty dear, let us drop this light-comedy sparring----" - -"I'm sure I don't think it's light comedy at all, but downright -disagreeableness; and I didn't begin it, and I don't want to keep it -up, and I am sure you have a very clumsy and unkind notion of humour, -if talking in that way is your idea of it." - -"Remember, Hetty," he said, holding up his hand in warning, "you are -much too big a girl to cry. You are a great deal too old to cry." - -"A woman is never too old to cry--if she likes." - -"She is, and you are, too old to cry for anything a brother may say to -you. According to the usage of the best society, you are too old to -cry because of anything I may say to you. It will be your duty to -repress your tears for your lover. According to good manners you ought -not to shed a tear now until you have your first quarrel with your -lover; and then, mind you, I am to hear nothing about it, or it would -be my duty to call the scoundrel out, when there is no knowing but he -might injure or even kill me, and then you couldn't marry him, for he -would be your brother's murderer; and if I killed him you couldn't -marry him, because I should be his murderer; and I don't see of what -use we could be to any one, except to write a tragedy about, and that -is about as bad a use as you can put respectable people to." - -The girl's face had been gradually clearing while Layard spoke, and by -the time he had finished, all trace of annoyance had vanished from it, -and she was bright and smiling once more. - -"You are a queer old Alfred, and I am a fool to allow myself to grow -angry with you or your nonsense. I of course said too much. I did not -mean quite that I thought him a Bayard." - -"He's much better-looking than the only portrait of the Chevalier -I ever saw. I must say the knight, by his portrait, is a most -repulsive and unchivalrous brute, more fit for the Chamber of Horrors -than the Hall of Kings. I assure you, Hetty, Mr. Crawford is a much -better-looking man." - -How was he to warn his sister without alarming her? To say he thought -the man was not quite right in his mind would terrify Hetty, and it -would not do to leave her without any caution. At last he could think -of nothing but a most simple and most matter-of-course caution--that -of locking the door of the room in which she and the child slept. -"For," thought Layard, "if there is anything wrong with his head, -although it may now be in the direction of excessive humanity, later -it may change to be dangerously homicidal." - -As they were saying "good-night," he remarked, as carelessly as he -could: - -"Remember, Hetty, although we are in our own house, it still it is not -all our own." - -"Of course I know that, Alfred." - -"And if Fred cries, you must quiet him as quickly as possible." - -"So that Mr. Crawford may not be disturbed?" - -"Yes; and you may as well lock your door?" - -"I will." - -And thus they parted, and he felt at rest; for even if a paroxysm -seized Crawford in the night, he could do no serious hurt without -making noise enough to wake the others. - -At the time that Layard was providing against a possible maniac in -William Crawford, there was not a saner man within the four corners of -London. - -That night passed in perfect peace under the roof of Alfred Layard. So -far as Layard knew, Crawford had slept the sleep of mental and bodily -health, and little Freddie had not awakened once, as his aunt -certified when she came down to breakfast. - -Mrs. Grainger, the charwoman whose services were to be enlisted all -the time Mr. Crawford was in the house, brought up his breakfast, and -carried down news that the gentleman was arranging his papers and the -rooms generally, as was only natural and to be expected upon a -gentleman taking up his residence in a new lodging. Mr. Crawford she -found very civil, but not inclined at all for conversation. He told -Mrs. Grainger he should ring for her when he wanted her, and she took -the liberty of explaining to the gentleman that he could not ring for -her, because there was no bell. Upon this the gentleman said he should -put his head over the balustrade and call to her, if she would be good -enough to favour him with her name; which she accordingly did, giving -her Christian name and married name, and adding with a view to defying -fraud or personation, her maiden name (Wantage) also. The only piece -of information he had volunteered to Mrs. Grainger, _née_ Wantage, was -that he had no intention of stirring out that day. - -Layard did not renew the conversation of the night before. He was -extraordinarily fond of his beautiful, sprightly, gentle-hearted -sister, and he knew that his badinage had reduced her almost to tears. -He was grave and tender, and devoted himself through most of breakfast -to his lusty, restless, yellow-haired boy of three, little Freddie. - -Alfred Layard's duties lay at the works, not the office, of the great -Welford Gas Company. Hence, although his functions were those of a -clerk, he had not the hours of a clerk. Years ago the Layards had been -in a position very different from that occupied by them now. Then -their father had been a prosperous merchant in Newcastle, but a series -of disasters had come upon him: a partner failed in another business, -a bank broke, and the father's health gave way utterly, and he died -leaving absolutely nothing behind him. Alfred was at Cambridge at the -time of the crash. He left the University at once, and for some time -failed to get anything to do. At length an old friend of his father's -found him a situation worth a hundred and twenty pounds a year in the -great Welford Gasworks. In a couple of years his salary was increased -ten pounds a year, upon which joyful encouragement he married Lucy -Aldridge, the penniless girl he had, before the downfall of his -father's house, resolved to make his wife. - -For a little while he and his wife and sister lived very happily and -contentedly on his modest hundred and thirty pounds a year. Then came -little Freddie, and although it was an additional mouth to feed, any -one of the three would have been without meat and butter from year's -end to year's end rather than without baby Freddie. And when Freddie -was a year old and could just syllable his mother's name, the ears of -the poor young well-beloved mother were closed for ever in this life -to the voice of her only sweetheart, Alfred, and her only child. - -The brother and sister put her to rest with other dead in a great -cemetery, and never once mentioned her name after that, although often -when their loss was fresh upon them they would sit hand in hand by the -widowed hearth, weeping silently for the ease of their full and weary -hearts. - -The day following that on which the brother and sister took possession -of Crawford's House, Layard felt less anxious about their lodger's -condition of mind than he had the evening before. In the darkness -of night and the strangeness of a new house and the loneliness of -this deserted neighbourhood it had seemed as though Crawford was -insane--might, in fact at any moment develop into a dangerous maniac. -In the sweet sunlight of a bright May morning the fears of the night -before looked preposterous, and at very worst the lodger appeared to -be no more than a fidgety, nervous, excitable man, with whom it would -be a bore to live all one's life. - -When his usual time came, Layard kissed his little son and his sister, -and went off to his business at the great gasworks with no fear or -misgiving in his heart. - -Mr. Crawford gave no indication of being a troublesome lodger. He had -a simple breakfast, consisting of eggs and bacon and coffee, and in -the middle of the day a simple dinner, consisting of a chop and -potatoes, with bread-and-cheese and a bottle of stout. At tea he -hadn't tea, but coffee again, and a lettuce and bread-and-butter. For -a man with his income he was easily pleased, thought Hetty. He had -found fault with nothing. In fact, he had said no word beyond the -briefest ones that would convey his wishes, and when Mrs. Grainger -asked if the food had been to his liking he had said simply, "It was -all right, thank you." To that good lady he had imparted the -impression that he was too much occupied with matters of the mind to -give much heed to matters of the body, and he had answered all her -questions in a preoccupied and absent-minded manner. - -After tea Mr. Crawford showed no sign of going out. He drew an -easy-chair to the window, and sat down at the right-hand side of the -embrasure, so as to command a view of the head of the island across -which he had seen the man pass the evening before. - -He heard Layard's knock and his voice below-stairs, but still he did -not stir. From the place where he sat, any man coming along the -tow-path at a walking pace would be in view a minute or a minute and a -half before passing out of sight behind Boland's Ait. Crawford did not -remove his eyes from that tow-path for any thirty consecutive seconds. - -"I knew him at once," he whispered; "I knew him the minute I saw -him. I knew his build, his figure, his walk, the way he swings his -hands--ay, his face, far off as he was--ay, his face, his accursed -vengeful face." - -He leaned forward. He judged, by the dying of the light and the -shrouded rose-tint on the chimneys and upper walls of the houses in -view, that it was growing near the hour at which the solitary man had -appeared on the tow-path last evening. - -"I wonder, if he saw me, would he recognise me? He thinks I am not in -this country. He is not on the look-out for me. I am much changed -since I saw him last." He passed his hand over his close-shaven face. -"I had a beard and moustache then, and taking them off makes a great -difference in a man's appearance--puts him almost beyond recognition. -Then I have grown stouter--much stouter. I daresay my voice would -betray me; and then there is that St. Vitus's dance in my eyelids. -That is an awful drawback. I am horribly handicapped; it isn't a fair -race. And the worst of that jumping of my eyelids is that it always -comes on me when I am most excited and least want it, and, moreover, -when I am mostly unconscious of it until the excitement is over. -Confound it! I _am_ heavily handicapped." - -He rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, and dropped his chin into -his palm, keeping his eyes all the while fixed on that section of the -tow-path visible beyond the head of the island. - -"I," he went on in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible to -himself, "was on the look-out for him when I recognised him. I knew he -lived in Camberwell, and that Camberwell was in the neighbourhood; and -when I knew that this tow-path goes to that place, I had a -presentiment he would come along that tow-path into my view. It might -be called a superstition, I know, but I had the feeling, and it came -true. He did come along that tow-path--he the man of all others on -this earth I dread. But where did he delay? Where did he linger? Where -did he hide himself? Layard said there was no place but in the canal, -and I can see that the fence is too high for any man to scale without -the aid of a ladder." - -He rose and stood at the window, to command a better view of the -scene. - -"It seems unnatural, monstrous, that I should fear this Philip Ray -more than Mellor. If I ought to be afraid of any one, it is Mellor; -and yet I stand in no dread of him, because, no doubt----" - -He paused with his mouth open. He was staring at the tow-path. - -A tall slender man had come into view beyond the head of Boland's Ait. -He was walking rapidly north, and swinging his arms as he moved. - -"It is he!" whispered Crawford in a tone of fear. - -He stood motionless by the window for a while--five, ten, fifteen -minutes. The man did not reappear. - -Crawford wiped his forehead, which had grown suddenly damp. - -"At any cost I must find out the explanation of this unaccountable -disappearance." - -He went from the house and into the blind lane at the front of the -house. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - CRAWFORD'S INVESTIGATIONS. - - -William Crawford ascended the lane until he reached the high road; -then, turning sharply to the left, he went at a more leisurely pace -towards the Welford Bridge. - -He kept his eyes fixed ahead, and in every action of his body there -was that vital alertness which characterised him in motion and even in -repose. This alertness was more noticeable now than it had been -before. Frequently, when he put down his foot in walking, he seemed -dissatisfied with the ground upon which it had alighted, and shifted -the foot slightly, but briskly and decisively, while resting on it, -and stepping out with the other leg. He touched one thigh sharply with -one hand, then the other thigh with the other hand, as though to -assure himself that his hands and legs were within call, should he -need their services for some purpose besides that upon which they were -now employed. He rapped his chest with his fist, and thrust his thumb -and forefinger into his waistcoat pocket and brought forth nothing. In -another man this would be called nervous excitement, but in William -Crawford it did not arise from any unusual perturbation, but was the -result of unutilised energy. - -As he approached the bridge his pace fell to a saunter. He subdued his -restlessness or manifestations of repressed activity. Nothing but his -eyes showed extraordinary alertness, and they were fixed dead ahead. -The houses on his left prevented his seeing the tow-path, and the -humpbacked bridge prevented his seeing where the approach from the -toll-house joined the main road. - -On the bridge lounged a group of loungers similar to that of the -evening before. When Crawford had got over the middle of the bridge, -and the road began to dip westward, he approached the parapet and -looked up the canal. The long straight line ran off in the distance to -a vanishing point, seeming to rise as it receded, but not a soul was -visible from the spot at which he stood to the point at which the path -disappeared. - -Red Jim sidled up to where the stranger had paused, and after drawing -the back of his hand across his mouth, by way of purifying himself -before speaking to a man of property, said deferentially: - -"Good-evening, guv'nor." - -"Good-evening," said Crawford briskly, sharply, in a tone which -implied he would stand no familiarity or nonsense. - -Red Jim pushed his hat over his eyes in token of acknowledging a -rebuff; but he remained where he was in token of cherishing hope of a -job, or anyway of money. - -Crawford took a few paces further down the slope of the bridge. He did -not care to speak in the hearing of all these men. Then he beckoned to -Red Jim. The man came to him with alacrity. - -"How long have you been here this evening?" - -"Most of the evening. I'm out of work." - -"You have been here half-an-hour?" - -"Yes. A good bit more." - -"Have you seen any one pass along the tow-path this way (pointing) in -the last half-an-hour?" - -"No." - -"Did you see any one come along the path in that time?" - -"Ay, I did." - -Crawford paused a moment in thought. He laughed and said, "I have a -little bet on. I betted that a man did come along the tow-path, but -did not come off it at the bridge here. I was looking out of a window -and saw him. My friend said it was impossible, as the man otherwise -must go into the canal." - -It was plain Crawford did not appear anxious about the man himself. It -was only about the wager he cared. - -"The man went across the canal." - -"Across the canal!" cried Crawford in astonishment. "Do you mean over -the bridge?" - -"No." - -"Then how did he get across the canal?" - -"How much have you on it?" asked Red Jim. He was afraid his own -interests might suffer if he gave all the information he possessed -before making terms. - -"Confound you! what is that to you?" cried Crawford angrily. - -"Well, then, I'll tell you how he went across," said Red Jim, looking -up straight over his head at the sky. - -"How did he get over?" cried the other impatiently, as Jim showed no -sign of speaking. - -"He flew," said Jim, suddenly dropping his full prominent blue eyes on -Crawford. "He flew, that's the way he got across the canal." And, -thrusting his hands deep into his wide-opened trousers pockets, he -began moving slowly away. - -For a moment Crawford looked as if he could kill Ford. Then, with a -sudden quick laugh, he said: - -"Oh, I understand; I will make it worth a tanner for you." - -Red Jim was back by his side in a moment. He stretched out his arm, -and, pointing towards the tail of the island, said: - -"Do you see that floating stage?" - -"Floating stage? No. What is a floating stage?" - -"Two long pieces of timber with planks across. Don't you see it at the -tail of Boland's Ait?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"Well, that's the way he got over. That was drawn by a chain across -the canal to the tow-path. He got on it and then drew it back to the -Ait, do you see? So you've won your money, guv'nor." - -Crawford's face grew darker and darker, as the explanation proceeded. -He handed Jim the promised coin in silence, turned back upon the way -he had come, and began retracing his steps at a quick rate. His eyes -winked rapidly, and he muttered curses as he walked. - -"Can it be--can it possibly be that Philip Ray is my next-door -neighbour? Incredible! And yet that was Philip Ray, as sure as I am -alive, and he went to this island! Can this Robinson Crusoe be Philip -Ray? If so, I cannot keep on here. I must find some other place for -my--business. This is not exactly Camberwell, and I heard Ray lives in -Camberwell; but this is very near it--very near Camberwell!" - -When he reached Crawford Street he diminished his speed. It was plain -he did not want to seem in a hurry. As soon as he gained the house he -ascended the stairs at once to his own room. He closed the door, and -began walking up and down, hastily muttering unconnected words. After -a while he went to the window and looked out on Boland's Ait with an -expression in which hatred and fear were blended. - -The buildings on the island consisted of an old sawmill, from which -the machinery had been removed, now falling into ruin; a couple of -dilapidated sheds, with tarred wooden roofs; a yard in which once the -timber had been piled in stacks higher than the engine-house itself; -and a small four-roomed house, formerly used as the dwelling-place of -the foreman. These buildings and the wall of the yard rose between -Crawford and the tow-path. The island itself was on a level with the -ground on which Crawford's House stood; and William Crawford's -sitting-room, being on the first floor, did not overpeer even the wall -of the yard: hence the view of the tow-path was cut off except at the -head and the tail of Boland's Ait. - -William Crawford bit his under lip and gnawed the knuckle of his left -forefinger, and plucked at his shaven cheek and upper lip as though at -whiskers and moustache. At last he dropped his hand, and remained -motionless, as though an idea had struck him and he was considering -it. Suddenly he raised his head like one who has made up his mind, and -walked with a quick step to the door, and, opening it, went out on the -landing. He leaned over the balustrade and called out: - -"Mrs. Grainger, will you come up, please? I want to speak to you for a -minute." - -Mrs. Grainger hastened from the kitchen. She had the sleeves of her -washed-out lilac cotton dress rolled up above her arms, and an -enormous apron, once white, now mottled and piebald with innumerable -marks and stains. - -"Will you sit down a moment?" Crawford said, pointing to a chair. He -walked up and down the room during the interview. - -Mrs. Grainger sat down and threw her apron over to her left side, by -way of qualifying herself for the honour of a seat in Mr. Crawford's -room and in Mr. Crawford's presence. - -"Miss Layard told me last evening some interesting facts you mentioned -to her about a--gentleman who lives on this island here in the canal." - -"Yes, sir. A Mr. Bramwell, who lives all alone on Boland's Ait." - -"Exactly. Do you know anything about him? The case is so remarkable, I -am interested in it merely out of curiosity." - -"I know, sir; and he is a curiosity, certainly," said Mrs. Grainger, -settling herself firmly on her chair, and arranging her mind as well -as her body for a good long chat, for every minute devoted to which -she would be receiving her pay. - -Crawford caught the import of her gesture and said sharply: - -"I do not wish to keep you long, Mrs. Grainger; I have only a few -questions to ask, and then you may leave me." - -"Yes, sir," said the charwoman, instantly sitting upright and on her -dignity. - -"Have you ever seen this strange man?" - -"Only twice." - -"Would you know him again if you saw him?" - -"O, yes, sir, I should know him anywhere." - -"Tell me what he is like." - -"Quite the gentleman, sir, he looks, but seems to be poor, or he -wouldn't live in such a place all by himself and wear such poor -clothes." - -"His clothes are poor, then?" - -"Very. But not so much poor as worn shabby, sir." - -"Ah," said Crawford thoughtfully. (He had not been near enough to that -man on the tow-path to tell whether his clothes were greatly the worse -of wear or not.) "Is he dark or light?" - -"Dark. Very dark. His hair is jet-black, sir. I was as close to him on -Welford Road as I am to you now." - -Philip Ray was dark. "Did you notice anything remarkable about him?" - -"Well, as I said, he is very dark, and he has no colour in his cheek." - -"H'm!" said Crawford in a dissatisfied tone. Ray had no colour in his -cheek. "Did you remark anything peculiar in his walk?" No one could -fail to observe the way in which Ray swung his hands. - -"No, I did not." - -Crawford drew up in front of the woman, and stood gnawing his knuckle -for a few seconds. Then he resumed his pacing up and down. - -"Was the gentleman walking fast at the time?" - -"No." - -Philip Ray, when alone, always went at an unusually rapid pace. He was -a man quick in everything: quick in speech, in the movements of his -limbs, quickest of all and most enduring also in his love and--anger. - -"Is he a tall man?" - -"No." - -"What!" cried he in astonishment, drawing up again in front of the -charwoman, now somewhat cowed by Crawford's abrupt, and vigorous, and -abstracted manner. "Don't you call six feet a tall man? Have you lived -among Patagonians all your life?" - -"No, sir; I can't say I ever lived with any people of that name," she -said, bridling a little. She did not understand being spoken to by any -one in that peremptory and belittling way, and if all came to all it -wasn't the rich Mr. Crawford who paid her and supplied the food she -had eaten, but poor Mr. Layard, who gave himself no airs, but was -always a pleasant gentleman, though he was not in the counting-house -of the great Welford Gas Company, but in the works, where her own -husband was employed. - -"Why, don't you consider a man four inches taller than I a tall man?" -cried Crawford, drawing brows down over his quick furtive eyes, and -looking at the woman as if he was reproaching her with having -committed a heinous crime. - -"Four inches taller than you!" said the woman with scornful asperity. -"I never said he was four inches taller than you, sir. He isn't four -inches taller than you, Mr. Crawford." - -"He is." - -"Excuse me, sir; if you tell me so, of course I have nothing more to -say," said Mrs. Grainger, rising with severity and dignity. "The -gentleman that lives on Poland's Ait is a _shorter_ man than you, -sir." - -"Are you sure?" said Crawford, standing for the third time in front of -the woman. - -"Quite certain." - -"_Shorter_ than I?" said he, in a tone of abstraction, as he gnawed -his knuckles, unconscious of her presence--"_shorter_ than I?" he -repeated, lost in thought. "Then he can't be Philip Ray," he cried in -a tone of relief. The words were uttered, not for Mrs. Grainger's -hearing, but for his own. He wanted to have this pleasant assurance in -his ear as well as in his mind. - -"I never said he was, sir; I said he was Mr. Bramwell--Mr. Francis -Bramwell," said Mrs. Grainger, making a mock courtesy and moving -towards the door. - -With a start Crawford awoke from his abstraction to the fact of her -presence. "Bless my soul! but of course you didn't! Of course you -didn't! You never said anything of the kind! You never said anything -of any kind! Ha, ha, ha, ha!" He laughed his short and not pleasant -laugh, and held the door open for Mrs. Grainger. - -When she was gone he walked up and down the room for some time in deep -cogitation. Then he went to the window and looked out on the scene, -now darkening for the short night. His eyes rested on Boland's Ait, -and he muttered below his breath: - -"Whoever my next-door neighbour may be, it is not Philip Ray, and I am -not afraid of any one else on earth. But who is this Francis Bramwell -that Philip Ray visits? Who can he be?" Crawford paused awhile, and -then said impatiently as he turned away from the window, "Bah, what do -I care who it is? I fear no one but Philip Ray." - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - A VISITOR AT BOLAND'S AIT. - - -On the evening that Crawford arrived for the first time at the house -called after his name, and saw the man he recognised as Philip Ray -hastening along the tow-path, the man of whom he expressed such fear -was almost breathless when, having passed the head of the Ait, he was -hidden from view. As soon as he got near the tail of the island he -suddenly stopped, bent down, and seizing a small chain made fast to an -iron ring below the level of the tow-path and close to the water, drew -heavily upon it, hand over hand. Gradually a long low black floating -mass began to detach itself from the island, and, like some huge snake -or saurian, stretch itself out across the turbid waters, now darkening -in the shadows of eve. This was the floating stage of which Red Jim -had told Crawford. - -When the stage touched the bank Philip Ray stepped on it, walked to -the other end, stooped down to the water, and, catching another chain, -drew the stage back. Then he stepped ashore on Boland's Ait. - -He paused a moment to gather breath and wipe his forehead, for in his -wild haste he had run half the way from Camberwell. With rapid steps -and arms swinging he strode to the door of what had once been the -foreman's cottage, and knocked hastily. Then he made a great effort, -and forced himself into an appearance of calm. - -There was the sound of some one rising inside. The door swung open, -and a man of thirty slightly under the middle height stood facing the -failing light of day. - -"Philip," he said. "Philip, I did not expect to see you so soon again. -Come in." - -On a table littered with papers a reading-lamp was already burning, -for even at the brightest hour the light in the small oblong room was -not good. By the table stood a Windsor armchair; another stood against -the wall furthest from the door. There was a tier of plain bookshelves -full of books against one of the walls, a few heavy boxes against -another, and absolutely nothing else in the place. The cottage stood -at the head of the island, and the one window of the occupant's study -looked up the canal in the direction of Camberwell. - -"At work, as usual," said Ray, pointing to the papers on the table as -he shut the door. - -"My work is both my work and my play, my meat and my rest. Sit down, -Philip. Has anything unusual happened? I did not expect to see you -until Sunday," said the solitary man, dropping into his chair, resting -his elbows on the arms of it and leaning forward. - -"I am out of breath. I ran most of the way," said Ray, avoiding the -question. - -"Ran!" cried the other in faint surprise. "Your walking is like -another man's running. Your running must be terrific. I never saw you -run. What made you run this evening?" He smiled very slightly as he -spoke of Ray's walking and running. - -"I am out of breath," said the other, again shirking the question. -"Give me a minute." - -It was not to gain breath Philip Ray paused, but to put in shape what -he had to say. He had come from Camberwell at the top of his speed -because he was burning with intelligence which had just reached him. -He had been so excited by the news that he had never paused to think -of the form in which he should communicate it, and now he was in great -perplexity and doubt. - -Francis Bramwell threw himself back in his chair in token of giving -the required respite. He was a pale broad-browed man, with large, -grave, unfathomable, hazel eyes His hair and moustache were dark -brown; his cheeks and chin, clean-shaven. - -Ray fidgeted a good deal in his chair, and acted very badly the man -who was out of breath. - -"You must have run desperately hard," said Bramwell, at length, in a -tone half sympathy, half banter. - -"Never harder in all my life," said the other, placing his hand on his -side, as though still suffering from the effects of his unusual speed. - -After a while he sat up and said, "I was pretty tired to begin with. I -had been wandering about all the afternoon, and when I found myself -near home I made up my mind not to budge again for the night. I found -a letter waiting for me, and I have come over about that letter." He -ceased to speak, and suppressed the excitement which was shaking him. - -"A letter!" said Bramwell, observing for the first time that something -very unusual lay behind the manner of the other. "It must have been a -letter of great importance to bring you out again, and at such a rate, -too." He looked half apprehensively at his visitor. - -"It was a letter of importance." - -A spasm of pain shot over the face of Bramwell, and his brows fell. "A -letter of importance that concerned me?" he asked in a faint voice. - -"Well," after a pause, "partly." - -Bramwell's lips grew white, and opened. He scarcely breathed his next -question: "From _her?_" - -"O, no!" answered Ray quickly. - -"About her?" - -"No." - -Bramwell fell back in his chair with a sigh of relief. "I thought the -letter was about her. I thought you were preparing me to hear of her -death," said he tremulously, huskily. - -"I am sorry to say you were wrong. That would be the best news we -could hear of her," said Ray bitterly. - -"Yes, the very best. What does the letter tell you that affects me?" - -"It is about _him_," answered Ray, with fierce and angry emphasis on -the pronoun. - -"What does the letter say?" - -"That he is in England." - -"Ah! Where?" - -"In Richmond." - -"So near!" - -"Who saw him?" - -"Lambton." - -"Beyond all chance of mistake?" - -"Beyond all chance of mistake, although he has shaved off his whiskers -and moustache. Lambton saw him on the railway platform, and recognised -him at once. Lambton had no time to make any inquiries, as his train -was just about to move when he recognised the villain standing alone. -But _I_ have plenty of time for inquiries, and shall not miss one. -I'll shoot him as I would a rabid dog." - -"The atrocious scoundrel!" - -"When I read the letter I only waited to put this in my pocket." - -He took out a revolver and laid it on the table. - -Then for a while both men sat staring at one another across the table, -on which lay the weapon. At length Bramwell rose and began pacing up -and down the room with quick, feverish steps. Ray had not seen him so -excited for years--not since his own sister Kate, the solitary man's -wife, had run away, taking her baby, with that villain John Ainsworth, -whom Edward Lambton had seen at Richmond. After the first fierce agony -of the wound, the husband had declined to speak of her flight or of -her to his brother-in-law. He plunged headlong into gambling for a -time until all his ample means were dissipated, unless Boland's Ait -are enough to keep body and soul together. Then his grief took another -turn. He was lost to all his former friends for months, and at last -took up his residence, under an assumed name--Francis Bramwell instead -of Frank Mellor--on Boland's Ait, in the South London Canal. To not a -living soul did he disclose his real name or his place of habitation -but to Philip Ray, the brother of his guilty wife, and the sworn -avenger of her shame and his dishonour. - -Ray watched Bramwell with flashing, uneasy eyes. By a desperate effort -he was calming his own tumultuous passions. - -At last Bramwell wound his arms round his head, as though to shut out -some intolerable sight, to close his ears to some maddening sounds, to -shield his head from deadly, infamous blows. - -"Bear with me, Philip!" he cried huskily, at length. "Bear with me, my -dear friend. I am half mad--whole mad for the moment. Bear with me! -God knows, I have cause to be mad." - -He was staggering and stumbling about the room, avoiding by instinct -the table on which the lamp burned. - -Ray said nothing, but set his teeth and breathed hard between them. - -"I did not think," went on Bramwell, unwinding his arms and placing -his hands before his face, as he went on unsteadily to and fro, "that -anything could break me down as this has done. I thought I had -conquered all weakness in the matter. I cannot talk quite steadily -yet. Bear with me awhile, Philip!" - -The younger man hissed an imprecation between his set teeth. - -Bramwell took down his hands from his face and tore the collar of his -shirt open. - -"What you told me," he resumed in a gentler voice, a voice still -shaken by his former passion of wrath, as the sea trembles after the -wind has died away, "brought it all back upon me again. How I -worshipped her! How I did all in my power to make her love me! How I -hoped in time she would forget her young fancy for him! I thought if -she married me I could not fail to win her love, and then when the -child was born I felt secure. But the spell of his evil fascination -was too strong for her feeble will, and--and--and he had only to -appear and beckon to her to make her leave me for ever; and to go with -_him_--with such a man as John Ainsworth! O God!" - -Ray drew a long breath, brought his lips firmly together, but uttered -no word. His eyes were blazing, and his hands clutched with powerful -strenuousness the elbows of his chair. - -"I am calmer now," resumed Bramwell. - -"I am not," breathed Ray, in a whisper of such fierceness and -significance that the other man arrested his steps and regarded the -speaker in a dazed way, like one awakening from sleep in unfamiliar -surroundings. - -"I am not calmer now," went on Ray, in the same whisper of awful -menace, "unless it is calmer to be more than ever resolved upon -revenge." - -"Philip----" - -"Stop! I must have my say. You have had yours. Have I no wrongs or -sorrow? Am I not a partner in this shame thrust upon us?" - -"But----" - -"Frank, I will speak. You said a while ago, 'Bear with me.' Bear you -now with me." - -Bramwell made a gesture that he would hear him out. - -"In the first wild burst of your anger you would have strangled this -miscreant if you could have reached his throat with your thumbs--would -you not?" - -He was now speaking in his full voice, in tones charged with intense -passion. - -"I was mad then." - -"No doubt; and I am mad still--now. I have never ceased to be mad, if -fidelity to my oath of vengeance is madness. You know I loved her as -the apple of my eye, and guarded her as the priceless treasure of my -life; for we were alone--she was alone in the world only for me. Him I -knew and loathed. I knew of his gambling, his dishonourableness, his -profligacy. I knew she was weak and flighty, vain and headlong, open -to the wiles of a flatterer, and I shuddered when I found she had even -met him once, and I forbade her ever to meet him again. She promised, -and although my mind was not at rest, it was quieted somewhat. Then -you came. I knew you were the best and loyalest and finest-souled man -of them all. Let me speak. Bear with me a little while." - -"My life is over. Let me be in such peace as I may find." Bramwell -walked slowly up and down the room with his head bowed and his eyes -cast on the floor. - -"And why is your life over--at thirty? Because of him and his ways of -devilish malice; he cared for her really nothing at all. When he came -the second time, a year after the marriage, he set his soul upon -ruining you and her. He thought of nothing else. Do not stop me. I -will go on. I will have it out for once. You would never listen to me -before. Now you shall--you shall!" - -He was speaking in a loud and vehement voice, and swinging his arms -wildly round him as he sat forward on his chair. - -"Go on." - -"Well, I liked you best of all; you had everything in your favour: -position, money, abilities, even years. You were younger than the -scoundrel, and quite as good-looking. You had not his lying smooth -tongue for women, or his fine sentiment for their silly ears. I -thought all would be well if she married you. She did, and all went -well for a year, until he came back, and then all went wrong, and she -stole away out of your house, taking your child with her." - -"I know--I know; but spare me. I have only just said most of this -myself." - -"No doubt; but I must say what is in my heart--what has been in my -heart for years. Well, we know he deserted her after a few months. He -left her and her child to starve in America, the cowardly ruffian! -What I have had in my mind to say for years, Frank, is that of all the -men in this world, I love and esteem you most; that I love and esteem -you more than all the other men in this world put together, and that -it drives me mad to think shame and sorrow should have come upon you -through my blood." - -"Do not speak of her, Philip. What has been done cannot be undone." - -"No; but the shame which has come upon you through my blood can be -washed out in his, and by----, it shall! and here I swear it afresh." - -With a sudden movement forward he flung himself on his knees and threw -his open right hand up, calling Heaven to witness his oath. - -Bramwell paused in his walk. The two men remained motionless for a -moment. Suddenly Bramwell started. There was a loud knocking at the -door. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - FATHER AND SON. - - -Ray rose to his feet and bent forward. - -"I did not know you expected any visitor," said he in a tone of strong -irritation. - -"I do not expect any visitor. I never have any visitor but you," said -Bramwell, looking round him in perplexity, as though in search of an -explanation of the sound. He was beginning to think that his ears must -have deceived him, and that the knock had not been at the door. "Did -you," he asked, "draw back the stage when you got here?" - -"Yes, but I did not fasten it. Any one on the tow-path might have -pulled it across again. I hope no one has been eavesdropping." - -"Eavesdropping! No. Who would care to eavesdrop at _my_ door?" - -"HE!" - -"Philip, you are mad? If you trifle with your reason in this way you -will hurt it permanently. I do not believe there was any knock at all. -It may have been a stone thrown by some boy from the tow-path." - -"Well, open the door and see. There can be no harm in doing that." - -Ray stretched out his hand to recover the revolver which he had placed -on the table. Bramwell snatched it up, saying: - -"What folly, Philip! I will have no nonsense with such tools as this. -We are in England--not the West of America." He dropped the revolver -into the pocket of his jacket. - -The minds of both men had been so concentrated on the idea of John -Ainsworth during this interview that neither would have felt much -surprise to find him on the threshold. Bramwell had repudiated Ray's -suggestion that Ainsworth was there, but in his heart he was not sure -of his own assertion. Nothing on earth could be more monstrously -improbable than that Ainsworth would come and knock at _that_ door; -but then neither of the men in the room was in full possession of his -reasoning powers. While Bramwell had lived on Boland's Ait no caller -but Philip Ray had ever knocked at that door before, and now--now -there came a knock while Philip Ray was sitting in the room, and as -they had heard of Ainsworth's presence in England, and at the very -moment Philip Ray was swearing to take that reprobate's life. Reason -said it was absurd to suppose Ainsworth could be there. Imagination -said he might; and if he were found there while Philip was in this -fury, what direful things might not happen? Now that Bramwell had the -revolver in his possession he felt more assured. - -He moved to the door, opened it, and looked out. - -No figure rose between him and the deep dusk of night. The light from -the lamp on the table passed out through the doorway, and shone upon -the wall of the old engine-house opposite. - -"There is no one. It must have been a stone," said Bramwell, relieved, -and drawing back. - -"A stone cannot hit twice. There were two knocks. I heard two quite -distinctly. Go out and look around. Or stay, I'll go. Give me back my -revolver." - -"No, no. Stay where you are. I will see." - -He was in the act of stepping forth, when, looking down, he suddenly -perceived the figure of a little child in the doorway. With a cry, -"What is this?" he sprang back into the middle of the room. - -Ray shouted, "Is the villain there? I told you it was Ainsworth!" - -Ray was about to pass Bramwell at a bound, when the latter seized him -and held him back, and, pointing to the child in the doorway, -whispered, "Look!" - -Ray peered into the gloom, and then came forward a pace warily, as -though suspecting danger. "A child!" he cried in a whisper. "A little -child! How did he come here? Do you know anything of him?" - -"No." Bramwell shuddered and drew back until he could reach the -support of the table, on which he rested his hand. - -Ray advanced still further, and, bending his tall thin figure, asked -in a muffled voice, "Who are you, my little man? and what have you got -in your hand?" The child held something white in a hand which he -extended to Ray. - -The child did not answer, but crossed the threshold into the full -light of the lamp, still offering the white object, which now could be -seen to be a letter. - -"What is your name, my little man?" repeated Ray, with a look of -something like awe on his face. - -"Don't!" whispered Bramwell, backing until he reached his chair. -"Don't! Can't you see his name?" - -"No. I am not able to make out what is on the paper at the distance. -Give me the paper, my little lad." - -Bramwell knew what the name of the child was, and Ray had a tumultuous -and superstitious feeling that the coming of this child across the -water in the night to the lonely islet and this solitary man had some -portentous significance. - -Ray took the letter from the child, and read the superscription with -dull sight. Then he said, turning to Bramwell, "This does not explain -how you know his name. There is nothing on this but, - - - 'Francis Bramwell, Esq. - Boland's Ait, - South London Canal.' - - -What is your name? Tell me your name, my little man." - -"Frank," said the child in a frightened voice. - -"Yes. What else?" - -"Mellor." - -"What!" shouted Ray, catching up the boy from the floor and holding -the little face close to the lamp. - -"Did not you see his name on his face? Look! Is it not her face? -Philip, I am suffocating!" - -Ray gazed at the child long and eagerly. Bramwell, swaying to and fro -by his chair, kept his eyes on the rosy face of the boy. The boy -blinked at the light, and looked from one man to the other with -wide-open, unconcerned eyes. At length Ray put the little fellow on -the floor. The boy went to the table and began looking at the papers -spread upon it. From his self possessed, unabashed manner, it was -plain he was well accustomed to strangers. - -"Who brought you here?" asked Ray again. The other man seemed bereft -of voice and motion, save the long swaying motion, which he -mechanically tried to steady by laying hold of the arm of the chair. - -"A man," answered the child, running his chubby young fingers through -some papers. - -"Where did you come from?" - -"Mother," answered the child. - -"Who is mother?" - -The boy looked round in smiling surprise. - -"Mother _is_ mother," and he laughed at the notion of grown-up people -not knowing so simple a thing as that his mother was mother. He was -thoroughly at his ease--quite a person of the world. - -"You had better open the letter," said Ray, holding it out to -Bramwell. "I did not recognise the writing. It is not like what I -remember, and it is in pencil." - -Bramwell took the letter. His face worked convulsively as he examined -it. "I should not recognise the writing either, and yet it could be no -other than hers, once you think of her and look at it." He turned the -unopened envelope round and round in his hand. "What is the good of -opening this, Philip? It will make no difference in me. I shall never -look at her of my own free-will again." - -"How can you judge the good of opening it unless you know what it -contains? You cannot send it back by this messenger. My little lad," -he said, turning to the child, who was still moving his dimpled -fingers through the confused mass of papers on the table, "where is -the man that brought you here?" - -"Gone away," answered the child, without suspending his occupation. - -"He left you at the door and knocked and went away?" - -The boy nodded. - -"He brought you across the water and set you down and knocked, and -went back across the water?" - -"Went back across the water," repeated the boy. - -"What did he do then?" - -"Ran off." - -"You see, Frank," said Ray to the other man, "you cannot send back the -letter by the messenger who brought it." - -"Shall I throw it into the canal? I made up my mind never to know -anything about her again in this life," said Bramwell. - -Ray put his hand on the child's head and said, "Where did you leave -your mother?" - -"At home." - -"Where?" - -"A long way." - -"Do you know where?" - -"Yes; in bed." - -Bramwell tore open the envelope, read the letter, handed it to Ray, -and flung himself into his chair. The note, written in pencil like the -address on the cover, ran: - - - "May 28. - -"Frank,--I have found out where you are after long search. I ask -nothing for myself--not even forgiveness. But our child, your little -son, will be alone and penniless when I die, which the doctor tells me -must be before morning. I have enough money to pay all expenses. It is -not his money, but money made by myself--by my singing. You may -remember my voice was good. I shall be dead before morning, the doctor -tells me. There will be money enough for my funeral, but none for my -child. He is very young--I forget exactly how old, for my head is -burning hot, and my brain on fire. He is called after you, for you -used to be kind to me when I was at Beechley before I was married to -Frank Mellor. You remember him? This is a question you can never -answer, because I hear in my ears that I shall die before morning. The -money for my funeral is in my box. I am writing this bit by bit, for -my head is on fire, and now and then I cannot even see the paper, but -only a pool of flame, with little Frank--my baby Frank--on the brim, -just falling in, and I cannot save him. I am writing my will. This is -my will. I think I have nothing more to say. I wish I could remember -all I have said, but I am not able; and I cannot read, for when I try, -the paper fills with fire. It is easier to write than to read.... I am -better now. My head is cooler. It may not be cool again between this -and morning, and then it will be cold for ever. [I have money enough -for myself when I am dead.] Take my boy, take our child. Take my only -little one--all that is left to me. I do not ask you to forgive me. -Curse me in my grave, but take the child. You are a good man, and fear -and love God. My child is growing dim before my dying eyes. I could -not leave him behind when I fled your house. I cannot leave him behind -now, and yet I must go without him. I know you are bound in law to -provide for him. That is not what I mean. Take him to your heart as -you took me once. I love him ten thousand times more than I ever loved -myself, or ever loved you. I can give you nothing more, for I am not -fit to bless you. The pool of flame again! But I have said all. - - "Kate." - - -Ray had read the letter standing by the table, and with his back to -the chair into which Bramwell had sunk. When he finished he turned -slowly round and fixed his gaze on the child. A feeling of delicacy -and profound sympathy made him avoid the eyes of the other man. The -dying woman was his sister, but she was this man's wife. A little -while ago he had said that death would well befit her; and yet now, -when, as in answer to his words, he read her own account of the death -sentence passed upon her, he felt a pang of pity for her and remorse -for his words. For a moment his mind went back to their orphaned -childhood, and his love and admiration of his sister Kate's beauty. He -had to banish the pictures ruthlessly from his mind, or he would have -broken down. Silence any longer preserved would only afford a gateway -to such thoughts; so he said, as he placed his hand once more on the -head of the boy: - -"She was delirious, or half-delirious, when she wrote this." - -"Philip, she was dying." - -"Yes. What do you propose to do?" - -"Nothing. The boy said he came a long way, and that whoever brought -him ran away. It is plain she has taken precautions to conceal her -hiding-place. Let things be as they are. They are best so." - -He spoke like a man in a dream. He was half stunned. It seemed to him -that all this had passed in some dreary long ago, and that he was only -faintly recalling old experiences, not living among words and facts -and surroundings subsisting to-day. - -"And what about----?" Ray finished the sentence by pointing with his -free hand at the boy. - -"Eh? About what?" - -Bramwell's eyes were looking straight before him far away. - -"About our young friend here?" - -"She has been careful to remind me of my legal responsibility. I have -no choice. Besides, putting the question of legality aside, I have no -desire to escape from the charge, though I am ill-suited to undertake -it, and do not know how I shall manage. He is, of course, a stranger -to me. He was a mere baby when last I saw him. I cannot think of this -matter now. I am thick-blooded and stupid with memories and sorrows." - -Ray groaned, and began pacing up and down the room. The child, always -self-possessed, had now gathered courage and was slowly making the -circuit of the table, holding on by the rim, and now and then turning -over some of the papers: plainly a child accustomed to amuse himself. - -Neither of the men spoke. Bramwell sat stupefied in his chair. Ray -strode up and down the room with hasty steps. - -The child pursued his course round the table. On the table was nothing -but papers, and the lamp inaccessible in the middle, the pens and an -ink-bottle unattainable near the lamp. When the circuit of the table -was completed, and was found to afford nothing but dull papers, with -not even one picture among them, the little feet ceased to move. One -hand laid hold of the leaf, the white blue-veined temple was rested on -the soft pad made by the plump tiny hand, and the young voice said -with a weary yawn, "Frank's tired. Frank wants to go to mother." As -the boy spoke he sank down to the floor, overcome by drowsiness and -fatigue. - -Ray hastened to the child and raised him from the ground, and held him -tenderly in his arms. "Poor little man! Poor tired little motherless -man!" - -"Mother!" murmured the boy, "I want to go to mother!" The child -smiled, and nestled into the breast of the tall powerful man. "Frank -wants mother and wants to go to bed." - -"Hush, my boy: Frank has no mother." - -Then a sudden impulse seized Ray. He crossed the room with the little -lad in his arms, and placed him in the arms of Bramwell, saying to the -child: - -"You cannot go to your mother: you have no mother any longer. But you -have a father. Take him, Frank; he is not to blame." - -Bramwell caught the boy to his breast, and stooped and kissed his -round soft young cheek, and pressed him again to his bosom, and then -all at once handed him back to Ray, saying, in a choking voice: - -"I am distracted, overwhelmed. I cannot stand this. What do I want -here--alive?" - -He rose and began stumbling about the room as if on the point of -falling. Suddenly something heavy in his coat struck the table and -shook it. A gleam of joy shot over his face, illumining it as though -he stood within the light of deliverance. - -Swift as thought he drew the revolver from his pocket and placed it -against his forehead. With a cry of horror, Ray struck his arm up, -dropped the child, and seizing Bramwell's wrist, wrenched the weapon -from his grasp. - -"It is _you_ who are mad now!" he cried angrily. "What do you mean? -Does all your fine morality vanish at the contact with pain and -disgrace? For shame, Frank! for shame! You were always a man. What -unmans you now? This," he added, dropping the revolver into his own -pocket, "is safer in my keeping than in yours. I intended to do only -justice with it; you would commit a crime." - -"I am calmer now," said Bramwell; "it was only the impulse of a -moment. Forgive me, Philip! forgive me, Heaven! I was frenzied. I -hardly remember what passed since--since the boy came and I read that -letter, and saw her ruin and death, and tasted the ashes of my own -life upon my lips. I am calm--quite calm now. I will do my duty by the -child. Trust me, I will not give way again; although I am not much -safer without the revolver than with it. I have as deadly a weapon -always at hand." - -"What is that? I did not know you kept any weapon in the place." - -"I keep no weapon in the place; but," he went to the window looking -south along the canal, "all around me is--the water." - -Shortly after this Philip Ray left, promising to call next evening. It -was after this interview that Layard and Crawford saw him emerge from -the gloom of the arch of Welford Bridge, the night that Crawford -entered upon the tenancy of his rooms in Crawford's House, on -Crawford's Bay, opposite Boland's Ait, and hard by the flooded -ice-house, Mrs. Crawford's property. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - CRAWFORD'S HOME. - - -The third and last day of William Crawford's visit to Welford was -devoted to the business of his wife's property. The rents had not been -collected for a couple of months, and before he returned in the -evening he had upwards of a hundred pounds in his possession. Some of -the tenants paid quarterly; the rents of the smaller ones were due -weekly, but it had been the custom of the estate not to apply for the -latter until four weeks outstanding. The neighbourhood, though poor, -was for a place of its class eminently solvent, owing to the gas-house -and the railway. Of course these was no difficulty with the stores, or -wharves, or yards, or better class of houses; and even the poorer -tenants could not afford to get into arrears or treat a landlord -unjustly, for such matters might come to the ears of either of the -great companies, and do the delinquent harm. - -It was almost sundown when Crawford reached his lodgings. Layard had -come in and gone out again, and Hetty was alone in their sitting-room. -She had just come down from little Freddie, who, after a valiant fight -against Billy Winkers, had at last succumbed. Crawford saw Hetty at -the window, and motioned that he wished to speak with her. - -"Mr. Layard out?" asked he, after greetings. - -"Yes," said the girl; "the evening was so lovely, he said he'd go for -a walk." - -"The evening is lovely, no doubt," said he; "but is there such a thing -as a tolerable walk within reasonable distance?" - -Hetty had opened the sitting-room door, and now stood on the -threshold. - -"There is no nice walk quite close, but Alfred often goes for a stroll -to Greenwich Park. That is not far off, you know, and the air there is -so sweet and pure after the heat and unpleasantness of the works all -day." - -She thought he was speaking merely out of politeness, and, believing -he wished to be gone, drew back a little into the room. - -He was in no great hurry to go upstairs. He knew what her movement -indicated, but he construed it differently. - -"Am I invited to enter?" he asked suavely, bowing slightly, and making -a gesture of gallant humility with his arms and shoulders. - -"Certainly," she said, smiling and making way for him. He did look a -powerful man, she thought, who could dare danger, and rescue and carry -out of the flames an invalid woman. He was not very handsome, it was -true, and there was something unusual about his restless eyes. But -perhaps that might be quite usual with heroes. She had never before -met a man who had rescued any one from death. She had not, that she -could remember, ever met a man, either, who had married a widow. -According to plays and satirists, the man who married a widow had more -courage than the man who would do no more than face death in a burning -house. - -"I am sorry to have to trouble you about a little business matter--no, -thank you, I will not sit down, I shall run away in a minute--but, as -your brother is out, I fear I must intrude on your good nature, if you -will allow me." - -His voice and manner were exceedingly soft and pleasant and -insinuating; not in the least like his voice and manner of the former -evening, when his manner was abrupt and his voice hard, if not harsh. -This speech somewhat disconcerted the girl. She felt sure he was going -to ask her to do something altogether beyond her abilities. - -"Anything in my power, Mr. Crawford, I shall be very happy to do for -you." - -"Thank you extremely. It is exceedingly kind of you to say so." He -spoke as though weighed down by a sense of his own unworthiness. - -The girl began to feel embarrassed. Such profuse thanks rendered in -anticipation placed the obligation of gratitude on her shoulders. His -words and manner and gestures had already thanked her more than -sufficiently for anything she could do for him. - -"I am going out this evening," he said, "and shall not be back until -very late--an hour too late even to mention to any well-ordered -person--and I do not wish to disturb any one when I come back." - -"We, Alfred and I, always sit up very late." - -"My dear Miss Layard, you could have no conception of the time at -which I may return. It may be three, four, five o'clock. I have to go -to see an old friend in the West End, and he will, in all likelihood, -keep me until the cocks have crowed themselves hoarse in full -daylight." - -"Well," said she, gathering her brows and looking very uncomfortable -as she felt how helpless she was in a case of such mystery and -difficulty, "what can Alfred or I do for you?" - -The grave aspect and manner of apology left his face and gestures all -at once, and he smiled, and with a light airy, humorous manner said, -"If there is such a thing as a latchkey, and your brother hasn't it -with him, will you lend it to me?" - -The girl burst out laughing, partly from relief and partly from -enjoyment of this elaborate joke, and, going to the chimney piece, -handed him from it a key. "We had to get a new latch. Alfred has one -key. This is for you." - -"Thank you. Good-night." And he went, shutting the door softly after -him. - -William Crawford went to his own room and took off the quiet, sedate, -and somewhat shabby clothes in which he had arrived at Welford. He -washed, put on a fresh shirt and elegant laced boots, of much finer -make and more shiny than he had worn all day. He substituted a -coloured tie for the one of sober black, a blue frock-coat of -exquisite make, and over this a dark summer topcoat. When he surveyed -himself in the glass he looked ten years younger than when he came in -after the arduous labours of the day. - -Of the money he had collected that day most was in notes or gold. He -dropped all the notes and gold into his pocket, and, having locked a -few cheques in his portmanteau, left the house quietly, as though not -wishing to attract attention. - -When he reached Welford Road he looked up and down for a minute, and -muttering, "Pooh! No hope of a hansom in this place, of course!" -turned his face west, and began walking rapidly with his quick step. -Now and then he twitched his shoulders with suppressed energy; -constantly he swung his eyes from left to right, as though it would -not suit him to miss seeing anything on either side. - -After a quarter-of-an-hour's walking he came to the beginning of a -tram line. He got into a car about to move. He took no notice of the -destination of the car. The car was going west--that was enough for -him. - -In half-an-hour he reached a busy crossing where hansoms were -plentiful. He alighted here, hailed a cab, and was driven to a quiet -street off Piccadilly. He got down here, and proceeded on foot to a -still quieter cross street, finally entering a modest, unpretentious -house, the home of the Counter Club, a club which had nothing whatever -to do with the yard-stick or scales and weights, but where members -might amuse themselves at games in which no money changed hands at the -table, and was therefore blameless. All a member had to do before -beginning to play was to provide himself with counters, to be obtained -of the secretary for--a consideration. The reason why these counters -were used and not money, was because the games played here were games -of chance, and it is illegal to play games of chance for money. Very -elaborate precautions were taken by the committee to avoid any -confusion between the counters whose use, after the formality of -paying, was sanctioned by the secretary, and counters not issued by -him. - -It was, as Crawford had predicted, long after sunrise when he opened -Layard's door with his latchkey. A good deal of the briskness and -energy of his manner a few hours ago was abated. When he found himself -in his sitting-room he flung his overcoat and hat on the table. -"Cleaned out, by Heavens!" he cried. "Is this accursed luck to last -for ever?" - -Then he changed his clothes, putting on those he had worn the day -before, and took a chair at the open window of his sitting-room, -overlooking the canal. - -Here he remained motionless, brooding gloomily until six o'clock. Then -he got up, wrote a line to Layard saying he had to go away early, and -would be back again on June 27. He left the house noiselessly, and -made his way partly on foot, partly by tramcar (for here the tramcars -run early), and partly by cab to Ludgate Hill, whence by train he -reached Richmond. - -It was still early, about eight o'clock, when Crawford gained his own -home and let himself in. The servants were stirring. "Tell Mrs. -Crawford when she rings," said he to the housemaid, "that I have been -up all night, and have gone to lie down. Do not call me for -breakfast." Then he went to his dressing-room, kicked off his boots -with a curse, threw himself on the bed, and was asleep in five -minutes. - -Noon came and went, and still he slept peacefully. Just as one o'clock -struck he awoke with a start, and sprang from the bed, threw off his -coat and waistcoat, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, washed his face and -hands, brushed his hair, and, when his coat and waistcoat were once -more on, opened the door leading to his wife's room and went in. - -Mrs. Crawford was sitting in an armchair by the open window. She was a -pale, fragile, beautiful woman of seven-and-forty. Her eyes were -large, luminous, violet, and full of gentleness and love. Her lips -were remarkably beautiful and red for an invalid of her years. Her -smile was the softest and most engaging and endearing in all the -world. Nothing could exceed the tender loveliness of her face, or the -sweet cheerful resignation of her disposition. The mitigation of her -symptoms following the shock at the fire had not been permanent, and, -although on the day of her second marriage she had been well enough to -walk up the whole length of the church, she was now once more -incapable of moving across the room without help. - -Upon the entrance of Crawford she turned her head quickly and smiled, -holding out her hands, saying: - -"O, William, I am glad you're back! I am glad to see you once more. I -have been lonely. This is the longest time we have been separated -since our marriage." - -He went to her and kissed her affectionately, first her lips and then -her forehead, and then her hair, now thickly shot with grey, but -abundant still. He drew a chair beside hers, and sat down, taking one -of her thin transparent hands in both his, and stroking it as though -it was made of the most fragile and precious material. - -"And how has my Nellie been since?" he asked in a low caressing voice, -very different from the one Red Jim or Alfred Layard had heard, but -somewhat akin to the one in which he had apologised to Hetty the -evening before. - -"Well--very well; but lonely. I hoped you would be able to get home, -dear, last night," she said, lying back in her chair and looking at -him out of her gentle violet eyes with an expression of absolute rest -and joy. - -"So did I. So, indeed, I should, only for my ill luck. I am greatly -put out by my first visit to Welford, Nellie," he said, lowering his -brows and looking troubled. - -"Put out, dear! Put out by your visit to Welford! What put you out, -William? I am very sorry you went. I am very sorry I let you go. I am -sorry we ever got rid of Blore, if the thing is going to be a bother -to you." Blore had been the agent before the advent of William -Crawford. - -"O, no! You need not be sorry. I was not put out on account of myself, -but on account of you." He said this very tenderly, and with a gentle -pressure on the transparent wax-like fingers between his hands. - -"On my account, William?" she said, with a smile rich in love and -satisfaction. "Why on my account, dear?" - -"Well, because I have been disappointed in the results of my own -efforts. I could get very little money. Out of over two hundred pounds -overdue, upwards of a hundred of which is arrears, I got no more than -twenty pounds." He said this ruefully, keeping his gaze fixed out of -the window, as though ashamed to meet her eyes. - -His wife laughed. - -"Is that all? I thought you had met some unpleasantness to yourself -there. My dear William, don't let that trouble you. They will pay next -month or the month after. They are excellent tenants, taking them all -together." - -"I daresay they _will_ pay next month. But I could not help feeling -disappointed and depressed in having to come back to you almost -empty-handed. This is all I succeeded in getting--twenty-seven pounds -ten." - -He held out a little bundle to her. - -With a laugh she pushed it away. - -"It is yours, William, not mine. What have I to do with money now? You -know more about money than I do. You take care of me and of the money -for us. No, no; I will not touch it! Put it in the bank, or do what -you like with it. I and all that was mine is yours, love." - -There was a rapture of self-sacrifice and devotion in the woman's -voice and manner. There was a prodigal richness of love and faith in -her eyes. She had not loved her first husband when she married him, -and during the years they had spent together no passionate love had -arisen in her heart, though she was fond of her husband and an -excellent wife. She had passed not only the morning, but the zenith of -life when she met this man; but to him she had given all that remained -to her of love and hope and all her faith, never shaken by any shock. - -Crawford winced slightly. Even he drew the line somewhere. He would -rather battle stubbornly against odds for his way than sit still and -be overwhelmed with free and lavish gifts. He liked to win, but he -also liked to contend. He was passionately fond of money, and would -sacrifice almost anything to get it. He would not work for it, but he -would rather win it at cards than get it for nothing. If he had not -gambled away those eighty pounds last night, she would have given them -to him now. He felt a perverse gratitude that he was not beholden to -her for the eighty pounds. He had, as it were, earned those eighty -pounds by the deceit he had practised. But this money, which she had -refused to receive, burnt his fingers. - -He took the money, however, and kissed her thin fragile hand, and -pressed it against his broad powerful chest. - -"You are the best woman in the world, Nellie, and the dearest. These -fellows will, no doubt, pay next month. I wonder, if I asked Blore -about them, would he give me some information?" - -"I always found Mr. Blore the most courteous and honest and -straightforward of men. If I were you I should see him." - -"I will. And now let us drop business and talk about something more -interesting. Tell me to begin with, all that my good wife has been -doing while I have been away." He slipped his arm round her waist and -drew her head down upon his shoulder. His ways with men and women were -widely different. With the former he was quick, or abrupt, or -peremptory, or combative. He seemed to value his time at a price so -high that the speech of other men caused him an intolerable loss, by -reason of his having to listen to it. - -With women he was soft and gentle, and even quietly humorous at times. -He never was restless or impatient. His manner was that of one who had -found out the condition of existence in which life could be most -delightfully passed, that of his companion's society; and if he did -not absolutely make love to a woman when alone with her, and this was -but seldom with one under fifty, he invariably implied that he would -rather have her society than the society of all the men on this earth. -He varied the details of his style according to the age, condition, -and disposition of his companion. - -He could adopt the melancholic, the enthusiastic, the poetic manner, -according as circumstances and the subject demanded. Without any -striking physical advantages, he was a most fascinating man to women. -There was no false polish, no lacquer about him. He had no airs and -graces. He did not groan or simper. He never laid aside his manhood -for a moment. He did not beg so much as expostulate for love. His -love-making took the form of an irresistible argument. He thought no -mere about women than he did about hares or rabbits, or flowers. He -liked most women when they were not a trouble to him. They amused him. -He liked their graceful ways and their simple loyal hearts. He liked -their dainty raiment and their soft delicate hands. He liked the -perfumes they used and the flowers they wore. He liked most women, but -he had a contempt for all of them. - -He hated all men. - -He did not repudiate or despise principles, but he had none himself. -He nourished no theories as to what a man ought or ought not to do. He -troubled himself about no other men at all. He always did exactly what -he liked best, or believed to be best for his own interest. He had -banished everything like religion from his mind long ago. He did not -bother himself to ask whether there might or might not be a Hereafter. -He was quite certain there was a Here, and he had made up his mind to -make the best of it. In some senses of the word, he was no coward. He -would face a danger, even a risk, so long as he could see his way, and -all was in the full light of day and commonplace. But he was afraid of -the unseen: of the dagger or the bullet, of ghosts and supernatural -manifestations. He was a gambler, and, like all gamblers, -superstitious. - -Twenty years ago he had been placed in the counting-house of a -first-class Liverpool place of business. His mother was then dead, his -father living. John Ainsworth--that was the name with which he started -in life--was an only child. His father had saved a few thousand pounds -as manager of a line of steamboats. - -Young Ainsworth went to the bad before he was twenty-five, and was -kicked out of his situation. The shock killed his father, who was an -old man. There was no will, and young Ainsworth got his father's money -and went betting on the turf, and when there were no races he devoted -his energies to cards. It was on his way back from a great Sussex -race-meeting that he came upon the quiet little town of Beechley, and -first met Kate Ray. He was then past thirty years of age, and had been -moderately successful on the turf and on the board of green cloth. In -Beechley he concealed the nature of his occupation, stayed there a -month or two, and won the giddy heart of the beautiful Kate Ray. But -her brother would not listen to him, and Kate, who would have a little -money when she came of age, was a minor and in the hands of guardians, -who would have nothing to do with him either. So Ainsworth, being by -no means insensible to the money Kate would come into at twenty-one, -drew off for a while, promising Kate to come back later. - -Two whole years passed before John Ainsworth again appeared at -Beechley. By this time the flighty and beautiful girl had married -Frank Mellor, who had just inherited a considerable fortune upon the -death of an old miserly bachelor grand-uncle, that had lived all his -life in London, and made money in the Baltic trade. - -Then, out of a spirit of pure revenge, Ainsworth secretly pursued -Kate, and worked upon her fickle and weak nature until she fled with -him, taking her baby boy, Frank Mellor's child. - -After three years that child had been restored to his father, while -the mother lay dying at good Mrs. Pemberton's, a rifle-shot from -Boland's Ait and the office of John Ainsworth, who had assumed the -name of Crawford. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - FATHER AND SON. - - -Of all the men in London, there was scarcely one less qualified to -take charge of a young child than Francis Bramwell, living alone on -his tiny island in the South London Canal. He was not used to -children. He had had only one sister, and no brother. His sister, -twelve years older than himself, had married and gone away to -Australia before he was eight years of age. His father had been a -successful attorney in Shoreham, where he died ten years ago, when his -son was just twenty years old. His mother had been dead many years at -that time. - -When his grand-uncle was buried a few years later, Bramwell became -rich and left Shoreham. He had been reading for the Bar in a -half-hearted and dilatory way. - -He gave up all thought of the profession, and resolved to lead a life -of lettered ease and contemplation, to be summed up later, probably in -a book of one kind or another. In fact, as soon as he found himself -independent he determined to devote his attention to poetry, and, as -he did not feel certain of possessing a strong vein of genius, he -determined to confine himself to translations by way of a beginning. - -For quietness he moved out of Shoreham to a cottage a few miles from -the dull little town of Beechley, and in Beechley, after the first -visit of John Ainsworth, he made the acquaintance of Philip Ray and -his beautiful sister Kate. - -When he fell in love he threw his books to the winds, and, beyond -verses addressed to his mistress, had no dealings with the Muse. - -He was then a man to all outward appearance of singularly unemotional -temperament. But under a placid demeanour he concealed a sensitive and -enthusiastic nature, a nature of fire and spirit, subject to raptures -and despairs, and desiring rapture almost as a necessity. Prose would -not satisfy him; he must have the wine of poetry. To love was not -enough for him; he must adore. Devotion was too tame; he must immolate -himself. - -He had lived most of his years since adolescence apart, and had never -tried to make himself agreeable to any girl, until he told himself -that life without Kate Ray would be simply intolerable. After marriage -he treated his wife more like the goddess of a temple than the young, -pretty, vain, foolish, flighty mistress of a home. - -Kate, who loved flattery and fine clothes, and trivial gaiety, could -not understand him. She thought him cold and formal at one time; a -wild man, a lunatic at another. He did not stoop to flattery, or -condescend to simulation. He was worshipful, not gallant. He praised -her spirit and her soul, possessions to which she did not attach much -importance. He said little about her eyes, or her figure, or her hair, -which she knew to be beautiful, and of which she was inordinately -vain. - -She could not comprehend him. She did not try very hard. She never -tried very hard to do anything, except dress well and look pretty. He -was, no doubt, very grand, but she loved John Ainsworth all the while. -John's ways and manner were perfectly intelligible to her, and when he -came to her the second time secretly, and threw a romantic light upon -their stolen meetings--when she heard his flattery and sighs and -oaths--her weak will gave way, and she fled with him, taking the boy -with her. - -Now, after three years, and when Bramwell had made up his mind he -should never see wife or child again, the boy had come from his wife's -death-bed to his door. What was he to do with this helpless being? - -He had decreed in his own soul, beyond the reach of appeal, that he -would never see his wife again. It was plain she had not contemplated -a meeting with him. It was plain she had put such a thing beyond her -hopes--beyond, most likely, her desires. For had she not known where -he lay hidden? and had she not refrained from seeking him, refrained -even from letting him know she was alive? But when she found herself -on the point of dissolution, when she had been told she had only a few -hours to live, when the delirium of death was upon her, she had sent -the child to him. She had at least the grace to feel her shame, and -sufficient knowledge of him to be certain that no consideration on -earth would induce him once more to look on her, the woman he had -loved, who had betrayed his honour and laid his life in ruin. - -But the boy? What was to be done with him? - -The night before he had been too stupefied to think. When Philip left -him he had taken the child to his own room and put him in his own bed, -and the little fellow, overcome by fatigue and the lateness of the -hour, had fallen asleep. - -Now it was bright, clear, unclouded morning, the morning after the -boy's advent. The little fellow still slept, but the father was broad -awake. He had risen at five, and was sitting in the room where Philip -had found him the evening before. His elbows rested on the table; his -head leaned upon his hands. - -What should he do with the boy? Her child?--the child of the woman who -had brought infamy on his name, who had taken the heart out of his -life; leaving nothing but a harsh and battered husk behind? - -The child was like her, too. He had known the first moment he looked -on the little face that this was the baby she had stolen away from his -home when he thought she was gradually growing to love him, when he -thought she had forgotten for ever the villain who had induced her -perfidy! - -Like her! Good heavens! was this child to live with him always? Was -this child, day after day, hour after hour, to remind him by the look -in his eyes of all his youthful dreams of love and happiness, and the -wildering blow that for a time drove his reason from him and wrecked -his life before the voyage was well begun? - -That would be intolerable. No man could bear that. Heaven could not -expect him to endure such a hell on earth. - -He rose with a groan, and began pacing the room up and down. - -He was a man slightly below the middle height, somewhat uncouth and -awkward in his motions. His shoulders were broad, his figure thin -almost to emaciation. He had large and powerful hands, not handsome -and soft, but muscular and knotty, like those of a man who had done -much physical labour, although he had never performed a day's manual -work in all his life. His nose was long and blunt at the end. His -cheeks were sunken. There were odd grey streaks in his long, straight -hair. He stooped slightly, and was slovenly in his carriage and dress. -The colour of his face was dark, almost dusky. His forehead was high -and pale. - -The mere shell of the man was poor, almost mean. He did not look as -though he could fight or work. Beyond the breadth of his shoulders -there was no suggestion of bodily strength about him. When he walked -his tread lacked firmness. He looked as though the push of a child -would knock him down. - -But when you had formed a poor opinion of the man, and set him down as -a weed, and were prepared to make short work of him morally, or -mentally, or physically, and came close to him face to face, and he -looked up at you and spoke, you felt confused, abashed. His eyes were -dark hazel, large, deep-set, luminous. They seldom moved quickly, they -seldom flashed, they seldom laughed. They rarely seemed concerned with -the people or things immediately in front of him. They had the awful -sadness and far-away look of the Sphinx. They saw not you, nor through -you, but beyond you. You became not the object of their gaze, but an -interruption in their range. They made you feel that you were in the -way. You seemed to be an impertinence interposing between a great -spirit in its commune with supernatural and august mysteries. - -His voice was slow, deliberate, low in ordinary speech. It was not -musical. It had a breathlessness about it which fixed the attention at -once of those who heard. It suggested that the words spoken were read -from the margin of some mighty page, and that the speaker, if he -chose, could decipher the subject of the scroll. - -If he raised his voice above this pitch it became uncertain, harsh, -grating, discordant. It suggested the unwilling awakening of the man. -It seemed to say that he lived at peace, and would that he were left -at peace, and that you came unnecessarily, undesired, to rouse and -harass him. - -But it was when excited beyond this second stage, it was when not only -awakened but lifted into the expression of enthusiasm, that the -wonderful qualities of his voice were displayed. Then it became full -and rich and flexible and organ-toned, at once delicate and powerful. -It sounded as though not only the words, but the music also, were -written on the great scroll before his eyes, and he was reading both -with authority. - -It was the spirit in the eyes and the spirit in the voice Philip Ray -worshipped. He knew the heart of this man was made of gold, but in the -eyes and the voice he found the spirit of a seer, a hero, a prophet. - -The spirit of this man Kate Ray never knew, never even perceived. She -was too busy with the thought of her own physical beauty to notice -anything in the man but his plain appearance and unusual ways. He had -more money than ever she had hoped to share with a husband, but he -cared nothing for the things she liked or coveted. He would not take a -house in London: he would not move into even Beechley. The only value -he set upon a competency was because of the power it gave him over -books, and because of the privilege it afforded him of living -far away from the hurly-burly of men. His union with Kate Ray was an -ill-assorted marriage, and the greatest evil that can arise out of an -ill-assorted marriage had come of it. - -From the day Kate left his house he never opened a volume of verse. At -first he plunged into a vortex of excitement, from which he did not -emerge until he had lost in gambling everything but Boland's Ait, -which brought in no revenue, and an income of about a hundred a year -from some property in the neighbourhood of the island. - -When he regained his senses, and resolved upon retiring into solitude, -he recognised the importance, the necessity of finding some occupation -for his mind. He would have nothing which could remind him of the -past, nothing which could recall to his mind the peaceful days at -Shoreham or the joy and hope that his sweetheart and wife had brought -into his life. All that was to be forgotten for ever. His life was -over. It was immoral to anticipate the stroke of death. Between him -and death there lay nothing to desire but oblivion, and work was the -best thing in which to drown thought. He would devote the remainder of -his life to history, philosophy, science. - -Although he had been on the island now more than two years, he had -still no definite idea of turning his studies to practical account. He -read and read and made elaborate notes and extracts from books. But -his designs were vague and nebulous. He called it all work. It kept -his mind off the past: that was the only result of all his labours. He -had no object to work for. He shuddered at the bare idea of notoriety -or fame, and he did not need money, for his means were sufficient for -his simple wants. Work was with him merely a draught of Lethe. He -numbed his brain with reading, and when he could read no longer he -copied out passages from his books or forced himself to think on -subjects which would not have been bearable three years ago. He was -not so much conquering himself as dulling his power to feel. - -Now, in upon this life had come the boy, bringing with him more potent -voices from the past than all the verses of all the poets; and, worst -of all, bringing with him the face of his disgraced, dead wife! - -What should he do? Either madness or death would be a relief, but -neither would come. The two things of which men are most afraid are -madness and death, and here was he willing to welcome either with all -the joy of which his broken heart was still capable. - -When that baby was born he had felt no affection for it on its own -account. It seemed inexpressibly dear to her, and therefore it was -after her the most precious being in all the world to him. Up to that -time he knew his wife's heart had not gone out to him in love as his -heart had gone out to her. He believed that the child would be the -means of winning his beautiful wife's love for him. He had read in -books innumerable that wives who had been indifferent towards their -husbands in the early days of marriage grew affectionate when children -came. For this reason he welcomed with delight the little stranger. -This baby would be a more powerful bond between them than the promises -made by her at the altar. It would not only reconcile her to the -life-long relations upon which they had entered, but endear him to -her. - -But she broke her vow, broke the bond between them, and in fleeing -from his house took with her the child, the creature that was dearer -to her than he! Here was food for hopelessness more bitter than -despair. - -Now, when hope was buried for ever, and she was dead, the child had -come back to remind him every hour of the past, to neutralise the cups -of Lethe he felt bound to drink, that his life might not be a life of -never-ending misery, to torture him with his wife's eyes, which had -closed on him for ever three years ago, and which now were closed for -ever on all things in death. - -What should he do? Would not merciful Providence take his reason away, -or stop these useless pulses in his veins? - -He threw himself once more in his chair, and covered his face with his -hands. - -From abroad stole sounds of the awakening world. The heavy lumbering -and grating of wagons and carts came from Welford Road, and from the -tow-path the dull heavy thuds of clumsy horses' feet. - -The man sat an hour in thought, in reverie. - -At length Bramwell took down his hands and raised his large eyes, in -which there now blazed the fire of intense excitement. "Light!" he -cried aloud; "God grant me light!" - -He kept his eyes raised. His lips moved, but no words issued from -them. An expression of ecstasy was on his face. His cry had not been a -cry for light, but a note of gratitude-giving that light had been -vouchsafed to him. He was returning thanks. - -At length his lips ceased to move, the look of spiritual exaltation -left his face, his eyes were gradually lowered, and he rose slowly -from his seat. - -He stood a minute with his hand on his forehead, and said slowly, "I -was thinking of myself only. I have been thinking of myself only all -my life. I have, thank God, something else, some one else to think of -now! Who am I, or what am I, that I should have expected happiness, -complete happiness, bliss? Who am I, or what am I, that I should -repine because I suffer? Who am I, or what am I, that I should murmur? -My eyes are open at last. My eyes are open, and my heart too. Let me -go and look." - -He crept noiselessly out of the room to the one in which the boy lay -still sleeping. - -The chamber was full of the broad full even light of morning in early -summer. The window stood open, the noise of the carts and wagons came -from Welford Road, and the dull heavy thuds of the clumsy horses' -hoofs from the tow-path. The sparrows were twittering and flickering -about the cottage on the island. Dull and grimy as the place usually -appeared, there was now an air of health and brightness and vigorous -life about it which filled and expanded the heart of the recluse. - -For years he had felt that he was dead, that his fellowship with man -had ceased for ever. His heart was now opened once more. - -Who should cast the first stone, the first stone into an open grave, -her grave, Kate's grave? His Kate's grave! Not he; O, not he! His -young, his beautiful, his darling Kate's grave! His young Kate's -grave! - -He turned to the bed on which rested the child. - -Yes, there lay young Kate, younger than ever he had known her. The -beautiful boy! There was her raven hair, there the sweet strange curve -of the mouth, there the little hand under the cheek, as Kate used to -lie when she slept. - -"God give me life and reason for him who is so like what I have lost!" -he cried; and circling his arm round the little head, he kissed the -sweet strange curve about the little mouth, and burst into tears, the -first he had shed for a dozen long years. In his great agony three -years ago he had not wept. - -The child awoke, smiled, stretched up his little arms, and caught his -father round the neck. - -"I want to go mother," whimpered the boy when he saw whom he held. - -"You cannot go just now, child. But you and I shall go to her one -day--in Heaven." - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - "CAN I PLAY WITH THAT LITTLE BOY?" - - -Hetty Layard was not sorry when, upon the morning of Mr. William -Crawford's return from the Counters Club, she found a note for her -brother Alfred, explaining that he had gone out for an early walk, the -weather was so lovely, and that he would not be back until next month, -when he hoped to find her and Mr. Layard very well; and thanking her -and him for the entertainment afforded him. He, moreover, left her a -cheque--one collected the previous day--for a couple of sovereigns, -out of which he begged her to take whatever his food had cost and -half-a-crown which she was to present from him to Mrs. Grainger. - -Miss Layard uttered a little sigh of relief when she put down the -note. Every one knows that men are a nuisance about a house, -especially men who have no fixed or regular business hours of absence. -Men are very well in their own way, which means to the housewife when -they are not in her way. A man who is six, eight or ten hours away -from home every day, and goes to church twice on Sunday and takes a -good long walk between the two services, may not only be tolerated, -but enjoyed. But a man who does not get up until ten o'clock and keeps -crawling or dashing about the house all day long is an unmitigated and -crushing evil. It does not matter whether he wears heavy boots or -affects the costume of a sybaritic sloven, and wanders about like a -florid and venerable midday ghost in dressing-gown and slippers. - -A woman's house is not her own as long as there is a man in it. While -enduring the presence of male impertinence she cannot do exactly as -she likes. There is at least one room she may not turn topsy-turvy, if -the fit takes her. There is no freedom, no liberty. If the man remain -quietly in one room, there is the unpleasant feeling that he must be -either dead or hungry. A man has very little business to be in the -house during day-time unless he is either dead or hungry. If the man -does not confine himself to one room he is quite certain to go -stumbling over sweeping-brushes and dust-pans in passages where he has -no more right to be than a woman behind the counter of a bank or on -the magisterial bench. From, say, the o'clock in the morning till four -in the afternoon you really can't have too little of a man about a -house. Very practical housekeepers prefer not to see their male folk -between nine and seven. Undoubtedly, strong-minded women believe that -two meals a day and the right to sleep under his own roof of nights is -as much as may with advantage to comfort be allowed to man. - -But Hetty Layard was not strong-minded at all. She was not over -tender-hearted either, though she was as tenderhearted as becomes a -young girl of healthy body and mind, one not sicklied over with the -pale cast of sentimentalism. She was as bright and cheerful as spring; -but all the same, she was not sorry when she found her lodger had -fled, and that they were to have the place to themselves for a month. - -That day Hetty was to enjoy the invaluable service of Mrs. Grainger -from breakfast to tea-time. From that day until Mr. Crawford's next -visit Mrs. Grainger was to come only for a couple of hours in the -forenoon every day to do the rough work. Mrs. Grainger was childless, -and could be spared from her own hearth between breakfast and supper, -as her husband took his dinner with him to the works, and had supper -and tea together. - -"So the unfortunate man has succeeded in getting out of your -clutches," said Alfred Layard at his late breakfast, when Hetty told -him the news. - -"Yes; but he left something behind him. Look." She handed her brother -the cheque. "I am to take the price of all he has had out of this, and -give half-a-crown to Mrs. Grainger." - -Alfred Layard shook his head very gravely. "Hetty, I had, I confess to -you, some doubts of this man's sanity; I have no longer any doubt. The -man is mad!" - -"Considering that we are obliged to find attendance, I think he has -been very generous to Mrs. Grainger." - -"As mad as a hatter," said the brother sadly. - -"If, Alfred, I tell you how much to take out of this, will you send -him the change, or is the change to remain over until next time?" - -"The miserable man is as mad as a March hare." - -"See! This is all I spent for him--twelve and threepence, and that -includes a lot of things that will keep till he comes again." - -"To think of this poor man trusting a harpy, a lodging-house keeper, -with untold gold! O, the pity of it!" - -"There are candles and lamp-oil, and tea and soap, and sugar, and -other things that will keep, Alfred. You can explain this when you are -sending him the change. I suppose it will be best to send him the -change. You have his Richmond address?" - -"Freddie," said the father, addressing his flaxen-haired, blue-eyed -little son at the other side of the table, "when you grow up and are a -great big man, don't lodge with your Aunt Hetty. She'd fleece you, my -boy. She'd starve you, and she wouldn't leave you a rag to cover you." -He shook a warning finger at the boy. - -"I shall live always with Aunt Hetty," said the boy stoutly, "and I -want more bread-and-butter, please." - -"See, my poor child, she is already practising. If she only had her -way, she would reduce you to a skeleton in a week." - -"Alfred, I wish you'd be sensible for a minute. This is business. I -really don't know what to do, and you ought to tell me. Will you look -at this list, and see if it is properly made out?" she said pouting. -She had a pretty way of affecting to pout and then laughing at the -idea of her being in a bad humour. - -Her brother took the slip of paper and glanced at it very gravely. - -"May I ask," said he, putting down the slip on the breakfast cloth, -"whether this man has had his boots polished here?" - -"Of course he had; twice--three times I think." - -"And had he free and unimpeded use of condiments, such as salt, -pepper, vinegar, mustard?" - -"Yes. You don't think he could eat without salt, do you?" - -"Perhaps--perhaps he even had PICKLES?" - -"I think he had some pickles." - -"Then, Hetty"--he rose, and, buttoning up his coat, made signs of -leaving--"I am going to find an auctioneer to sell up the furniture. -We are ruined." - -"Ah, Alfred, like a good fellow, help me!" she pleaded, coming to him -and putting her hand on his arm. "What do you mean by asking all these -silly questions about blacking and vinegar?" - -"Not one, Hetty, not one of the items I have named is charged in the -bill, and I am a pauper, pauperised by your gross carelessness, by the -shamefully lax way in which you have kept my books. What do you think -would become of the great corporation I serve if our accounts were -kept in so criminally neglectful a manner? Why, the Welford Gas -Company would be in liquidation in a month! Suppose we treated ammonia -lightly; suppose we gave all our coke to the Mission to the Blacks for -distribution among the negroes; suppose we made a present of our tar -to the Royal Academicians to make aniline colours for pictures to be -seen only by night; suppose we gave all our gas to aeronauts who -wanted to stare the unfortunate man in the moon out of countenance; -suppose we supplied all our customers with _dry meters_, Hetty; -suppose, I say, we supplied all our customers with _dry meters_, where -should we be? Where on earth should we be?" - -"Perhaps not on earth at all, Alfred, but gone up to heaven with the -aeronauts. Do be sensible for a moment. I want you to tell me if we -are to keep the change until next time or send it after him?" - -"Have you given that half a-crown to Mrs. Grainger?" - -"Yes." - -"O, you prodigal simpleton! What need was there to give it? Why did -you not keep it and buy a furbelow? No doubt you were afraid that when -this man came back he would find out all about it. Nonsense! Why, we -could dismiss Mrs. Grainger, and if she came loafing about the place, -nothing in the world could be easier than to push her into the canal. -I like her husband, and it would please me to do him a good turn." - -There was a knock at the door, and the charwoman put in her head. - -"Come in, Mrs. Grainger. What is it?" said Hetty, going towards the -door. - -Mrs. Grainger, in her lilac cotton dress and large apron, advanced a -step into the room. Her sleeves were rolled up above the elbows of her -red thick arms. She was a stout, fair-faced woman of fifty. She had -not a single good feature in her face. But her expression was wholly -honest and not unkindly. - -Layard could not help looking from her to Hetty and contrasting the -joyous youth and grace, the fresh colour and golden-brown hair of the -girl, and the dull, dead, unintelligent drab appearance of the woman. - -"I beg your pardon, Miss Layard," said the charwoman, "but you were -talking to me yesterday and the day before about the poor lonely -gentleman that lives on Boland's Ait." - -"Yes. Well, what about him? Have you found out anything fresh?" said -Hetty with interest. - -"Only that he isn't alone any longer." - -"You don't mean to say he has got married and has just brought his -wife home," said Layard, affecting intense astonishment and -incredulity. - -"No, sir," said the woman, somewhat abashed by his manner. "Not a -wife, sir, but a child; a little boy about the size of Master Freddie -there." - -"Bless my soul, wonders will never cease! But I say, Hetty, I must be -off. If the Cham of Tartary and the great sea-serpent came to live on -that island, and had asked me to swim across and have tiffin and -blubber with them, I couldn't go now. I must be off to the works. -Hetty, we'll resume the consideration of the cruet-stand when I come -back this evening. Let all those matters stand till then. The delay -will give us an opportunity of charging interest for the money in -hand." - -He hastened from the room, and in a minute was out of the house and -hastening up Crawford Street, with the long streamers of his beard -blowing over his shoulders. - -"Where did you see the child from, Mrs. Grainger?" asked Hetty, when -her brother disappeared up the street. "From Mr. Crawford's room?" - -"No, miss; you can't see into the timber-yard on the island from Mr. -Crawford's room on account of the wall. But you can see over the wall -from your own room, miss; and 'twas from your own room I saw the -child. And he was carrying on, too, with that child, miss," said the -woman, coming further into the room, and busying herself about -clearing away the breakfast-things. - -She was not exactly idle or lazy; but no living woman would rather -scrub and scour than chat, particularly when paid by time and not by -piece. - -"What do you mean by 'carrying on?' What was he doing?" - -"Well, he was kissing, and cuddling, and hugging the child, more like -a mother with her baby than a man with a child. The boy is quite as -big as little Master Freddie, there, and the poor gentleman seemed to -be pretending the great boy couldn't walk without help, for he led him -by the hand up and down the yard, and when he did let go of him for a -moment he kept his hand over the little chap's head, like to be ready -to catch hold of him if he was falling or stumbled. A great big boy, -as big as Master Freddie there; it's plain to be seen he's not used to -children," said Mrs. Grainger scornfully; for, although she had no -children of her own, she was sympathetic and cordial with little ones, -and often looked after a neighbour's roomful of babies while the -mother went out marketing or took the washing, or mangling, or sewing -home. - -"Perhaps it is his own child," said Hetty, as she helped to put the -breakfast-things on the tray. - -"His own child? Of course it isn't. How could it be? Why, if it was -his own child he'd be used to it. He'd know better than to go on with -such foolery as guiding it with his hand along a level yard. He -doesn't know anything about children, no more than the ground they are -walking on." - -"Perhaps he is afraid it might fall into the water. I'll wash up the -breakfast things myself, Mrs. Grainger." - -"Very well, miss. Afraid it might fall into the water! Why, the child -couldn't. They're in the timber-yard, and there's a wall all around -it, and neither of the gates is open." - -"Well," said Hetty, as the woman left the room carrying the tray, -"maybe he is looking after the child for some friend; perhaps the -child has only come on a visit to him." - -"Look after a child for a friend! Is he the sort of man to look after -a child for a friend?" Mrs. Grainger called out from the kitchen. -"What friend would ask a man like him to mind a child? I'd as soon ask -a railway-engine or a mangle to look after a child of mine, if I had -one. Besides, if the child belongs to a friend, what does he mean by -kissing and cuddling it?" - -"I give it up," said the girl. "I own I can make nothing of it. What -do you think, Mrs. Grainger? You know more about this strange man and -his strange ways than I do." - -"I think," said Mrs. Grainger, in the voice of one uttering an -authoritative decision, "the whole thing is a mystery, and I can make -nothing of it. But you, miss, go up and look. If you want to see him, -he is in the timber-yard. Go to your room, miss, and have a peep. You -may be able to make something of it; I can't." - -"I will," said the girl; "I shall be down in a few minutes." And she -ran out of the sitting-room, upstairs with a light springy step, and -the murmured burden of a song on her lips. - -She went to the open window of her own room and looked out. - -It was close on noon, and the blazing light of early summer filled all -the place beneath her. The view had no charms of its own, but the fact -that she was above the ground and away from immediate contact with the -sordid earth had a purifying effect upon the scene. Then, again, what -place is it that can look wholly evil when shone upon by the unclouded -sun of fresh May? - -In front and to right and left the canal flamed in the sunlight. At -the other side of the water lay a sloping bank of lush green grass, -beyond that a road, and at the other side of the road a large yard, in -which a great number of gipsy-vans, and vans belonging to cheap-Jacks -and to men who remove furniture, were packed. - -So far, if there was nothing to delight, there was nothing to -displease the spectator. In fact, from a scenic point of view the -colour was very good, for you had the flaming canal, the dark green of -the grassy bank, and the red and yellow and blue caravans of the -gipsies and the cheap-Jacks and the people who remove furniture. - -Beyond this yard there spread a vast extent of small, mean, ill-kept -houses which were not picturesque, and which suggested painful -thoughts concerning the squalor and poverty of the people who lived in -them. - -To the right stretched the tow-path leading to Camberwell, to the left -a row of stores, and only a hundred yards off was the empty ice-house. -To the right lay Leeham, invisible from where the girl stood, and -nearer and visible a row of stores and a stone-yard. - -In front of her was Boland's. Ait, and in the old timber-yard of the -islet Francis Bramwell walking up and down, holding the hand of a boy -of between three and four in his hands, as though the child had walked -for the first time within this month of May. - -Mrs. Grainger was right. This man, whose face Hetty could not see, for -he bent low over the child, was treating the boy as though he were no -more than a year or fifteen months old. He was also displaying towards -him a degree of affection altogether inconsistent with the supposition -that the youngster was merely the son of a friend. - -The two were walking up and down the yard, the right hand of the child -in the left hand of the man, the right hand of the man at one time -resting lightly on the boy's head, at another on the boy's shoulder. -The man's whole mind seemed centred on his charge. He never once -raised his head to look around. No doubt the thought that he might be -observed never occurred to him. For two years he had lived on that -island, and never until now arose a chance of any one seeing him when -he was in the yard; for the only windows that overlooked it were those -of Crawford's House, and that had been unoccupied until three days -ago. - -Suddenly it occurred to Hetty that she was intruding upon this -stranger's privacy. Of course she was free to look out of her own -window as long as she liked; but then it was obvious Bramwell thought -there was no spectator, or, at all events, he had not bargained in his -mind for a spectator. - -A faint flush came into her cheek, and she was on the point of drawing -back when a loud shrill voice sounded at her side: - -"Aunt Hetty, Aunt Hetty, I want to see the little boy!" - -The girl started, and then stood motionless, for the recluse below had -suddenly looked up, and was gazing in amazement at the girl and child -in the window above him. - -The man and boy in the yard were both bare-headed. Bramwell raised his -open hand above his eyes to shield them from the glare of the sky, -that he might see the better. - -Hetty drew back a pace, as though she had been discovered in a -shameful act. Her colour deepened, but she would not go altogether -away from the window. That would be to admit she had been doing -something wrong. - -"Aunt Hetty," cried Freddie, in the same shrill loud voice, "can I -play with that little boy down there? I have no one to play with -here." - -The upturned face of the man smiled, and the voice of the man said, -"Come down, my little fellow, and play with this boy. He is just like -yourself--he has no one to play with. You will let him come, please? I -will take the utmost care of him." - -"I--I'll see," stammered Hetty, quite taken aback. - -"You will let him come? O, pray do. My little fellow has no companion -but me," said the deep, full, rich pleading voice of the man. - -In her confusion Hetty said, "If it's safe. If he can get across." - -"O, it's quite safe. I will answer for the child. I'll push across the -stage in a moment, and fetch the child. There is plenty of room for -them to play here, and absolutely no danger." - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - PHILIP RAY AT RICHMOND. - - -Once Philip Ray started on any course he was not the man to let the -grass grow under his feet. All his time was not at his disposal. He -was in the Custom House, and for several hours a day he was chained to -his desk. - -No sooner were his duties discharged on the day following the arrival -of the boy at Boland's Ait than he hastened to Ludgate Hill railway -station and took the first train to Richmond. - -He had not worked out any definite plan of search. His mind was not a -particularly orderly one. Indeed, he was largely a creature of -impulse, and in setting out he had only two ideas in his head. First, -to find the man who had caused all the shame and misery; and, second, -to execute summary vengeance on that man the moment he encountered -him. - -He did not seek to justify himself morally in this course; he did not -consider the moral aspect of his position at all. When his blood was -up he was impulsive, headlong. He had made up his mind three years ago -that John Ainsworth deserved death at his hands for the injury done, -and neither during any hour of these three years nor now had he the -slightest hesitancy or compunction. - -He had sworn an oath that he would kill this man if ever he could get -at him, and kill him he would now in spite of consequences. People -might call it a cowardly murder if they pleased. What did he care? -This man deserved death, and if they chose to hang him afterwards, -what of that? He was quite prepared to face that fate. Kate was dying -or dead; the honourable name of Ray had been disgraced for ever; the -life of the man he loved best in all the world had been blasted by a -base, vicious scoundrel, and he would shoot that scoundrel just as he -would shoot a mad dog or a venomous snake. He was inexorable. - -No thought of seeking his sister entered his mind. She was, doubtless, -dead by this time. From the moment she left her husband's roof she had -been dead to him. In the presence of Frank, and with that letter -before him, he had held his tongue regarding her. But his mind was -completely unchanged. The best thing that could happen to her was that -she should die. A woman who could do what she had done deserved no -thought of pity, had no place in the consideration of sane people; a -woman who could leave Frank Mellor, now known as Francis Bramwell, for -John Ainsworth, deserved no pity, no human sympathy. She had sinned in -the most heinous way against loyalty; let him show that all the blood -of the family was not base and traitorous. He would sin on the other -side to make matters even. - -He knew that such forms of vengeance were not usual in this time and -country. So much the worse for this time and country. What other kind -of satisfaction was possible? The law courts? Monstrous! How could the -law courts put such a case right? By divorcing those who had already -been divorced! By a money penalty exacted from the culprit! Pooh, -pooh! If a man shot a man they hanged him, put him out of pain at -once. But if a man was the cause of a woman's lingering death from -shame and despair, and imposed a life of living-death on an innocent -human being, they let the miscreant go scot-free; unless, indeed, they -imposed a fine such as they would inflict for breach of an ordinary -commercial contract. The idea that treatment of this sort had even the -semblance of justice could not be entertained by a child or an idiot! - -Before setting out from Ludgate Hill and on the way down to Richmond -nothing seemed more reasonable than that he should take the train to -that town, and without any serious difficulty find John Ainsworth. The -town was not large, and he could give any one of whom he asked aid the -man's name and a full description of his appearance. He possessed, -moreover, the additional fact that Ainsworth had shaved his face, -taken off his beard, whiskers, and moustache. He should be on his -track in an hour, and face to face with Ainsworth in a couple of hours -at the outside. - -He stepped briskly out of the train at Richmond, and waited until the -platform was cleared of those who had alighted. Then he spoke to the -most intelligent porter he could find. First of all he gave the man a -shilling. He said he was in search of a Mr. John Ainsworth, a -gentleman of about thirty-five or thirty-seven years of age, five feet -eight or thereabouts, with a quick restless manner, a clean-shaven -roundish face, dark hair and dark eyes, in figure well made, but -inclining to stoutness. - -The porter knew no gentleman of the name, he was sorry to say, and -recalled a great number of gentlemen who corresponded in some respects -with the description, but none that corresponded with all. As far as -he was aware, there was no man of the name in Richmond--that is, no -gentleman of the name. He knew a Charles Ainsworth, a cab-driver, but -Charles Ainsworth was five feet eleven or six feet, and no more than -twenty-five years of age. Perhaps the stationmaster might be able to -help. - -The stationmaster knew no one of the name--that is, no one named John -Ainsworth. He knew Charles Ainsworth the cabdriver. He could not -identify any one corresponding to Ray's description, but the -interrogator must remember that a great number of gentlemen passed -through that station from week's end to week's end. Why not look in a -directory and find out his friend's address at once? - -Of course. That was an obvious course. It had not occurred to Ray -before. - -Accordingly he left the station, and turned into an hotel and asked to -see the local directory. - -No John Ainsworth here. - -Another disappointment. But this was not disheartening; for Ainsworth -in all likelihood was not a householder. At the hotel they suggested -that the post-office would be the place to learn the address of his -friend. - -Ray smiled grimly as he noticed that the three people of whom he had -inquired all referred to Ainsworth as his "friend." - -His luck at the post-office was bad also. Nothing was known there of -any Ainsworth but Charles, the cabdriver. - -This was becoming exasperating. The man he sought could not have -vanished into thin air. Edward Lambton, who saw Ainsworth, was quite -sure of his identity. When a man recognises another who has taken off -his beard, whiskers and moustache, there is not the slightest room for -doubt of the identification, particularly if the identification is -casual, not suggested, spontaneous. - -Ray felt more than exasperated now. He was furious. He walked about -the town for an hour, asking here and there, but could find no trace -of John Ainsworth. He was no more known in the place than if he had -never been born. - -Suddenly he stopped with an exclamation of surprise and anger. "I am a -lunatic!" he cried in a low voice, "I'm a born lunatic! Is it because -Lambton saw Ainsworth on the platform of this place that he must live -here? Might not ten thousand people have seen me on the platform of -this place an hour or so ago, and do I live here? Indeed I do not -think any human being out of Bedlam could be so hopelessly idiotic as -I have been to feel sure he lived here." - -He found his way back to the station and returned to town. He got out -at Camberwell, and walked from there to Boland's Ait. It was upon this -occasion that Crawford, sallying from Layard's, learnt from Red Jim -how the man who had come along the tow-path had failed to emerge from -the cover of the island. - -"And what have you been doing all day?" asked Ray, when he was seated -in one of the armchairs in the study or dining-room of the cottage. - -The boy was seated on the floor, turning over the leaves of a book -full of pictures. - -"We have been busy and playing," said Bramwell, nodding towards the -child. "I was putting the place to rights, getting in order for my new -lodger. I thought you would have come sooner." For the first time in -three years Francis Bramwell spoke in a cheerful tone and looked -almost happy. There had always been a great deal of reserve in this -man, but now he seemed more open and free than he had ever appeared -even before his marriage. Suffering had purified, and the presence of -his son, whom he had taken into his heart, had soothed and humanised -the recluse. - -Ray paused in doubt as to whether he should tell the other of his -visit to Richmond. He had taken no notice of the boy upon his -entrance, but he was pleased and grateful that Bramwell showed an -awakened interest in life. The child had done this, and his heart -softened towards the little fellow. Anything that brought light to his -brother-in-law was an object of thankfulness. If his friend, his -brother, as he called him, were in better spirits, owing to the coming -of the child, why should he dissipate them by telling him of his -search of vengeance. He answered the question of the other by saying: - -"I was delayed. I had to attend to something." - -Bramwell's face darkened. Philip had no secret from him. He was a man -who could keep nothing from a friend. Why did he not say what had -detained him? There could be only one explanation: the delay had been -caused by something in connection with the letter Philip had received -the evening before. It was plain to Bramwell what had detained Kate's -brother. Bramwell said very gravely: - -"You have been to Richmond?" - -Philip nodded. - -"Ah," Bramwell sighed heavily, "I thought so! Did you find out -anything?" - -"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He is not known there. I tried at the -railway station, in the directory, at the post-office, in a dozen -shops. No account or trace was to be found of the scoundrel." - -"Thank Heaven!" - -"I do not believe he lives there. He must have been only in the town a -little while, visiting some one, or passing through, on some new -devil's work, I will swear." - -"It was a mercy for you that he was not to be found." - -"A mercy for him, you mean." - -For a few minutes Bramwell seemed plunged in gloomy thought. The two -men were silent. At length the elder shook himself, rose, and said: - -"Come, see the arrangements I have made for the boy. He is to sleep in -my room. I am going to give him my bed. The stretcher will do -excellently for me. I have spoken to Mrs. Treleaven--you know the -woman who brings me what I want every morning. She is to come for an -hour or two a day and keep matters right for us. Up to this she has -never been on the Ait, but I could not myself keep the place as tidy -as I should like now that I am not alone. Early impressions are -lasting, and I must do the best I can to brighten up this hermitage -for the sake of the new young eyes. Come!" - -The two men went to the bedroom. - -"See," said the father, with a sad smile; "I have laid down this bit -of old carpet, and hung up these prints, and put the stretcher close -to the bed, so that I may be near him, and also that it may serve as a -step when he is getting in and out of his own bed. Children, I have -often read, should sleep in beds by themselves; and, above all, it is -not wholesome for them to sleep with grown-up people. You don't think -this place is unhealthy for a child, Philip?" - -"O, no! You have enjoyed very good health here." - -What a change--what a blessed change had come over this man! He had -been reborn, re-created by the touch of those chubby fingers and young -red lips; by the soft, silky hair and the large dark eyes; by the -fresh, sweet clear voice, and the complete dependency and helplessness -of the boy. - -"But I am a man in the vigour of life," said the father anxiously; -"and am therefore able to resist influences of climate or situation -which might be perilous to one so young and delicately formed, eh? You -don't think there is any danger in the place?" - -"Certainly not." - -"But so much water that is almost stagnant? You are aware that there -is hardly any current in the canal, and that there are no locks on -it?" - -"O, yes; but I never heard any complaints of insalubrity, and you know -the neighbourhood of a gas-house, although it does not make the air -bright or sweet, purifies it." - -"I know; I thought of that. I know that a still more unsavoury -business--that of candle-making--is a preventive to pestilence; at -least, it was in the days of the Plague, and chandlers had immunities -and privileges on that account. But it is the water I fear for him. -None of your family, Philip, had delicate chests?" - -"No, no; I think you may make your mind easy. I am sure the boy will -thrive marvellously here." - -"I am glad to hear you say so. Let us go back. The poor little chap -must not be allowed to feel lonely. You did not take any notice of him -when you came in. Philip," he put his hand on his brother's arm, "you -are not going to visit any anger on the desolate orphan? Remember, he -is an orphan now; and you must not bear ill-will towards the dead, or -visit the--the faults of the parent on the child." - -"Tut, tut!" said Philip, as they left the room and returned to the -study; "I am not going to do anything of the kind. I took no notice of -the child when I arrived because my head was full of other things." - -He went to the boy and raised him in his arms, and pinched his cheek, -and patted his hair and kissed him. - -"Thank you," said Bramwell. "I feel new blood in my veins and new -brains in my head, and a new heart in my body. I intend giving up -dreaming for ever. I am now going to try to make a little money. -Presently the child will have to be sent to school--to a good school, -of course." - -"My dear Frank," cried Philip, with tears in his eyes and voice, "it -is better to listen to you talk in this way than to hear you had been -made a king." - -"I am a king," cried the father in a tone of exultation. "I am an -absolute monarch. I reign with undisputed sway over my island home, -and my subject is my own son, whom I may mould and fashion as I -please, and whom no one will teach to despise me." - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - AN INVITATION ACCEPTED. - - -"And so," said Alfred Layard to Hetty the evening of the day little -Freddie, now in bed, had made his first visit to the island, "you have -absolutely spoken to this Alexander Selkirk. Tell me all about it." - -She began, and told him how she went up to her own room and saw -Bramwell and the boy in the yard on the island, and how Freddie's cry -had betrayed her presence, and in the confusion at being found out she -had consented to let their youngster go to play with the other -youngster. - -"You are not annoyed with me, Alfred, for allowing him, are you?" she -asked in some suspense. The little fellow had never before been so -long from under her charge. - -"Annoyed? Not I. What should I be annoyed at, so long as the people -are all right, and there is no danger of Freddie tumbling into the -water?" - -"O, there is no danger whatever. A wall runs all round the yard, and -Mr. Bramwell was in and out all day looking after the boys." - -"How did Freddie get across? Swam?" - -"Don't be absurd, Alfred." She knew very well her brother did not ask -her seriously if the child had swum across the waters of Crawford's -Bay. And she knew equally well that he was not reproaching her for -letting the boy cross the water. At an ordinary time she would have -passed by such a question from him in silence, disregarded, but there -lingered in her mind a vague feeling that she stood on her defence -about the expedition of the morning, and she felt timid under anything -like levity. "No; when we got down and out by the back door to the -wharf we saw Mr. Bramwell pulling a great long floating thing made of -timber through the water. He pushed this over to where we stood. It -reached across the water. He told us he had another of the same kind -on the canal side of the island." - -"I know. A floating stage." - -"I daresay that is what they call it. I should call it a floating -bridge. Well, he walked across this and took little Freddie in his -arms and carried him over. I was a good deal frightened, for the thing -rocked horribly, but he told me there was no danger." - -"Of course, there was no danger while the child was carried by a -careful man. We had two of these stages at the works, but we had to -get rid of them, for the men were always either going out for drink or -getting drink brought in for them." - -"And, do you know, Freddie did not cry or seem a bit afraid of the -water." - -"Hetty, take my word for it that from what you tell me there is the -making of a great naval hero in that boy of ours." - -"I wish you would try to be sensible for a while." - -"I think I shall call him from this date Frederick Nelson Layard." - -"Don't be ridiculous, Alfred." - -"Or Frederick Cochrane Layard." - -"O, don't, please, Alfred." - -"It is well to be prepared for fame, and we should always take care -that our children are prepared for fame and what more simple and -inexpensive preparation can a man have for fame than to be suited, -clothed, I may say, in a name becoming fame? Hetty, my dear, remind me -in the morning to decide which of these names I shall finally adopt; -it is a matter that admits of no delay. I would not think of calling -him Frederick Drake Layard for all the world, because in the first -place the name Drake in connection with water suggests a whole lot of -frivolous jests, always an abomination to me; and in the second place, -there was too much of the buccaneer about Drake. Hetty, don't forget -to remind me of the matter in the morning. The boy wasn't sea-sick, I -hope?" - -The girl only sighed this time. She had now lost all sense of -uneasiness about the part she had played in the affair of the morning. - -"You know," he went on in a tone of pleasant reverie, "I think -something ought to be done with the surname too. It would be well to -be ready at every point. All you have to do is to write in an _n_, and -you have a distinctly nautical flavour. How do you like Frederick -Nelson Cochrane Lanyard? But there--there--my girl, don't answer me -now. It is, you would naturally say, too important a question to be -decided offhand. Think of the matter to-night. Sleep on the idea, my -dear Hetty, and let me have your decision in the morning. If in the -dead waste and middle of the night any difficulties which you think I -could solve arise in your mind, do not fail to call me. I shall be -happy to give you any assistance in my power." - -"Are you out of breath, Alfred? I hope you are." - -"No, but I am out of tea. Another cup, please, and let us dismiss -business from our minds. Let us unbend. It weakens the bow to keep it -always bent. Tell me, what is this man, our next-door neighbour, like? -I have a theory myself that he is a coiner." - -"Well, if he is a coiner you must not think he uses much of his -ill-gotten gold in buying clothes. He's dreadfully shabby. But, -whatever else he may be, he is a gentleman." - -"Good-looking, of course?" - -"No, but remarkable-looking. When you see him you could never take him -for a common man. He seems awfully clever." - -"Well, as some philosopher, whose name has escaped me, says, we must -take him as we find him, though I must say it seems to me that it -would be very difficult to take him as we do not find him, or as we -find him not. To be serious, Hetty----" - -"O, thank goodness! at last!" cried the girl, with a sigh of relief, -and raising her eyes in gratitude. - -"If you don't take great care," he said, shaking a long thin -forefinger at her, "you can't tell what may happen. I am not the man -to submit to bullying at your hands. What I was going to say when you -threatened me is this, that while I have no objection to Freddie going -over now and then to play with this boy----" - -"He promised to go over again to-morrow," interrupted Hetty. - -"All right; let him go over to-morrow. But for two or three reasons he -must not go over every day. This young--By the way, what's his name?" - -"Bramwell. The man told me he was his son, his only child." - -"Very good. This young Bramwell must come over, turn and turn about, -and play with Freddie here. In the first place, I think one of the -upstairs rooms is a safer place for these young shavers than the -island, though there is a wall; and in the next place, this Bramwell -is at work on coining, or whatever it is, all day, and can't be -expected to look after two mischievous boys of their age. Of course -you can't have the two of them here when we have Crawford; but that -will not be for four weeks more. That reminds me: he said he should -like to see Freddie. Did he ask afterwards for the boy?" - -"No. You see he was busy tidying, or rather untidying, his room all -one day, and he was out a good deal of the time, and went away early -in the morning." - -"Just so. My sister, you are very quick with excuses for your hero, -your Bayard." - -"I still say what I said before." - -"Naturally you do. Women always do stick to what they say. They are -the unprogressive sex. But we will let him go by. I confess, from the -little I have heard of this Bramwell--solitary now no longer--I am -interested in him. A man who has kept himself to himself for years -must, if there ever was anything in him, have something to say worth -listening to when he speaks. We are solitary enough ourselves, -goodness knows. Who can tell but this Zimmermann may be induced to -cross the Hellespont, or, to be more near the situation, cross over -from his Negropont to the mainland? When you meet him to-morrow, say I -should be very glad if he would come to us and have a chat and smoke a -pipe." - -"I will, but I'm sure he doesn't smoke." - -"Why are you sure of that, my sister?" - -"Because he has quite an intellectual look." - -"Thank you, Hetty. Very neat indeed. I shall not forget that thrust -for a while. Now" (he raised his warning finger again and shook it at -her with a look of portentous meaning) "mind, this is the second man -you have fallen in love with during the past three days, and the -horrible part of the matter is that both of them are married." - -Whatever might be forgotten next morning, one thing was sure to be -recollected in Crawford's House. It is a fact that Hetty did not -remember to draw her brother's attention to the change of name -projected for Freddie the evening before. Nor, strange to say, did her -brother revert to the contemplated alteration. - -But what was remembered beyond all chance of forgetting was that -Freddie had promised to go across to the island again to-day. If the -father and aunt happened by any means to lose sight of the fact, they -were not allowed to remain a moment in doubt about it. The first thing -the boy said when he opened his eyes was, "I'm to go to play with -Frank again to-day, amn't I, Auntie Hetty?" - -At breakfast he had most of the talk to himself, and all his talk was -about Frank and the island, and the boat by which he had gone across, -and Frank's father, who had given them both sugar on bread-and-butter, -and the old barrow which was in the yard, and which served them with -great fidelity as a cab, and a tramcar, and a steamboat, and a house, -and a canal-boat, and a horse, and a great variety of other useful -appliances and creatures. - -"Are there wheels to that barrow?" asked the father as he got up to -leave the house for the works. - -"No, no wheels. But we play that there are." - -"So much the better there are none. And now, my young friend," said -the father, catching up the boy and kissing him, "take care you do not -fall out of that barrow and cut your nose, and take care you don't -hurt the other little boy; for if you do you shall never, never, never -go over to the island again. Remember that, won't you?" - -"Yes," said Freddie, struggling out of his father's arms in order to -get on a chair and see through the kitchen window if the other little -boy's father was already coming to fetch him on that long narrow boat -across those wide waters to the haven of joy, the old timber-yard -beyond. - -Alas! the little boy's father was not there, and to the young eyes the -place looked desolate, forlorn. - -"Will Frank's father come soon, Mrs. Grainger?" asked Freddie, in a -tone of despair. - -"Of course he will. He'll be here in a few minutes," said that good -woman, who knew absolutely nothing of Hetty's promise of the previous -afternoon, as she had left the house long before Freddie came back and -the undertaking for another visit was given. But Mrs. Grainger was -fond of children, and, if she had had any of her own, would have -spoiled them beyond hope of reformation. - -"Frank said he'd be up very early," said the boy in pensive complaint. - -"And very early he'll be," said Mrs. Grainger, as she polished the -fender with resolute vigour. "He'll be here, I warrant, before you -have time to say Jack Robinson." - -The phrase which Mrs. Grainger used to indicate a very little while -was new to the boy, and he took it literally, and murmured softly, in -a voice that did not surmount the sound of Mrs. Grainger's conflict -with the fender, "Jack Robinson, Jack Robinson, Jack Robinson!" and -then, finding the soothsaying unfulfilled, he lapsed into a spiritless -silence, keeping his eyes fixed on the point where he knew Bramwell -must come round the corner of the yard-wall. - -Presently he raised a great shout and clapped his hands, and, getting -down from the chair on which he had been standing, tore, shouting -through the house, to discover his Aunt Hetty, and tell her the joyful -news and fetch his hat. - -He found Hetty, and in quick haste the aunt and nephew were out on the -little quay or wharf, and stretching towards them, drawn by Francis -Bramwell, was the long, low, black floating stage. - -Little Frank was not visible. His father had left him safe behind the -wall of the yard. It would be unsafe to trust him on the edge of -Crawford's Bay, and dangerous to carry two boys of so young an age -across that long, oscillating, crank raft. - -Hetty stood at the edge of the water holding the boy in her arms. - -"How do you do, Mrs. Layard?" said Bramwell, lifting his battered -billycock hat as he landed. "I am indebted to your little nephew for -your name." - -He spoke gravely, with an amelioration of the subdued and serious -lines of his face that was almost a smile. During the past two or -three days he had not only re-inherited the power of smiling, but had -absolutely laughed more than once at some speech or action of his -son's, or when his thoughts took a pleasant turn about the boy. But he -had been so long out of use in smiling or laughing that he could not -yet exercise these powers except in connection with the child. - -Hetty in some confusion said she was very well, and thanked him. -Freddie's summons had been sudden, and, at the moment, unexpected, so -that she felt slightly embarrassed. - -"I am sure," the man said, keeping his large, luminous, sphinx-like -eyes on her, "it is very good of you to allow your little fellow to -come to play with mine. You do me a great kindness in lending him to -me. I shall take the utmost care of him, I pledge you my word." - -In these few seconds the girl had regained her self-possession, and -said, with one of those bright sunny smiles of hers, in which golden -light seemed to dance in her blue eyes, "Understand, I allow him to go -as a favour." - -"Undoubtedly," he said, bowing, and then looking at her with a faint -gleam of surprise in his eyes. - -"And you will repay favour for favour?" - -"If I can." - -"Well, my brother is a very lonely, home-keeping man, who hardly ever -has any one to see him, and he told me to ask you if you would do him -the kindness of coming in this evening for a little while, as he would -like to meet you, now that our young people are such friends. That is -the favour I ask. I ask it for my brother's sake. Will you come, -please?" - -The man started, drew back, and looked around him half-scared. The -notion of going into the house of another man had not crossed his mind -for two years. The invitation sounded on his ears as though it were -spoken in a language familiar to him in childhood, but which he had -almost wholly forgotten. He had come across the water in order to -secure a companion for his little son: but that any one should think -he would come across that water and speak to people for an object of -his own was startling, disconcerting, subversive of all he had held -for a long time: since his arrival at the Ait. - -Hetty saw that he hesitated, and, having no clue to his thoughts, -fancied her invitation had not been pressing enough. - -"You will promise?" she said, holding Freddie out to him. "You said -you would do me a favour in return for the loan of the boy. You will -not withdraw. It would really be a great kindness, for my brother is -alone in the evenings except for me, and he seldom goes out." - -"But Mrs. Layard----" said the man, in discomposure and perplexity, as -he took Freddie in his arms, and hardly knowing what he said. - -"Ah," said the girl, shaking her head, and pointing up to the -unclouded sky, "she went when Freddie was a tiny little baby." - -"Dead?" whispered the man, as a spasm passed over his face. - -"Yes, more than three years." - -"I beg your pardon. I am very stupid. I am afraid I have caused you -pain. Believe me, I am extremely sorry." - -"No, no; you must not say anything more of that. But you will come?" - -"It is strange," said he in a tone of profound abstraction; "it is -strange that the two little motherless boys should take such a liking -to one another, and that both should come to this district--this -place--at about the same time." - -He had forgotten the girl's presence. Like most men who have lived -long in solitude, he had contracted the habit of talking aloud to -himself, and he was now unconscious that he had a listener. - -"We may count on you?" - -He awoke with a start: he did not know exactly to what the question -referred. He was aware that he had been keeping the girl waiting for -an answer, and that she had asked him for a favour in return for the -loan of a companion for his boy. He blurted out "Certainly," and was -back on the Ait once more before he realised the nature of the promise -he had made. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - THE FIRE AT RICHMOND. - - -A more devoted husband was not in all Richmond than William Crawford. -A more trusting and affectionate wife could not be found in all -England than Ellen, his wife, whom in tones of great tenderness he -always called Nellie. To her first husband, old Thomas Crawford, whom -she had married in the zenith of her maiden beauty twenty-five years -ago, when she was twenty-two, she had ever been Ellen. Her name in his -mouth had always seemed cold and stately; at home she had always been -Nellie. But the dignity of marriage, and of marriage with a man forty -years older than herself, had elevated her into Mrs. Crawford among -outsiders and Ellen among her own relatives and in her own house. - -Her husband, father and mother, and only brother had been dead some -time before her present husband came to live next door to her at -Singleton Terrace, Richmond. She was a confirmed invalid, and had been -unable to move about freely for four years. She had always been the -gentlest of the good, and rested quite resigned to her fate. She never -repined, never grumbled, never murmured. Except while in the throes of -pain, her face wore a placid look, which changed into a smile when any -one spoke to her or came near her. - -Her doctors had told her all along that her case was not beyond hope. -They spoke of it generally as loss of nerve-power. In hundreds of such -affections there had been complete cures, and in thousands partial and -important improvements. They traced her condition to a carriage -accident, in which the horses ran away, and she had been heavily -thrown, shortly after her marriage. The injury then received lay -dormant until developed by the sudden and horrible death of her -husband. - -He was past eighty at the time, but hale and hearty. He ate a good -breakfast on the day of his death, and had gone out to look at some -new machinery a friend of his had got in a sawmill. - -An hour after leaving his own door he was carried back over the -threshold, a palpitating, bleeding mass, torn and ground and mangled -out of all human shape. His coat had caught in the machinery, and he -had been drawn in among the ruthless wheels and killed. His wife -happened to be looking out of the dining-room window as the bearers -came along the road and up the front garden. Owing to brutal -thoughtlessness, no one had been sent on to break the awful news to -her. She rushed into the hall as the four men bearing the stretcher -entered. - -They had placed a cloak over the body. She knew by the face being -covered that all was over. - -"Is he dead?" she shrieked, and raised the cloak before any one could -stay her. She saw the mangled horror which an hour ago had been sound -and hearty and--whole. - -Without a sound she sank to the floor in a swoon. When she recovered -consciousness she could not stand without aid. The strength of her -lower limbs was gone. A double blow had fallen on that house, and -although people expressed and felt sorrow for the old man, and horror -at his sudden and terrible death, all the tears were for the lovely -soft-mannered wife, who seemed to think less of herself than another -woman of her own shadow. - -After the awful death of her husband followed years of lonely -widowhood, in which she was as helpless to get about as a little child -Then came this suave and low-voiced man to lodge next door. He made no -advances to her whatever. To do anything of the kind would have been -revolting. It would have been plain to the most credulous that he -sought her money, and not herself. He was not even a friend. He did -not affect to be on terms of intimacy with her. He comported himself -as an acquaintance who had great interest in her and sympathised much -with her in the unhappy condition of her health. - -Later occurred the fire and the rescue. The cause of the fire had -never been ascertained. It arose in the kitchen under Mrs. Crawford's -room, and in the back of the house. Because of her malady, the widow -occupied a room on the first floor, the kitchen being a sunken story. - -At that time Mrs. Crawford had a companion--a widow also--who usually -slept in the same room with the invalid, but who on the night of the -fire was absent from the house. The companion went for a day and a -night every month to visit her brother at Rochester. All the other -nights the lady companion had been away the cook passed in her -mistress's room. But at this time a change of the two servants, cook -and housemaid, had just taken place, and both being strangers, Mrs. -Crawford decided to have neither in her room that night; she resolved -to sleep alone. Mrs. Farraday on her way to the station had met the -next-door lodger and told him these facts, expressing a sincere hope -that Mrs. Crawford would pass a comfortable night, and adding that -though the poor lady often found a great difficulty in going to sleep, -once she went off she never woke till morning, and required no help in -the night, but had some one in her room merely for companionship. - -All this Mrs. Farraday told the sympathetic next-door lodger, who -joined with her in the expression of a hope--nay, a conviction--that -the invalid would pass a peaceful and untroubled night. - -The sympathetic lodger next door was not, of course, then called -William Crawford. He took that name when some months later he married -the widow. He was not known by the name of John Ainsworth either. For -a very simple and sufficient reason he wished to forget John -Ainsworth. Philip Ray had sworn never to forget John Ainsworth, and -had, moreover, sworn to shoot John Ainsworth if ever they met. - -John Ainsworth had as many names as a royal prince. He cared very -little for names. He cared a great deal for pretty faces just for a -while; or, rather, he cared for pretty faces always, but liked change. -Better even than pretty faces, he cared for money. The older he grew -the more enamoured he became of money. When a man of spirit cares -greatly for pretty faces, and still more greatly for money, what -matters how people may call him so long as he may gaze on beauty and -rattle guineas in his pocket? One of the most useful qualities of a -pretty face is that you can turn your back upon it when you are tired -of it. One of the most delightful qualities of money is that you can, -if you only know where to seek, always find men willing to gamble with -you. - -When John Ainsworth left Beechley suddenly and not alone three years -ago he and the companions of his flight changed trains at Horsham. At -the same time he altered his name. He became of his own free action, -unchallenged by any one, Mr. George Hemphill. When he left the train -and went on board the steamer for New York he described himself and -his party as Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Plunkett and child. When he took -steamer back to England he travelled alone as Mr. Walter Greystones. - -Mrs. Crawford's sympathetic next-door lodger was known to her and to -Richmond as Mr. William Goddard. - -In Mrs. Crawford's house the only servants, the cook and housemaid, -slept in a front top room. - -At about four o'clock in the morning, after Mrs. Farraday's departure -for Rochester, Mrs. Crawford was awakened by an awful sense of -suffocation. The room was full of smoke. She could see this by the -night light. She called out as loudly as she was able, but there were -two doors, three floors, and three pair of stairs between her and the -maids. She rang the little handbell placed at the side of her bed by -Mrs. Farraday before setting out for the train. The voice was very -thin and weak, and the bell no better than a toy. The voice could be -heard no further off than the next room and hall. The sound of the -bell might reach the kitchen and the drawing-room overhead, no -farther. - -The smoke in the room increased. It had a thick, oppressive, oily -taste and smell, something like the smell of paraffin. Mrs. Crawford -was not aware of any paraffin being in the house. She had a horror of -paraffin, and none could be in the house with her approval. - -She lay in her bed perfectly helpless. It was awful to lie here -awaiting the approach of death, seeing the great clouds of smoke rise -thicker and thicker every minute, and know that soon insensibility -would fall upon her, and then death. - -If she could but get to the window and fling herself out, she might be -maimed for the remainder of her days, still she would be almost -certain to escape with life. But she could not move from that bed to -save her life. Her arms were as strong and capable as ever; but her -lower limbs were as much beyond her control as the limbs of the dead. - -She had often pictured to herself the horrors of being buried alive. -She had often fancied to herself the soul-distracting awakening in the -tomb, the confined space, the damp cerecloths, the cold planks, the -stifling air, the maddening certainty that above were space and -sunshine and warmth, the songs of birds and the voices of kindly -people going blithely to and fro. - -Her own situation was as bad, nay worse. In the tomb there would be no -light to show the sombre robes of death gradually closing down upon -her. There would be no danger of the fierce fiery agony of flame -before all was over. There would be from the first no hope of -deliverance. - -Here she was helpless, and could see the smoke growing denser and -denser every moment, the weight upon her chest increasing with every -tumultuous inspiration. Around her head, across her brow, a band of -burning hot metal seemed gradually tightening and bursting in upon her -brain. - -She could hear the sound of the flames flapping and beating in muffled -distant riot below, and yet she could not move. - -She had read once of a man buried up to the head in the sand of the -seashore for scurvy, powerless to stir, and so left by his companions -while they went away for an hour. Towards this miserable man presently -glides a serpent out of some sedges above high-water mark. That -situation had filled her mind with ineffable horror. Her case now was -still more terrible, for there was no companion who might chance to -return in time. Besides, until the last moment the man in the sand -might hope the serpent would not strike, that the reptile was not -hungry. Here the fire would strike infallibly; flames were always -hungry, voracious, in satiable. - -The oppression grew more suffocating. She was lying on her back, and -she felt as though an intolerable mass of lead were crushing in her -chest. The band across her forehead tightened, and she could not -persuade herself that the bone of her skull had not been driven in -upon her beating brain. Her hands seemed as though they were swollen -to ten times their size. She could no longer move her arms with ease. - -At length she felt as if the inexorable hand of death had seized her -throat and was squeezing and closing up her windpipe. - -She kept her eyes fixed on the light. This was the only thing that -told of life. She could see nothing else. - -It was not a light now, but a blue blur upon the darkness. It faded to -a patch of faintly luminous smoke. She closed her eyes for a moment to -clear her sight. The motion of the lids pained her exquisitely, and -made the redhot band across her beating forehead burn more fiercely, -more crushingly than ever into her brain. - -With a groan she opened her eyes. - -All was dark! The light had gone out, extinguished by the smoke. - -She knew that where lights went out life soon followed This light had -illumined dimly the way to the tomb. This bed was her grave. - -She summoned all her courage, and drew a long breath. She summoned all -her strength, and uttered one cry: - -"Help!" - -There was a loud crash, a sound of breaking glass, a rush of fresh -cool air. She fainted. - -When she recovered consciousness she was out of the burning house, in -her own garden, and standing by her was William Goddard, who had -rescued her from the burning house. - -That was the beginning of close acquaintance between the man and the -widow. She regarded him as one who had delivered her from death, and -all Richmond and all the world who read an account of the fire looked -upon him in the same way. There was no doubt in the mind of any one -that had not this William Goddard crept along the ledge running round -both houses and taken the helpless woman out of the burning house that -night, she would never have seen the dawn of another day. - -Before the fire had time to spread beyond the kitchen and Mrs. -Crawford's room, help had arrived, and the maids were roused and taken -to a place of safety. - -When Mrs. Farraday came back she received nearly as great a shock as -if she too had been in that threatened room the night before. She -loved the gentle, kindly Mrs. Crawford as she loved no other living -woman. Her first impulse was to fall on her knees and give thanks that -her life had been spared. She kissed and embraced the invalid, and -vowed that not to see all the relatives in the world would she ever -leave her dear friend alone again. - -"Every one is too good to me," said Mrs. Crawford, kissing the other -woman, with tears in her eyes; "and, for all we know to the contrary, -the terror of last night may have been designed by Heaven for my good -only." - -"Your good only! How could such an awful fright and such awful -suffering have been only for your good? You are not one who needs to -be made pious by terror. You are a saint!" - -"Hush! Do not say such a foolish thing, Mrs. Farraday. I am nothing of -the kind. I am only weak clay. But I was not speaking of spiritual -benefits, but of bodily." - -"Bodily benefits! Why, I wonder you did not die. If I had gone through -what you suffered last night I do believe I should lose the use of my -reason." - -"And, owing to the fright I got last night, I have recovered the use -of my limbs. Look!" - -And she rose and walked across the room. - -"Merciful Heavens!" cried the other. "This is indeed a miracle!" - -The house in which the fire had occurred was Mrs. Crawford's own -property, so she did not leave it, but had the requisite repairs done -while continuing to occupy it. The widow now no longer required a room -on the first floor. She was able to go up and down stairs. She could -not walk so fast or so far as before the day her husband was carried -in dead, but for all the purposes of her household she was as -efficient as ever. The very fact that she was obliged to walk more -slowly than other women added a new gentleness, a new charm to her -graciousness. Her gratitude for deliverance from the fire and the -thraldom of her wearying disease added a fresh softness to her smile -and manner. It seemed as though youth had been restored to her. The -whole world was beautiful to her, because it had been given back to -her after she had made up her mind she should see it no more. All the -people she met were her friends; for had not one of them snatched her -from death, and restored her to the holy brotherhood of mankind? - -And what more natural than that among all the brotherhood of mankind -she should look with most favour and gratitude on the man who had -risked his life for hers, and restored her again to intimacies with -the sunshine and the birds and the flowers? - -That surely was enough for one man to do for any mortal. - -But this man had done more for her. He had performed a miracle, -wrought a charm. Doctors might say it was the shock which had cured -her. All she knew was that when she lay there in the throes of death -she had been helpless, that she had been helpless for years; that he -came and snatched her from the choking deadly vapour, and that when -she awoke to consciousness she was healed. - -She had no more thought of love or marriage then than she had of -wearing the Queen of England's crown. - -But William Goddard had thoughts of marriage, and although he fancied -he managed very skilfully to hide his designs, they were plain enough -to Mrs. Farraday long before he did more than offer what might pass -for considerate courtesies to Mrs. Crawford. - -It was not without pain that Mrs. Crawford found she had no longer any -need of Mrs. Farraday. But the pain was more than compensated for by -the invigorating knowledge that she who had been a helpless invalid -was now able to look after her own house. It is doubtful if she would -ever have been able to suggest the idea of her companion's leaving. -But the other woman began by seeing that she was not wanted, and ended -by feeling that she was in the way. Accordingly, she anticipated what -she perceived to be inevitable, and dismissed herself. She was -sincerely attached to the amiable woman with whom she had lived so -long, and whom no one could know well without loving dearly. But she -felt it would be an injustice for her to tarry longer; and besides, -she had duties of her own to look after in Rochester, for her brother -living there had just lost his wife, and had asked her to come to him -and keep house for him and look after his little children. - -"If ever you have any need of me, you know where to send; and although -I suppose I must consider myself as belonging to my brother, I will -come to you for all the time I can. I hope and trust and pray that -your health may never make you want any one in the house such as I -have been. Who knows but you may soon find a more suitable _companion_ -than I could ever make." - -The other blushed like a girl, and said: - -"You are very, very kind, and you must come to see me often. Rochester -is not so far away." - -"No, not so far. I will come, you may be sure." - -They embraced and kissed and wept; and so these two good women parted -with mutual love and respect. - -By this time William Goddard's attentions had become unmistakable. -Mrs. Crawford could not deny that something was going on between -her and her hero, her rescuer, the quiet-mannered, low-voiced, -kind-hearted man who lived next door. - -Mrs. Crawford was as simple as a child. She had not married her first -husband for love. She married him because he had asked her and had -treated her with respectful admiration and with a kind of rough -gallantry, and, above all, because her father had told her that if she -did marry Thomas Crawford it would relieve him of dire distress and -put him on the high road to fortune. But, alas! for him, although he -was somewhat relieved by Crawford on his marriage with Ellen, he never -touched fortune. There was nothing like buying the girl on Crawford's -side or compulsion on the father's. The girl was heart-whole and -fancy-free, and would have laid down her life for her father. - -She had never, in the romantic sense of the phrase, loved her husband; -but from the day she was married until he died he was the first of all -men in her consideration and esteem. She did her duty by him to the -utmost of her power without having any irksome feeling of duty. He was -a good, kind, indulgent husband--a man who, although hard in business, -was amiable and good-natured at home, and who had aroused her -enthusiastic gratitude, not by what he gave her, but by the services -he had willingly rendered her father. - -We read little of such lives in books. No doubt the beauty and -sacredness that inhabit them make writers loth to invade their holy -peace. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - HOW WILLIAM GODDARD CHANGED HIS NAME. - - -This gentle woman, who had long since left youth behind her, was -experiencing for the first time the influence of romantic love. She -was in her forty-seventh year, a widow who had been a faithful and -devoted wife, and yet her heart was the heart of a girl. The age of -passion was passed. The fact that up to the time of her marriage she -had had no sweetheart, had never once found her heart dwelling on any -young man of her acquaintance, may prove that she was never capable of -the passion of love. There was at present no passion in her soul. But -the overpowering and self-annihilating sentiment of love filled her -now, and for the first time in her life she felt that she lived. - -With her, as in all true love worthy of the name, she wished to get -nothing; the desire, the insatiable desire, to give was paramount, -with no rival feeling near its throne. There was no coquetry of -concealment in her words or manner. When this man asked her to be his -wife she took him tenderly by the hand and placed before him all the -reasons why she was not worthy of him. - -She was, she told him, older than he by many years. She was a widow. -She had suffered long ill-health, was not now quite recovered, and had -been cautioned by the doctors that her extraordinary respite from -helplessness might be ended any moment. She could never hope to be an -active woman again. She could not go about with him as his wife -should. He was a young man. A man of five-and-thirty was young enough -to marry a girl thirty years younger than she was. He had told her he -had found a wonderful plant in South America, a plant which would -yield a fibre of inestimable value, a fibre that one day might be -expected to supersede cotton and wool. He had told her that as soon as -he had secured his patent and got up a company he should be one of the -richest men in England, in the world. Why should he, whose star was -rising, link himself to her, whose star was sinking fast, who could -not hope to live very long, and who must not expect that even the -short span allowed to her would be unbroken by a return of infirmity -and helplessness? If he wanted money to carry out his great scheme, if -he wanted not to share the harvest of his discovery with strangers, -she was not without means, and every penny she could command was most -heartily and humbly at his service. - -He listened to her without any show of impatience, without a single -interruption. When she had done he went on as though she had said -nothing. - -"I have everything on earth I want but one, and that one is more -important to my happiness than all the rest put together. I want you -for my wife. Will you marry me, Nellie?" - -She smiled, and gazed at him out of eyes that told him he was -unspeakably dear to her. "If you will have me you may," she said, and -smiled again. Her husband had never in all their joint lives called -her anything but Ellen. It touched her tender and confiding heart to -be, as it were, drawn by that dear and familiar form of her name into -the heart and nature of this man. - -"I must and will," he said, and kissed her. - -"If you care for me," she said, taking one of his hands in both her -own, "I am yours to take by reason of my love for you, and by reason -of your having restored my life when I had given it up. When I gave it -up it was no longer mine. It became yours when you gave it back to me. -What is left of it is yours, and everything else I have. Even my very -name must be yours if you claim me." - -"I do claim you, and no power on earth shall take you from me." - -"Or you from me?" - -"Or me from you, I swear." - -He kissed her again. That was the betrothal. - -There was nothing violent in the scene. Except for the two kisses and -the beautiful light in the eyes of the woman and the clasping hands, -any one seeing it and hearing nothing would have had no reason to -suspect that it was a love scene. He was calm, firm, persistent, -grave. He did not smile once. He indulged in no heroics, no -extravagances, no transports. She admired him all the more for this. -Anything of the kind would have been out of place, shocking. She was -no young girl, to be won by rhapsodies or carried away by transports. -She knew that although her youth had left her all her good looks were -not yet gone. But he never said a word about her beauty. He was too -sensible, and too noble, and too chivalrous, she told herself, to -think she, a woman of forty-seven and in weak health, could be pleased -by flippant flattery. - -They sat hand in hand for a while, she in a dream of contented -happiness. To her this was not the aftermath of love gathered off an -autumn land; it was the first growth, which had never come above the -soil until now, because no sun had shone on the field before. - -There came no let or hindrance in the course of William Goddard's -wooing. He had only been a few months in Richmond, but during that -time his conduct there had been above reproach. At first, it is true, -he had not been a regular attendant at church on Sunday. He had gone -now and then, but not every Sabbath. From the beginning of his -love-making he never missed the forenoon, and often attended the -evening, services. He kept much to himself, and made no friends. He -was a strict teetotaler, and frequented no such profitless places as -clubs or billiard-rooms. When people heard of the engagement between -Mrs. Crawford and William Goddard they said she was a lucky woman, and -that her second husband would be even better, if such a thing were -possible, than her first. If there had been in the whole town a rumour -to his disadvantage it would have swelled into a howl, for those who -knew the gentle widow felt a personal interest in her, a love for her, -as though she had been a mother or sister. - -When Mrs. Farraday went finally to take the head of her brother's -(Edward Chatterton's) house at Rochester she naturally told him all -the news of Richmond, of the fire, the rescue, the love-making, the -engagement or understanding between the widow and the heroic next-door -lodger. She told him everything she knew, and minutely described the -two people and the two houses. - -Her brother seemed interested. He was a florid, well conditioned, -good-humoured, shrewd man of fifty, not averse from gossip in the -evening when he sat in front of his own fire, with his legs stretched -out before him, smoking his pipe. - -"What is known of this man? You say he has been only a few months in -Richmond?" - -"That is all. I believe he has spent most of his life in South -America. For a while he was in a gold mine, and he was for a while a -farmer, I think." - -"And what brought him back to England? South America is a fine -place--that is, parts of it--if you are any good and have an opening. -What did he come back to England for? Has he made his fortune?" - -"I don't think he has made his fortune. He is not an old man, not even -middle-aged. He is almost young--not more than thirty-five or so." - -"Then _why_ did he come back, and what is he losing months of his time -in England for--at his time of life, too, when he ought to be working -his hardest?" - -"I don't know exactly. I think he has found some plant in the llanos -out of which he can make cloth, and has come over about starting a -company and taking out a patent. He says the plant is more valuable -than flax or wool or cotton." - -"Or all together?" - -"Yes, I think he said that, but I am not sure. I haven't a good memory -for this sort of thing." - -"Kitty?" - -"Well?" - -"I have a fixed idea that every man who wants to take out a patent and -start a company, and is months about the job, is either a born idiot -or a consummate rogue. I have a very poor opinion of this Mr. Crawford -Number Two." - -"Good gracious, John! aren't you very hard on a man you never saw?" - -He nodded his head gravely at the fire, but took no other notice of -her question. He puffed at his pipe a minute in silence, blowing the -smoke straight out in front of him, as if in pursuit of some design. -Then he took his pipe out of his mouth with one hand, waved away the -banks of smoke lying before him with the other, and turning round to -her, said: - -"And, Kitty, I should not be at all surprised to find that he set fire -to the house and then rescued the fool of a woman for reasons best -known to himself." - -Mrs. Farraday started to her feet aghast. - -"Do you know, John, that you are saying the most awful things a man -could say? You horrify me!" - -"I mean," he went on, looking once more lazily into the fire, "that I -think he set fire to the house and rescued the woman in order that he -might have a claim upon her, and that he doesn't care a ---- for her, -and that all he wants, or ever thought of, is her money." - -"John, you do not know the man, and it is shameful of you to say such -things, and you could be put in prison for saying them; and then to -think of your calling the dearest creature alive 'that fool of a -woman,' is worse than any libel you could speak of think of!" - -The tears were in Mrs. Farraday's eyes, and she could hardly command -her voice. - -"Think over the matter. He knows this fool of a woman is a helpless -invalid. He knows from you that you are coming here. He learns from -you that there are two strange servants who sleep in the top of the -house; and on the very night you are away, and the first night for -years this elderly woman is sleeping alone, the house next door to -which he lives takes fire; the kitchen over which she sleeps takes -fire, and there is a great smell of paraffin oil in the place, -although no one knew of any being in the house. And lo and behold you! -when the woman is just dead, he comes, bursts in her window, and -rescues her, and makes love to this well-off invalid woman--he who has -come back to England at the age of thirty-five, without a fortune, and -with a cock-and-bull story about a patent and a fibre." - -"Good-night. I will listen to no more such awful talk." - -"Good-night, Kitty; yet, take my word for it, he set fire to that -house." - -But then, as Mrs. Farraday had remarked, her brother did not know the -man; nor, moreover, did he live at Richmond. - -No one suggested that there was any reason for delaying the marriage -between Goddard and the widow. He had not yet secured his patent, and -therefore could not start his company. Now and then he had to go up to -London for a day or two to see the artificers who were carrying out -his designs for the machines to be employed in converting his plant -into cloth. When he returned to Singleton Terrace after these brief -absences, he made up for lost time by increased tenderness and -devotion. - -He never came back empty-handed, and he never brought any splendid -present; always a book, or a bouquet, or a basket of fruit--nothing -more. He had bought her a ring, of course; but even that was -inexpensive and simple--three small diamonds in a plain gold band. - -"I shall be poor, Nellie, until I am rich; and I shall not be rich in -money until my patent and my company are all right." - -"But when you get your patent and your company, you will not want to -go away again to America?" she asked anxiously. "I do not think I -could face so long a voyage." - -"O, no! There will be no need for me to go out again. I have all -arranged over there. I have an intelligent and energetic agent there. -I will remain at home attending to the interests of the company (of -which I shall, of course, be chairman), and hunting up markets for my -fibre. We shall very likely have to leave this place and live in town, -take a good house in Bayswater or Kensington, for we must do a little -entertaining. You would not mind changing Richmond for Bayswater or -Kensington?" - -"Nothing could please me better than to be of any use I can to you; -and if my health keeps good, as good as it is now, I could manage the -entertaining very well indeed." - -"You grow stronger every day. I have not a particle of fear on the -score of your health. I dare not have any fear of that, Nellie. You -must not even refer to such a thing again. When we have taken that new -place I lay you a bunch of roses you will dance at our house-warming, -ay, out-dance all the young girls in the place." - -She sighed, and took one of his hands in both hers and smiled. She had -never dreamed of a lover, but if she had dreamed of one in her latter -years he surely would be such a one as this. How sensible and -considerate and affectionate he was! If he had been more ardent, more -enthusiastic, she might fear his displays were insincere, that -although he loved her then, he would tire of her soon after they were -married, and, she being so much older than he, take his ardours and -transports to the feet of younger and more beautiful goddesses. - -But with such as he there could be no such fear. Raptures might please -a girl, and be excused in a young man towards a girl, but from any man -to her they would be absurd and repulsive. It would be impossible to -believe them sincere, and the mere idea that a lover's words and -actions were not the outcome of candid feeling would be shocking, -destructive of all sympathy and self-respect. - -But William, her William, as she now called him, was perfect in all he -said and all he did; and of one thing she felt quite sure: that if -ever a cloud came between them in their married life, it would arise -from some defect in her nature, not in his. - -When old Crawford made his will a couple of years before his death he -did not wish to place any restraint upon her as to marriage after he -had gone, except that she was to keep his name. He had made all his -money himself; he had worked hard for it, allowing himself no luxuries -and little comfort for the best part of life, and deferring marriage -until he was well on in years and had given up active business. He had -no child, no relative he knew of in the world. He would have welcomed -a son with joy. Nothing would have pleased him more than to think that -the name which he had raised up out of poverty into modest affluence -would survive and flourish when he was no more. - -But a son was denied to him. All hope of an heir was gone. He loved -his wife in his own way, and he would not fetter her future with an -imposed lifelong widowhood. She was to be left free to wed again if -her choice lay that way. She had been a true and tender wife to him, -the one source of peaceful happiness in his old age. She should not -feel the dead hand of a niggard; she should have all his money, but -she should keep his name. His name should not die out wholly even when -she ceased to be. He should leave her all the income from his property -for her life, or as long as she retained the name he had given her. If -she changed that name the name should not die. His money should go to -Guy's Hospital, and be known, while that great handmaiden of the sick -poor survived, as the Crawford Bequest. When she followed him to the -grave the money should go finally to the hospital, and be of bounteous -service to the indigent sick and a perpetual living monument to his -name. - -"Mrs. Crawford," said Mr. Brereton, her lawyer, when he came to draw -up the necessary documents in connection with the marriage of the -widow and Goddard, "has only a life interest in the estate. It goes to -Guy's Hospital upon her death." - -"Is it necessary for us to take further into consideration that remote -and most melancholy contingency?" asked Goddard. - -"No, no," said Mr. Brereton hastily. "But business is business, and I -thought it only right to mention the matter to you." - -Goddard merely bowed, as though dismissing the horrible thought from -amongst them. - -Goddard settled upon her ten thousand pounds. - -"I did not know you had so much money, William," said she, "but surely -it is a waste of law expenses to settle anything on me? In the course -of nature, even if I were not ailing, I must go first." - -When he told her of the settlement he had made they were alone. - -"I haven't the money now, but it will come as a first charge on my -general estate when the company is floated. As to my outliving you, we -do not know. Who can tell? It is well always to be prepared for the -unforeseen, the unforeseeable. And as to which of us shall live the -longer, let us speak or think no more of that. Let us tell ourselves -that such a consideration belongs to the remote future. Let us devote -ourselves to the happy"--he kissed her--"happy present." - -At the time William Crawford, lately William Goddard, returned from -his first visit to Welford they had been about three months married, -and Mrs. Crawford's old affliction had gradually been stealing back -upon her. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - AT PLAY. - - -When Francis Bramwell, on the morning Crawford left Welford for -Richmond, found himself with little Freddie in his arms inside the -gate of the timber-yard he set the child down, and having closed the -gate, fetched little Frank out of the cottage. - -The two children ran to one another. If they had been girls they would -have kissed; being boys, they had things too weighty on their minds to -allow of wasting time over such a frivolous and useless thing as -kissing. - -"Come into the van," cried Frank, leading the way at a trot to the old -wheelless barrow. - -"It's not a van, but a boat," said Freddie, as they scrambled into it. - -"It's a van," said the host, who was dark and small, and wiry; while -the other was tall and fair, and rounded. "Look at the horse," -pointing between the shafts or handles at nothing. - -"But a boat has a horse, too," cried Freddie, "and this is a boat. -Look at the smoke coming up the funnel!" He held his arm erect to do -duty as a funnel. - -"It's a van and a boat together," said Frank, trying to compromise -matters in any way so that they might get on, and not keep vegetating -there all day. - -"But if it's a van," said Freddie, lowering the funnel, "it will sink -in the water, and we shall get drowned in the canal; and I'm not -allowed to get drowned. Aunt Hetty says I mustn't, and Mrs. Grainger -says I can't, for it is only dead dogs that get drowned in the canal." -Freddie knew more about boats and the canal than he did about vans. -They had lived near the canal before coming to their new house. - -Frank, on the other hand, knew very little of boats or canals. "Well, -let us play it's an elephant," suggested he, making a second attempt -to arrange matters and get to work. Time was being wasted in a barren -academic dispute, and time was precious. - -"But you can't get into an elephant." - -"Well, a whale." He was desperate, and drew on his memory of a -Scripture story-book with coloured plates. - -"What's a whale?" Freddie's library did not contain that book. - -"A great big fish, with a roar as big as a steamboat whistle." Frank -was combining imagination and experience of a voyage across the -Atlantic. - -"Hurrah!" cried Freddie wildly. "It's a steamboat; and I'm the man -that whistles," and he uttered a shrill scream. - -"We're off!" shouted the other boy, frantically seizing his cap and -waving it like mad. The fact that you ought to shriek, and shriek -frequently, when playing at steamboat, and that there was no -satisfactory precedent for shrieking when you were in a whale's -inside, overcame Frank completely, and he at once handselled his new -craft with a shriek of overwhelming vigour and piercing force. - -Bramwell leaned against a wall at the further end of the yard, and -watched the children at play. He had no fear or concern for their -safety. No danger could befall them here; the walls were high, and he -had seen that the doors were firm and secure. He was experiencing the -birth of a new life. Every word and shout and cry of his boy seemed to -put fresh strength and motive into his body and brain. - -A week ago he had had absolutely nothing to live for. - -Now he was gradually recovering the zest of life. He felt that he had -not only to eat and breathe, but to work and plan as well. He had -regarded that islet as a graveyard, and that cottage as a tomb. The -islet had now become the playground of his child, and the cottage the -home and sanctuary of his boy. - -A week ago he had had nothing to think of but his miserable and -wrecked self. Now he had nothing to think of but his young and -innocent and beautiful son. Himself and his own wretched life had died -and been buried, and from the ashes of his dead self had risen the -child full of youth and health and vital comeliness. - -A week ago he had felt old beyond the mortal span of man, and worn -beyond the thought of struggle, almost beyond the power of endurance. -Now he felt less old than his years, with dexterity and strength for -the defence of his child, an irresistible athlete. - -He had not begun to plan for the future yet, but plans seemed easy -when he should will to consider them. His spirit was in a tumult of -delight and anticipation. He did not care to define his thoughts, and -he could not express them in words. He had been raised from a vault to -a hilltop; and the magnificence and splendour of the prospect overcame -him with joy. He sat upon his pinnacle, satisfied with the sense of -enlargement and air. He knew that what he contemplated was made up of -details, but he had no eye for detail now. It would be time enough to -examine later. The vast flat horizon and the boundless blue above his -head, and the intoxicating lightness and purity of the atmosphere, -were all that he took heed of now. - -A week ago the present had been a dull, dark, straight, unsheltered -road, leading nowhere, with no spot of interest, no resting-place, no -change of light. His thoughts had been an agony to him. The present -then weighed him down like a cope of lead. To-day he dallied in a land -of gardens and vineyards, and arbours and fountains, and streams and -lakes, and statues and temples, where the air was heavy with perfumes -and rich with the waverings of melodious song. Through this land he -would wander for a while, healing his tired eyes with the sight of the -trees and the flowers and the temples, soothing his weary travel-worn -feet with the delicious coolness of the water of the streams, and -drinking in through his hungry ears the voices of the birds and the -tones of the harpists and the words of the unseen singers in the green -alleys and marble fanes. - -He had eschewed poetry as an art; he was enjoying it now as a gift. - -At last he awoke from his reverie, shook himself, and went up to the -old barrow, in which the children were still playing with unabated -vigour. - -"Well," he said, "where is the steamboat going now?" - -"'Tisn't a steamboat now," said Freddie, who was the more ready and -free of speech; "it's a gas-house, and I'm charging the retorts. Frank -never saw them charging the retorts, but I did often with my father." - -"Then Frank shall go one day and see." - -"I'll take him," said Freddie, "I know Mr. Grainger and nearly all the -men. When they draw the retorts they throw water on the coke, and then -such steam! Aunt Hetty won't let me throw water on the fire. If she -did, I could make as good steam as the men, and then we'd have plenty -of gas. Shouldn't we?" - -"Plenty, indeed. It seems to me your Aunt Hetty is very good to you." - -"Sometimes," said the boy cautiously. "But she won't let me make gas. -Mrs. Grainger let me throw some water on the fire last night before I -went to bed." - -"And did you get any gas?" - -"Lots, only it all went up the chimney and about the kitchen; and -there are no pipes for it in our new house. There were in the old -house. If you haven't pipes there's no use in making gas, for it gets -wet and won't burn. Have you pipes?" - -"No." - -"If you had pipes I'd make some for you. They make tar at the works, -too." - -"Indeed!" - -"I can make tar." - -"Can you? And how do you make tar, Freddie?" - -"With water, and blacklead and soap. Only Aunt Hetty won't let me. -I'll show Frank how to make tar." - -"I'd be very much obliged to you if you would." - -"I can make lots of things, and I'll show Frank how to make all of -them. Have you got a cat?" - -"I'm sorry to say we have not. Perhaps you could make one for us?" - -"Make a cat! No; I couldn't. Nobody could make a cat." - -"Why not?" - -"Because they scrape you awfully. We had a cat in the other house, and -we took it to this house and it ran away, and Mrs. Grainger says it -will never come back. And it needn't have run away, because when I -grow big I am going to fish in the canal and catch fish for it. Cats -like fish." - -"And can you make fish?" - -"I never tried. The water in our house is clean water, and no use for -making fish. You can only make fish out of canal water." - -"O, I see." - -"Have you a canary?" - -"No." - -"We had; but Jack, that was our cat's name, ate the canary's head off, -and then he couldn't fly, although his wings were all right. Jack -never ate his wings. I think Jack is gone back to eat the wings." - -"He must have been a wicked cat to eat the poor bird!" - -"No, he wasn't wicked, for he was all black except his nose, and that -was white; and Mrs. Grainger says a black cat isn't wicked when he has -a white nose." - -"And did you cry when Jack went away?" - -"No, I didn't; but I often cried when we had him, for he used to -scrape me when I wanted to make a horse or him to tow my Noah's ark." - -"And did you ever get him to tow it?" - -"Only once, and then he towed it only a little bit. And then he jumped -out of the window with it, and we could not find my Noah's ark ever -again. And father said he must have eaten the Noah's ark as well as -the canary, and that was how he got his nails!" - -"But he scraped you before he ate your ark?" - -"Yes, but there was a toy-shop near our other house, and Jack would -steal anything. I told Mrs. Grainger, and she said that she once knew -a toy-shop cat, and the toy-shop people gave it away, and it wouldn't -eat anything but monkeys on sticks and hairy lambs, and the people had -to choke it, as they were too poor to get it its proper food." - -"Mrs. Grainger seems to be a very remarkable person." - -"She isn't; she's Mr. Grainger's wife. Grainger has no clothes on him -when he's at the works, and Mrs. Grainger has a wart on her forehead. -Mrs. Grainger told me the reason Mr. Grainger doesn't wear any -clothes, or hardly any, when he's at the works is because he's so -proud of his skin; he doesn't wear suspenders, but keeps his trousers -up with a belt when he's not at the works. But at home, you would -think he's an African black; but Mrs. Grainger says he isn't. Father -gives Mrs. Grainger his old boots----" - -"That is very good of your father." - -"When they're worn out." - -"Well, is the retort charged?" - -All this time the boy was working hard at filling an imaginary scoop -with coal, and pouring the coal from it into imaginary retorts. Frank -was sitting on the edge of the barrow watching him intently. - -"O, yes. They're all charged now." - -"Well, I must leave you for a little while. You will be good boys when -I am away. Take care of yourselves." - -"O, yes!" - -"And, Freddie, you will teach Frank to be a good boy?" - -"Oh, yes, I'll teach him that, too! But I must have a book." - -"Must have a book? You don't mean to say you know how to read?" - -"No, but the way to be a good boy is to sit down on a chair at a table -and look at pictures in a book. I hate books. Frank, it's Noah's ark -now and we're the beasts." - -The man moved away, and entered the cottage. He felt elated to an -extraordinary degree. - -For more than two years he had been dwelling alone with blighting -memories. Yesterday and to-day he was experiencing sensations. -Something was now entering his life. Formerly everything had been -going out, going out from a life already empty. - -That day he had been confused and put out by so simple a thing as that -girl's invitation to spend an hour in a house not a hundred yards from -his own. It was the first invitation of the kind he had received since -his voluntary exile from the world. The world had been dead to him. He -had almost forgotten there was such a state of existence as that in -which ordinary people live. All his own experience seemed no more real -than the memory of a dream, out of which the light and colour were -fading slowly but surely. - -The invitation to Crawford's House had for him made the fading -half-forgotten world spring out of its dim retirement into light -before his eyes. It suddenly forced upon his mind the fact that there -were bright and happy people still moving about in the streets and -fields. She, for instance, the girl who had spoken to him, was bright -and seemed happy; very bright and very happy, now that he recalled her -face and words and manner. - -There were thousands in the world as bright and happy as she. -Thousands, nay, millions. - -Were there millions in the world as bright and happy as she? Hardly; -for she was as bright a being as he had ever met in his life. No doubt -he thought this because hers was the first sunny face of woman he had -seen for a long time. For a time, that looking back now seemed -immemorial: he had been dwelling in the gloomy caverns of Pluto; the -voice of his boy called him forth from the hideous bowels of the -earth, and, lo! no sooner did he emerge from darkness than the first -being he saw was this Hebe. - -But stay! What was this she had said to him? He had been confused and -dull-headed at the time. She had confused him by asking him to do her -a favour. Of late he had not been asked by any one to grant a favour. -He had lost all intercourse with gracious ways. - -O, yes! he remembered now. She had invited him to go over and spend an -hour with her brother. And what folly! he had promised. He must have -been stupid when he told her he would go. Why, if he went, who would -mind Frank? The child could not be left in the cottage by himself. - -In due time, Mrs. Grainger, whose services had been engaged for that -day, called for young Freddie. Bramwell bore the boy along the stage -and placed him gently in that good woman's arms. While crossing the -bay he left Frank in the timber-yard; but when he came back he took -his own son in his arms and carried him into the cottage. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - THE POSTMAN'S HAIL. - - -What had formerly been the dwelling of the foreman of Boland's Ait -consisted of four rooms, all on the ground floor. It stood at the -southern extremity of the islet, the end windows looking south, in the -direction of Camberwell. There were three of these windows: one in -what had been the kitchen, now used by Bramwell as a sitting-room, -dining-room and study; another in what had been the sitting-room, now -empty; and one in what had been and was a bedroom. The present study -and the room now unfurnished ran right through the cottage, were -oblong, and comparatively large. The room used as a bedroom was small, -being only half the depth of the cottage and the same width as the -study and empty room, and only half the length. The other half of the -length was occupied by what had been a bedroom, now used by Bramwell -as a kitchen. - -There was no passage in the house. The door from the study opened -directly upon an open space lying between the cottage and the old -sawmill. Out of the study a door opened into the unfurnished room, and -from that one door opened into the kitchen, another into the bedroom. -Thus the two larger rooms ran side by side from north to south, and -the two smaller, each being half the size of one of the larger, lay at -the western end. - -Up to this time Bramwell had spent nearly all his waking hours in the -study. Now and then he went into the yard, and there, concealed from -observation, walked up and down for exercise. Once in a month, -perhaps, he left the islet to buy something he needed. Otherwise he -lived in the study from month's end to month's end, retiring to the -bedroom to rest, when sleep overcame him, far in the night. - -This was the last day of May. The sun had risen in a cloudless sky, -and shone out of a heaven of nameless blue from dawn to dusk. - -When Bramwell entered the cottage with his boy in his arms it was -getting late in the afternoon. The Layards did not breakfast early, -and Hetty and the boy had dinner at three o'clock. It was to assist at -that indispensable function that Freddie had been recalled from the -timber-yard. Bramwell had not thought of dinner until Mrs. Grainger -had summoned Freddie to his. Then the father was seized with sudden -panic at his own forgetfulness, and the possible peril to his son's -life. He knew from books that young children should eat more -frequently than grown-up people; but whether a child of his son's age -should be fed every hour, or every two hours, or every half-hour, or -every four, he could not decide. In the kitchen was an oil-stove which -he had taught himself to manage. Mrs. Treleaven left everything ready -for dinner on a small tray. All he had to do was to light his stove -and wait half-an-hour, and dinner would be ready for him and the -child. A tray stood on the kitchen table, and on the tray all things -necessary for the meal, saving such as were awaiting the genial -offices of the stove. - -Mrs. Treleaven never carried that tray to the study. She had orders -not to do so, lest she might reduce the papers on the table to -irretrievable confusion. - -There was the half-hour to wait, and Bramwell, having ascertained by -inquiry that the boy was in no immediate danger of death from hunger, -cast about him to find something to do which would fill up the time -and interest Frank, who was hot and tired after his harassing labours -in the yard. - -"It is fine to-day," he thought, "but it will not be fine every day, -all the year round. On the wet days, and in the winter, where are -Frank and Freddie to play? In this room, of course." He went into the -empty one next his own. "Here they will be under cover, and will not -interfere with my work. I can look in on them now and then, and in -case they want me I shall be near at hand." - -"Frank," said he aloud to the child, "I shall make this room into a -play-room for you." - -"What's a play-room?" asked the boy. He had had no experience of any -kind of life but that spent in poor lodgings. - -"Where you and little Freddie can play if the weather is wet or cold." - -"And may we bring in our steamboat?" asked the boy anxiously. - -"We shall see about that. You would like a ball to play with in this -room and in the yard?" - -"O, yes! I have a ball at home." - -"Frank, my boy, this is your home. You are to live here now. You are -not going back." - -"But I want my ball, and I want mother." - -"You shall have a ball; but your mother is gone away for ever." - -"Will the ball be all red and blue?" His own had been dull white, -unrelieved by colour. - -"I think so," said the father gravely, and grateful for the suggestion -contained in the boy's words. He had forgotten that splendid balls -such as are never used in fives, or tennis, or cricket, or racket -could be got in the toy-shops. - -The boy was satisfied. - -Then Bramwell took a brush and began sweeping the empty room with -great vigour and determination, chatting all the while to the boy -about the wonderful adventures encountered by Frank and Freddie that -day in their many journeys by sea and land. - -By the time the room was swept the dinner was ready, and Bramwell, who -had learned to wait upon himself, carried in the tray, cleared away -half the table of papers, spread the folded-up cloth, and the two sat -down. - -Moment by moment the father was waking up to a sense of his new -position. He felt already a great change in the conditions of his -life. He was no longer free to read and muse all day long, eating his -solitary meals when he pleased. He must now adopt some sort of -regularity in his management. The hours of breakfast, dinner, and tea -should be fixed; and it would be advisable to tell Mrs. Treleaven to -bring all things necessary and advantageous for children Mrs. -Treleaven had a large family, and would know what was proper to be -done. - -When dinner was over, he gave Frank the run of the house, carried the -tray back to the kitchen, and sat down in his chair to think. - -Yes, he should have to work now in earnest. He would no longer dawdle -away his time in fancying he was preparing for the beginning. He would -begin at once. He should add to his income by his pen. When he had -more money than he needed years ago, he had always told himself that -he would write a book--books. Now, perhaps, he could hardly spare time -for so long an undertaking as a book. He should write articles, -essays, poems, perhaps; anything to which he could turn his hand, and -which would bring in money. - -The change of name he had adopted two years ago would be convenient. -He had then used it to obliterate his identity; he should now use it -to establish a new identity. He had no practical experience of writing -for magazines or newspapers, but he believed many men made good -incomes by the pen of an occasional contributor. Of course, he could -take no permanent appointment, even if one offered, for it would -separate him from his boy. - -The afternoon glided into evening. Philip Ray had been at the island -every night of late. He was coming again this evening. - -Between the news of Ainsworth and the arrival of the boy he could not -keep away. He was strangely excited and wild. Philip was the best -fellow in the world, but very excitable--much too excitable. No doubt -he would quiet down in time. - -If it should chance Philip met a good, quiet, sensible girl, it would -be well for him to marry. The sense of responsibility would steady -him. He was one of those men to whom cares would be an advantage. Not -cares, of course, in the sense of troubles. Heaven keep Philip from -all such miseries! but it would do Philip good to be obliged to share -his confidences and his thoughts with a prudent woman whom he loved, -and upon whose disinterested solicitude for his welfare he could rely. - -"Yes; it would be well for Philip, dear, good, unselfish Philip, to -marry, even if he and his wife had to pinch and scrape on his small -income." - -Some one was drawing the stage across the canal. Here was Philip -himself. - -"I was just thinking of you, Philip," said Bramwell. "I want you to do -something for me." - -The other looked at him in blank astonishment. This was the first -admission for two years made by Bramwell that anything could be done -for him. - -"What is it?" - -He was almost afraid to speak lest he should make the other draw back. -He would have done anything on earth for Frank--anything on earth -except forgive John Ainsworth, otherwise William Goddard, otherwise -William Crawford. - -The _aliases_ of Mrs. Crawford's husband were known to neither of -these men. These two _aliases_ were unknown as _aliases_ to any one in -the world. - -"You need not be afraid. It is not anything very dreadful or very -difficult." - -"If it were impossible and infamous, I'd do it for you, Frank." - -"Fortunately it is neither. To-day that little boy came to play with -Frank again, and his aunt asked me to go over to-night and chat for an -hour with her brother. In a moment of thoughtlessness and confusion I -promised to go. Of course I can't, and I want you to walk round and -apologise, and explain matters to the aunt and father of Freddie. You -see, I would not like to seem rude or inconsiderate. I don't know what -I should do if they withdrew their leave from the coming over of their -boy." - -"But why won't you go?" asked Philip eagerly. "It would do you all the -good in the world." - -"My dear Philip, I am astonished at you. Out of this place I have not -gone into a house for two years." - -"So much the more reason why you should go. I suppose you do not -intend living the same life now as during those two years?" - -"No. I intend making a great change in my manner of life. But I can't -do it all at once, you know." - -"But surely there is nothing so terrible in spending an hour with a -neighbour. That would seem to me the very way of all others in which -you might break the ice most easily. Do go." - -"I can't, for two reasons." - -"When a man says he has two reasons, one of them is always insincere. -He advances it merely as a blind. The likelihood is that both those he -gives are insincere, and that he keeps back the real one. What are -your two reasons for not going?" Ray did not say this in bitterness, -but in supposed joy. It delighted him beyond measure to see how alert -and bright Bramwell's mind had become already after only a few days' -contact with the boy. In his inmost heart he had come to believe that -his brother-in-law's emancipation from the Cimmerian gloom in which he -had dwelt was at hand, and would be complete. - -"Which reason would you like to have: my real or invented one? Or -would you like both, in order that you may select?" asked Bramwell, -with a look of faint amusement. - -"Both," said Ray. - -"In the first place, Frank can't be left alone." - -"I'll stay here and see that he is all right; so that needn't keep you -here. Number two?" - -"Look at me; am I in visiting trim? and I have no better coat." - -"You don't mean to say that _you_ care what kind of a coat you wear. -This is grossly absurd--pure imposture. It does not weigh the -millionth of a grain in my mind. _You_ care about your coat?" - -"But they may. How can I tell that they are not accustomed to the -finest cloth and the latest fashion?" - -"And live in that ramshackle old house down that blind alley? O, yes! -I am sure they are fearfully stuck-up people. Does the aunt take in -washing or make up ladies' own materials? Ladies who look after their -brothers' children generally wear blue spectacles or make up ladies' -own materials, when they live in a place like Crawford's House." - -"Besides, Philip, I'd rather not leave the child behind me. I feel I -could not rest there a moment. I should be certain something had -happened to him." - -"What did I tell you a moment ago about men with two reasons? You see -I was right. It wasn't because you won't leave Frank alone, since my -offer obviates that, and it wasn't because you aren't clothed in -purple and fine linen. Your real reason for not going is a woman's -reason--you won't go, because you won't go." - -"Well, let it stand at that, if you will." - -"But really, Frank, you must change all this." - -"I engage to reform, but you do not expect a revolution. You will call -and apologise for me, Philip? I can't go, and I don't want to seem -ungracious to them. You need only say that when I promised to see them -this afternoon I completely forgot that there would be no one here -with the boy. Of course, I could not have foreseen your offer to stay -with him." - -Ray muttered and growled, but on the whole was well satisfied. -Bramwell had not been at any time since he came to the islet so lively -as this evening. If he progressed at this rate he would soon be as -well as ever--ay, better than ever. - -He said he would take the message round to Crawford's House. - -As he was leaving the room Bramwell said gravely: - -"Don't be unkind to little Freddie's aunt, even if she does make up -ladies' own materials and wear glasses. All people have not their fate -in their own hands." - -"Pooh!" cried Ray scornfully, as he disappeared. - -Bramwell got up and began pacing the room. Of old he used to sit and -brood over the past, when he could no longer busy himself with his -papers and books. This evening he walked up and down and thought of -the future. - -"Now that I recall the girl to my mind, Miss Layard is very beautiful. -I do wish Philip would get married. That would get all this murderous -vengeance out of his head. A single man may be willing to risk his own -neck to avenge a wrong; but a man with a wife whom he loved would -think twice before handing himself over to the hangman, and leaving -the woman he loved desolate. - -"I do hope he will fall in love with this girl. I know his present -contempt for the sex, and I know the source from which that contempt -springs. But all women are not alike. I have known only my mother and -my sister and another, and out of the three, two are the salt of the -earth and the glory of Heaven. A good woman is life's best gift, and -there are a thousand good women for the one bad. It was my misfortune -to--But let me not think of that. - -"I know Philip would scout the idea of falling in love and marrying. -Two facts now keep him from any chance of love or marriage. First, his -revulsion from the whole sex because of the fault of one; and, second, -because he does not meet any young girl who might convert him to -particular exemption from his general scorn. - -"And yet, although I have had little opportunity of judging, for I saw -this girl only twice, perhaps she is not exactly the kind of wife that -would be best for him. She is bright and gay, and beautiful enough, in -all conscience. What a brilliant picture she made at that window! I -seem to see her now more distinctly than I did at the time. There is -such a thing as the collodion of the eye. And now that I think of the -day, of the time she brought down the little fellow to the brink of -the bay and handed him to me, how charming she looked! There was such -colour in her face and hair, and such light in her eyes, and her voice -is so clear and sympathetic! Ah, there are many, many, many good women -in the world who are beautiful, supremely beautiful also, and she, I -am sure, is one of them! - -"But I fancy the wife for Philip ought to be more sedate. He is too -excitable, and this Miss Layard is bright and quick. His excitement -almost invariably takes a gloomy turn; hers, I should fancy, a gay -direction. They would be fire and tow to one another. He ought to -marry a woman of calm and sober mind, and she a man of sad and -melancholy disposition like----" - -He did not finish the sentence, even in his mind. He had almost said -"like me." - -"No, I don't think she would be the wife for him. But there! How -calmly and solemnly I am disposing of the fate of two people! I had -better do that thing which our race are so noted for doing well--mind -my own business." - -His meditations were broken in upon by a voice hailing the island from -the tow-path. - -"Boland's Ait, ahoy!" sang the voice. - -Bramwell rose and left the cottage by the door from the study. Abroad -it was growing dark. "Philip has been gone a long time," he thought. -"But this cannot be he, for he knows how to come over." - -In the dusk he saw a man on the opposite side of the canal, with a -canvas bag thrown over his shoulder. The man wore a peaked cap, and -was in uniform. - -"A newspaper for you, Mr. Bramwell," sang out the man. - -Bramwell, in great surprise, hastened to the floating stage, and, -seizing the chain, pulled the stage athwart the water. - -He took the newspaper from the postman's hand. It was too dark to read -the superscription. - -He hastened back to the study, where the lamp was burning. - -He examined the cover in the light of the lamp. - -He could not recognise the writing. He had never seen it before. - -He broke the cover and spread the paper out before him. It was a copy -of the _Daily Telegraph_, dated that day. - -On the front page a place was marked. It was in the column devoted to -births, marriages, and deaths. The mark was against an item among the -deaths. - -With a shudder and a sick feeling of sinking, he read: - -"On the 28th inst., at her residence, London, Kate, wife of Francis -Mellor (_née_ Ray), late of Greenfield, near Beechley, Sussex." - -He raised his head slowly from the table, threw himself into a chair, -and burst into a passion of tears and sobs. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - PRIVATE THEATRICALS. - - -While the owner of Boland's Ait was weeping over the brief -announcement of his wife's death in the newspaper, the owner of a -house in Singleton Terrace, Richmond, was sitting in his wife's -drawing-room in a comfortable easy-chair, reading a novel. Mrs. -Crawford, in her invalid's wheeled chair, sat at the other side of the -table, languidly looking over a newspaper. - -Mr. Crawford was a model of domestic virtue. He spent most of his time -in the house, and the greater part of the hours he was at home were -passed in the society of his wife. He did not drink, or smoke, or -swear, or indulge in any other vice--in Richmond. As to gambling, or -anything worse, the good people of the town would as soon think of -hearing the rector accused of such practices. He went to church once -on Sunday regularly; but made not the least claim to piety, not to say -anything of godliness. The few claims that charity or religion had -made upon his purse had been responded to with alacrity and modest -gifts; but the most censorious could not accuse him of ostentation. - -In fact there was a complete absence of anything approaching -ostentation in the man. He seemed to care nothing for society, except -the society of his elderly ailing wife. The conduct of the man was -inexpressibly meritorious. He afforded many estimable matrons with an -exemplar of what a good husband ought to be. - -"_He_ never goes out anywhere," they said. "He does not even want -company at his own house (though that is not only harmless, but -advantageous), for the society of the woman he loves is enough for -_him_. Of course, he has to go up to town every now and then to see -the workmen who are preparing his wonderful machine for making cotton -out of dock-leaves, or something of that kind; but, then, that is only -for a day, and when he returns does he come empty-handed? Not he! He -always thinks of his wife even in the little while he is away, and -brings her some pretty present to show his love. Ah, if every husband -were only like _him!_" - -Of course, an inventor who is taking out a patent and getting models -of machinery made must often see the artificers employed, and before, -as well as after, his marriage, Crawford ran up to London for one day -in the week; that is, he went up on the evening of one day, and -returned in the morning of the next. Indeed, it was not, when put -together, quite a whole day of four-and-twenty hours; for he did not -leave until late in the afternoon, and was back next morning. - -Now, an inventor is known to be a dreadful bore, for he is always -trying to explain how the machine works, and no woman that ever lived -could take a particle of interest in machinery, or even understand how -one cogwheel moves another, or how a leather band can make an iron -wheel revolve. Crawford did not make his house odious with plans of -his models and disquisitions on his plans. If you asked him a question -he answered it in the most explicit and kindest manner possible, and -said no more about the thing, but told you that the moment it was in -working order you should come and see his model at work. The kindness -of the man's manner almost made people think they understood him. - -On the table between the husband and wife lay a lot of papers, but -they had nothing to do with the great invention. They related to the -Crawford property in the neighbourhood of the South London Canal. Some -of them were in Mr. Blore's handwriting, some of them in Crawford's. -Mrs. Crawford had, at her husband's request, been looking over them -before taking up the newspaper. She had glanced at the sheets, and -when her brief inspection was finished put them down, and, seeing him -deeply absorbed in his book, said nothing, but took up the newspaper -to look at it, so that he might not think she had been waiting for -him. - -At last his chapter was finished. He put away his book and glanced -across the table. "Well, Nellie, isn't it very extraordinary these -people were so backward in paying?" - -"It is a little strange," she said with a gentle smile; "but you must -not be disheartened by it. They are sure to pay next month." She took -up the list of the tenants and ran her eyes over it, that he might not -fancy she under-estimated his efforts and anxiety respecting the -rents. - -"I'll tell you what I think, Nellie. I fancy that, although we issued -the circular about my collecting instead of Blore, and although I had -full credentials with me, they did not believe they would be quite -safe in paying me." - -"But they knew you were my husband," she said softly, "did they not? -Was not that enough for them? It is more than enough for me." There -were infinite confidence and tenderness in her voice and look. - -"Of course, dear. But they could not be certain of my identity. How -were they to be sure the man who called on them was the William -Crawford of the notice. The man who called upon them might be an -impostor, who obtained the credentials by fraud. Don't you see?" - -"O, yes. That's it. Quite plainly they were afraid to pay you, lest -there might be something wrong about you. Fancy something wrong about -_you_, William!" and she leaned back in her chair and laughed with her -eyes closed, as if the thought was too deliciously droll to be -contemplated with open eyes. After a brief period of enjoying the -absurdity of these people, she looked at her husband and said, "But I -hope you are not angry with those people, William? They are mostly -poor and ignorant." - -"Angry with them! Good gracious, no! The only thing that put me out -was that I could not bring the money home to you, dear." - -"But I don't want any money just now." - -"You never want anything for yourself, dear," he said in a tone of -affectionate admiration; "yet a little money would be very handy at -present. We have only a few pounds at the bank." - -"But we don't want more than pocket-money until next month. There is -nothing of any consequence to pay; the monthly bills have been all -settled as usual." It was a great comfort to her to feel that he need -not bother himself about anything so insignificant as money. - -"Yes, but----" and he paused, and a look of pain and perplexity came -over his face. He leaned his elbow on the table and his head upon his -hand. - -For a moment there was no word spoken, but a dull, heavy, low, -continuous noise filled the room. - -The noise ceased, and then her infinitely sympathetic voice said, -"Dear, what is it?" - -She was at his side. She had wheeled her invalid's chair round to him -and had taken his hand in hers. - -"Those workmen," he said. "They have swallowed up all I had." He did -not take down his hand. He sighed heavily. - -"But you are not grieving about that? It will all come back a -hundredfold one day." - -"Ay," he said in a tone of oppression and care, "a thousandfold--ten -thousandfold. But there is the present----" He paused. - -Suddenly a light broke in upon her. - -"O," she cried, "how stupid I was not to guess! Why did you not speak -out at once? William, dear, excuse me for not guessing. You will -pardon me, dear, won't you, for not seeing what depressed you? If you -want money, and there is none at the bank, why did you not sell out -Consols? Mr. Brereton told me that all my Consols were as much my own -as the income of the property, since they are my savings." - -"No, no! I could not think of doing such a thing as take your -savings." - -"But yes, William, dear, yes. For my sake sell out whatever you want. -Why not? They are not mine. They became yours on our marriage, dear. -Why did you not sellout?" - -"No, they were yours, and are yours. There is a new law." - -"Then it is a bad law. Take down your hand and look at me and say you -will sell what you want to-morrow. Do it to oblige me--for my sake. I -cannot bear to see you in this state. I'll sign anything this foolish -law obliges me to sign. If they are mine I surely can give them to -you. You must take what you want if you won't take all. If they are -mine I surely can give them to my husband as well as to any other -person. If you do not consent to take what you want, I'll sell all out -and give you the money." - -She was pleading for the highest favour he could do her--to let her -help him. - -"No," he said in a tone of authority, "I will not allow you to do -_that_." - -"Well, take what you want. How much do you want?" - -"Two hundred would be enough. But I can't--I can't." - -"I'll write to Mr. Brereton to-morrow and ask him to sell out two -hundred for myself, and tell him I want the money for a private -purpose of my own. Take down your hand, dear, and let us go on with -the accounts. I have looked over the list and the remarks." She cared -nothing for the accounts, but she wanted the husband whom she loved to -be his old self again. - -He took down his hand and pressed hers, and stroked her smooth hair. - -"I am sorry and ashamed," he said, "but I am awfully hard pressed, and -you have delivered me." - -"Let us go on with the list now, William, and say no more of this -matter. Give me the list." - -He handed her the papers without a word. Before sitting down he bent -over and patted her hair and kissed her forehead. - -"I know nearly all the names," she said, "but, of course, I have never -seen any of the people." - -"You have not missed much by that, Nellie," he said in tremulous -tones, as though rendered almost tearful by her generosity. "They are -a rough lot." - -At the same time he was thinking how much more delightful it would be -to have Hetty Layard, with all her buoyant youth, sitting by his side -than this faded elderly invalid. But then Hetty had no money. A man -ought to be allowed two wives: one with money, who need not be young -or beautiful, and one with beauty, who need not be rich. - -Mrs. Crawford ran her finger down the names of her tenants, and the -houses which were tenantless, commenting as she went, and trying to -make her own remarks bear out his theory that the tenants did not pay -because they were not sure he was her husband. - -"Mrs. Pemberton has not paid, I see. I don't wonder at all at that. -Poor soul, she has had a great struggle for years, ever since her -husband's death. She has tried to help herself along by letting -lodgings, Mr. Blore told me, but that won't come to much in such a -poor neighbourhood. I'm sure I don't know what could induce any one to -lodge in such a district." - -"People are often obliged to lodge near their place of business, no -matter how objectionable their place of business may be," said he -sententiously. Then he added with a smile, "Why, recollect, Nellie, -that I myself am a lodger for business purposes in the locality." - -"Of course you are, dear. I quite forgot that. And what kind of people -are you lodging with?" she asked cheerfully, anxious to get his mind -as far away as possible from those wretched Consols and rapacious -artificers. - -"O, they seem to be quiet respectable people enough. A little slow, -you know, but perhaps none the worse for that when they have for a -lodger such a gay young spark as I." He smiled. - -She looked lovingly at him, and laughed at the enormity of the joke of -his calling himself gay and fancying any society could harm _him_. -"And now you must tell me what your landlord and landlady are like." -He seemed to have forgotten about the wretched Consols and rapacious -artificers. - -"Well, Layard is a man who has something to do in the gas-house. The -chief thing about him is a long beard. He's rather like a monkey with -a beard." - -"And what is Miss Layard like?" - -"She's like a monkey without a beard," he said, with one of his short -quick laughs. "As I thought before I went there, she's about ten or -twelve years older than he. She's one of those dowdy little women, -don't you know, dear, whose new clothes always look second-hand." -Again came his short quick laugh. "She belongs to what geologists -would call the antimacassar era. There's a dreadful Phyllis, or -somebody else, in tapestry, framed over their sitting-room -mantelshelf. She told me she worked it when she was young. But I ought -not to laugh at the worthy soul. It is ungrateful of me; for I never -tasted a more delicious omelette than she made for my breakfast. I -must get her next time to give me the recipe for you, Nellie." He put -his arms round his wife's shoulder and pressed his lips upon her -smooth hair. - -"I think, William," said she, "we are the happiest couple in England." - -"And I'm sure of it," said he in a tone of full conviction. - -She sighed a sigh of perfect contentment. - -He sighed, thinking of Hetty Layard and her golden hair and luminous -blue eyes, and her lithe round figure, and her fresh young voice, and -the sweet red young lips through which that voice came to make -sunshine and joy in the air. - -"Shall I go on with the list, dear?" she asked. - -She took no interest on her own part in this list; but then the -interest of him and her was bound together in it, and there was a -charm for her in the bond--not the thing binding them. - -"Yes, dear," he answered, wishing the list at the bottom of the Red -Sea among the chariots of Pharaoh. - -She ran threw a few more items on the paper, and then paused, and said -with a laugh: - -"Here is one store, I see, from which you got neither money nor -promise." - -"What is that?" - -"Ice-house, Crawford's Bay." - -"O, ay. I examined the place with much interest. I believe it is in -ruins. The gates are off, the lower part of it is full of water. I am -told there are eight or ten feet of water in it." - -"The place has not been let for ever so many years. I never saw an -ice-house. I wonder what one is like." - -"I'll tell you. It's exactly like a huge room of brick, lined with -thick boards, and one-third below the ground. I examined this one very -closely, thoroughly. There are no floors in it but the one at the -bottom of the tank--no ladders--nothing. It is like a great empty tank -lined with wood." - -"And you say the one at Crawford's Bay is full of water?" she asked. - -"Yes." - -She shuddered and drew the light shawl she wore tightly round her -shoulders. - -"How dreadfully dark and cold it must be there, William?" - -"Yes; but bless me, Nellie, no one _lives_ in an ice-house, and this -one isn't even let!" he cried in surprise. - -"I know. But suppose some one should fall into it? Don't you think the -doors ought to be put up?" - -"My dear Nellie, there isn't the least occasion to waste money on a -useless place like that. Of course if we should let it we would be -only too happy to put it into good repair. But what is the good of -throwing money away?" - -"But the danger?" - -"Well, as far as that goes, you may make your mind perfectly easy. No -one has access to the little quay or wharf but the people in -Crawford's House. The rest of the property is lying idle, and from -what I have seen of the Layards they are not the people to go -wandering about on the wharf after dark. Besides, they know that the -ice-house is full of water. It was Layard's maiden sister first told -me." - -He laughed at the idea of calling blooming young Hetty Layard's maiden -sister. - -"But the child, William--the child!" persisted the invalid. "Suppose -by some misfortune the child should stray that way and fall in?" - -"Nellie, no person with an atom of sense would think of permitting a -child out on that wharf. Why, the canal, the waters of Crawford's Bay, -are only a few steps from the back door of Crawford's House, and who -would let a child play on the banks of a canal? I mean, of course, no -people like the Layards would allow their child to play there." - -"But this awful dark huge tank you tell me of is a thousand times -worse than the open canal. If a child fell into the open canal people -would see him, but if he fell into that dreadful tank he would be -drowned, poor little fellow, before any one missed him. I do wish, -William, you would get the doors put up. You see, as you tell me, -there was no danger up to this, for no one could get near it; but now -there is a child." - -She pleaded with gestures and her eyes and her voice, as though a -child of her own were menaced. - -He held out his hand to her and took hers in his. - -"There, Nellie, I will. I'll see the place made quite safe. Of course -I'll go down and arrange about it if you wish it." - -She raised the hand she held and kissed it. - -He thought what a chance this would give him of meeting the -Layards--Hetty--before the month was out! - -"Shall I roll you round to your own place now, and you can go on with -your paper and I with my book?" - -"Thank you, dear." - -He took up the volume, but he did not read. He fell into a profound -reverie. First of all, he began to think of how pleasant it would be -to tell Hetty that he had become alarmed for the safety of her little -nephew, and had come back before his time to see about putting doors -upon the ice-house. Hetty and he would go out on the quay, and look at -the place and talk the matter over. - -There was one good thing, the quay on which the icehouse stood was not -visible from the tow-path, so that even if Philip Ray should chance to -pass by he could not be seen. - -Then his thoughts took another turn, and became concentrated on Philip -Ray. He mused a long time upon his sworn enemy. Suddenly he shook all -over, as if a chill had struck him. His blood seemed to thicken in his -veins. His eyes stood in his head, staring straight out before him, -perceiving nothing present in that room, but seeing a ghastly awful -sight in that dim dark ice-house. - -On the surface of the cold secret waters of the huge tank he saw a -hideous object: the upturned face of a dead man, the face of Philip -Ray. - -Crawford's breath came short, and he panted. His mouth opened, his -eyes dilated. - -Philip Ray, lying drowned in that hideous lonely water where no one -would ever think of looking for him! It was a perfect way out of the -terror of Philip Ray's anger which beset him. It was a thing to think -upon for ever. _A thing that might come to pass!_ - -"William," said the sweet low voice of his wife, "here is a strange -thing in the paper to-day. You remember the awful nightmare you had, -in which you thought two of your schoolfellows long ago were going to -shoot you?" - -"Yes," he answered hoarsely, but he did not know what she had said. He -knew she had asked a question, and he answered "Yes." He was in a -trance. - -"Well, here in to-day's _Telegraph_ are the two names together. -Listen: 'On the 28th inst, at her residence, London, Kate, wife of -Francis Mellor (_née_ Ray), late of Greenfield, near Beechley, -Sussex.'" - -"Eh?" he cried, suddenly starting up from his chair and looking wildly -at his wife. "Read that again." - -In dire alarm at his manner she read again: "'On the 28th inst, at her -residence, London, Kate, wife of Francis Mellor (_née_ Ray), late of -Greenfield, near Beechley, Sussex.'" - -"What is the good of your playing with me, you fool Her death is no -good to me. I am done with her. It's his life I want, and, by ----, I -shall have it too!" - -"William!" cried the terrified wife. "My William! Come to me. I cannot -go to you. What is the matter? You look strange, and you are saying -dreadful things, and you have sworn an awful oath. What is the matter? -Are you unwell? Come to me." - -A sudden tremor passed through him, and with a dazed expression he -looked round him. - -With his short laugh he said, "I hope I didn't frighten you, Nellie, -dear. I was only going over a passage of a play we used to act at -school. I was always good at private theatricals." - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - THE TOW-PATH BY NIGHT. - - -It was now the second week in June. The weather had been without a -flaw. From dawn to evening the sun had moved through almost cloudless -skies. It was a splendid time for children to enjoy themselves out of -doors, and every day Freddie was carried from the back door of -Crawford's House by his Aunt Hetty, handed into the arms of Francis -Bramwell, and borne across to Boland's Ait, there to spend his time in -riotous fancy and boisterous play with Frank Bramwell till the dinner -hour. - -The two boys got on famously together. Freddie was the taller and -lustier of the two, with plenty of animal spirits and enterprise in -him, full of indulgent good-humour and patronising protection for his -companion. Frank was more sedate and thoughtful. He had a closer and a -keener mind, and as such minds are generally fascinated by the gifts -of physical exuberance and mental intrepidity, he gave in to his gayer -and more adventurous playmate. Each was the complement of the other. -Freddie took after his Aunt Hetty in person and mind, and Frank after -his father in disposition and his mother in appearance. - -The fortnight had wrought a marvellous change in Francis Bramwell. In -his youth he had been a dreamer, a poet. When he met Kate Ray he -became a lover of her, at times austere and lofty, at times -tempestuous. When he married he remained the lover still. After the -flight of his wife he plunged headlong into all the fierce excitement -of gambling, and led a completely reckless life. Then all at once he -rushed into the direct opposite, took up his abode on the last rod of -his property, Boland's Ait, and lived there the severe life of an -anchorite, lived face to face with the ruins of the past and possessed -his soul in silence, and mused upon the ways of Providence, and broke -his spirit to the Christian law of patient endurance. - -Now, for the first time in his life, he was confronted with material -duties which had to be performed with his own hand. His income he now -considered inadequate, and it could be increased only by his own -labour. He had already planned and partly written a few articles which -he hoped to get accepted by papers or magazines. He had been ashore -twice and made some simple additions to the furniture of the cottage, -and bought toys for Frank and Freddie to play with. He had levelled -and smoothed and swept the old timber-yard for the boys, and put the -play-room in order against a rainy day. For the two years he had dwelt -alone on the Ait he had lived most frugally, and had not used up all -his slender income, so that these little expenses did not come out of -revenue. - -It cheers the heart to have anything to do, and it soothes and -sustains the heart when we have the result of our activity always at -hand under our eyes. - -Of mornings he had to dress Frank, an operation he at first executed -with clumsiness and in despair. He had to get the boy his breakfast -and watch him while he ate it. After that he had to fetch Freddie, set -the two young people safely in the timber-yard, and, having secured -the gate, go back to his sitting-room and write or meditate his -articles until it was time for Freddie to go home. The boy's dinner -had to be got ready, and then after the departure of Mrs. Treleaven he -shut the outer door, gave Frank the run of the house, and sat down to -his papers once more till tea. This meal he prepared without the aid -of Mrs. Treleaven, and shortly after tea he had to undress little -Frank and put him to bed. - -He had been a dreamer, a poet, a lover, a gambler, a recluse. Now he -was becoming a man. His duties were humanising him. When he lay down -at night it was not, as of old, to live over again the hideous past -with its vast calamity; but to dwell on the events of the day with -restful complacency, and to contemplate with gentle satisfaction the -cares and duties of the morrow. In the old days of his isolation his -veins seemed filled with acrid juices, with vinegar and gall. In these -nights, as he lay feeling the balm of slumber coming down upon him -through the bland summer air, the milk of human kindness beat within -his pulses. - -In the old days his prayers were for deliverance and for a spirit of -charity. But he prayed for that spirit of charity because charity was -enjoined by the Great Teacher. He did not pray for deliverance in the -form of death now. He prayed that he might be spared to look after his -boy. He had no need to pray for charity now; for was not his child -lying there beside him safe and sound and full of rosy health, and was -not the child's mother forgiven by him and by a Greater, and in -Heaven? - -He never thought of Ainsworth. Why should he? Kate was dead, and he -had his child, and what was all the rest of the world to him? Nothing. - -To himself he admitted the situation was anomalous, and that he was -ill-qualified to take care of so young a child. Of course it would be -worse than folly to think of his sister in Australia. She had her -husband and her own children, and was prosperous there. It never -occurred to him once to send his boy to her. The idea that she might -come over to take charge of his Frank had only arisen to his mind in -dreams, to be laughed at upon waking. Of course a woman, not a man, -was the natural guardian of a child of little Frank's age. Look at the -care Miss Layard took of Freddie. What a lucky fellow Layard was to -have such a sister to mind his boy! - -Then in a dream, just as he had the idea of his sister travelling all -the way from Australia to rear Frank, the idea came to him that it -would be a good thing if Miss Layard would take charge of Frank; this, -too, was only to be laughed at upon waking. Miss Layard was not a -servant whom he could employ, or a sister of whom he could expect such -a service. The thing was an absurdity worthy of midsummer madness, but -what a pity it should be absurd! - -He had dreamed the dream only once about his sister. He had dreamed -the dream more than once about Miss Layard. This would be accounted -for, no doubt, by the fact that he saw and spoke to Miss Layard every -day. - -The thought of leaving the Ait and taking a lodging ashore had -presented itself to his mind, only to be dismissed after a few -moments' consideration. By this time, after his two years of solitude, -he had become accustomed to attending upon himself, and felt no more -awkwardness in this respect than a sailor. He could cook his food and -light his fire and make his bed as though he had been accustomed to -shift for himself all his life. For two years he had been accustomed -to all these services, and now he had the advantage of Mrs. -Treleaven's daily visit, which relieved him of much of the drudgery. A -lodging such as his present means could command would be unbearable. -All his life, until the beginning of his reckless year, he had been -accustomed to elegance and refinement. And all his life, until his -retirement to the islet, he had lived in comfort, and part of his life -in affluence. He could not endure the thought of contact with vulgar -grasping landladies, and above all, he could not entertain the idea of -exposing this child to the dulling and saddening intercourse with the -unrefined folk to be found in such houses. He should be able to afford -but one room, and how could he pursue literary studies or labours with -little Frank at his very elbow? To let the child consort with those -around them would be worse than all the inconveniences of this place. - -No. He must stay where he was until he had mended his fortunes with -his pen. The old timber-yard was a capital playground for Frank and -Freddie in the fine weather, and when it rained there was the room he -had prepared for them in the cottage. Besides---- - -Besides, if he went to live ashore Frank would no longer have so -suitable a playmate as Freddie. He himself should certainly miss -the cheerful, vivacious little chap who lived at Crawford's House, -and--yes, and the brief meetings morning and afternoon with the gay -and beautiful and sympathetic girl, Miss Layard. Let things be as they -were. - -Miss Layard had more than once repeated her brother's invitation to -Bramwell that he should go over for an hour in the evening. He always -pleaded in excuse the reason given for him by Philip Ray on the -occasion of his hastily and unthinkingly accepting the first -invitation. He could not leave the boy. Then she asked him to bring -the boy. This could not be done either. Why? Well, because it would be -giving them too much trouble. Nothing of the kind. They would be only -too delighted to have Frank. Well, then, if that reason would not -serve, it would not be good for the child to keep him up so late; he -was always in bed a little after seven o'clock. - -But Philip Ray had gone over often, and brought back word that they -were very nice people, and he liked to talk a great deal about them, -particularly the brother, to Bramwell, and Bramwell thought that when -Philip came back from Crawford's House he was always more cool and -rational, and so he was always glad when his brother-in-law went. - -It is one of the curious regulations of the South London Canal that, -while you have to pay toll if you wish to walk along the tow-path by -day, you are free to use it by night for nothing. This rule would seem -to be made out of a benevolent view to suicides. A more dreary and -dangerous and murderous-looking place there is not in all London than -that tow-path by night. To think, merely to think, in the daytime of -walking under one of those low arches in the dark is enough to make -one shudder. - -The distance from the base of the arch to the edge of the water is not -more than six feet. If you keep near the wall you have to bend towards -the water; if you keep near the water it seems as though some hideous -and terrifying influence will draw you into the foul, dark, stagnant, -sinister flood. It appears to be waiting for you, passively waiting -there for you, with the full knowledge that you must come, that you -are coming, that you are come. It seems to have a purpose apart from -all other things about it, and that purpose is to draw you. It seems -to say in an unuttered voice, "I am Death and Silence." - -If, as you stood under one of those odious arches, you stooped slowly, -slowly until your hand touched the brink, you would have to thrust -your fingers down an inch further to touch the water itself. And then -you would find it was dead--that it had no motion; that by the sense -of touch alone you could not tell which way the canal flows, the -current is so slow--so deadly slow. In the plutonian darkness under -the bridge you could see nothing, and from the dead water a peculiar -and awful silence seems to rise like an exhalation. - -You would not utter a word there to save your life. You would feel you -had no life to save, that it already belonged to the water. If, then, -as you stooped you slipped, you would roll into the water without a -splash, for you would be on a level with the surface. You could not -utter a cry, for the terrible, the odious influence of the place would -be upon you. Even if you called out your voice would be of no avail, -for no human being could hear you, and it would only infuriate the -obscene genius of the place. Then, if the terror did not kill you -instantly, the waters would--slowly--surely, for there is nothing to -lay hold of but those flat slippery stones, and you would be in the -stagnant water against a perpendicular wall. The sharp pains of the -most perfect torture-chamber ever designed would not be equal to dying -there alone upright against that wall, holding on by those smooth -slippery flat stones on a level with your chin, and as you were -gradually pulled down, down, down, inch by inch, by the loathsome -genius of these waters. - -But the horrors of this place are seldom invaded at night by human -foot. Often from summer dark to summer dawn no tread of man beats upon -that forlorn tow-path. After nightfall the place has an evil -reputation in the neighbourhood. More than a dozen times in the memory -of living people cold and clammy things, once men and women, have been -drawn slowly, laboriously, with dripping clothes, out of these turbid -waters. No man but one sorely pressed by necessity would think of -taking that path at midnight: and even when in dire haste he would -have need of strong nerves to face it, to set out upon it, to plunge -into it. For, unlike the streets and roadways that go by the dwellings -of kindly men, once upon it there is no way from it, no crossroad or -byway until the stretch of half-a-mile or a mile is accomplished. If -any supreme terror or danger menaced the traveller on that path, he -has only one refuge, one means of escape, one sanctuary to seek--the -canal itself. - -In the ditch, on the inner side of the path, you cannot know what may -be crouching. Shapes and forms and monsters too hateful for sanity to -endure may be lurking in that ditch, and may spring out on you, on -your unprotected side, at any moment as you walk along. If this should -happen would not it be better for you to seek blindness and extinction -in the waters? - -Or may there not lie in wait some shapes in human form more appalling -than gorgon or chimera dire, some human ghouls who have committed -crimes never dreamt of by the soul of affrighted man? May not these -come forth and whisper at your ear as you go by, and tell you what -they have done in tombs and charnel houses until the flesh falls off -your bones with dread, and you take these waters of forgetfulness at -your side to be not a river of Orcus, but of blissful deliverance? - -And what a place is this for a woman by night! - -She has crept cautiously out of Leeham and struck the canal at Leeham -Bridge. At that time all Leeham is asleep in bed or at work in the -great gasworks. Not a soul is abroad but two or three people moving to -or from the Neptune at the end of the Pine Groves. - -The woman creeps cautiously from the road down the approach leading to -the canal. There is not a soul on the tow-path; the place is as still -as a cave. She can hear the beating of her own heart distinctly as she -walks along, keeping in the shadow. - -But she will have to come out of the shadow in a moment, or rather she -will have to enter the sphere of light, for on the tow-path to her -left there is a gas-lamp. - -She darts quickly through the patch of light and into the cavernous -darkness of the bridge. - -In that brief period of illumination all that could be seen was that -she did not exceed the average height of woman, might be a little -below it; that she was poorly clad; that she wore a bonnet and thick -impenetrable veil; that she was covered from neck to heel with a long -dark cloak, and that the ungloved hand which grasped the cloak in -front and held it close was thin and white. - -She did not seem conscious of any of the horrors of that dismal arch; -while under it she was more free from the chance of observation than -on the road or approach. She drew herself more upright, and slackened -her pace for a moment. Then with another shudder she walked swiftly -from under the arch and set off for Welford Bridge. - -On her right lay a ditch neither wet nor dry; on her left the -voiceless waters of the canal, and beyond the canal a line of mute, -uninhabited, inscrutable wharves which looked like dead parts of a -living city which had drifted away, leaving this rack behind. - -She sped on, unheeding her surroundings. She did not look to left or -right. She kept the edge of the canal, as though the water were the -best friend she had there. Now and then with her white ungloved hand -she drew her cloak closer round her, rather as though to preserve her -own resolution within it, to prevent her purpose from escaping, than -to protect her from observation from without. - -She came within the shadow of the mighty gas-house, which, too, was -silent, save now and then a startling and alarming clamour of metal, -as though the summons of Titan to witness some overwhelming disaster. -Against the blue sky and pallid stars of early summer the huge -chimneys, and cranes, and pillars, and tanks, and viaducts, and -scaffolding, and shoots, and the enormous and towering masses of the -gasometers, stood up in a piece like some prodigious engine of one -motive, some monstrous machine used in the building of mountains or -hollowing out of seas. Now and then, through apertures low down in -this prodigious engine, small living things, no bigger than insects in -comparison with the mass, came and stood clearly visible, pricked out -in the darkness against the glow within. These were men flying for a -moment from the fiery heat of the huge instrument to cool their bodies -and their lungs in the open air. - -The woman took no more note of all this wonderful work of man than to -draw her cloak to her on that side, lest it might distract her from -her purpose. - -At length, as she kept on her way undismayed, she approached a black -mass of shadow, stretching across the canal and tow-path, as though to -bar her further progress. - -As she drew nearer, an arc of light appeared in the centre of this -dark barrier, and beyond, or rather in the middle of the arc a speck -of brighter light still. - -The dark barrier was Welford Bridge; the larger and duller light in -the middle of it was the eye of the bridge; and the central ray, like -the light on the pupil of an eye, was the lamp in the bedroom of -Boland's Ait. - -The woman paused when she saw this latter light, and, leaving the -margin of the canal, crossed the tow-path to a low warehouse and -leaned against the wall in the shadow to rest. - -From the point at which she now stood resting against the wall she -could see the light in the open window of the cottage. - -Presently the spark formed by the lamp waved. The lamp had been -removed from the window-sill. The sash of the window was allowed to -remain up. There was a sudden flicker of light, and then all in the -cottage was dark. The lamp had been extinguished. - -The woman withdrew her shoulder from the wall, gathered her cloak -round her, and resumed her way along the edge of the tow-path, going -south. She walked more slowly now, as if in thought or to give time. -She walked as though she must, because of her inclination, make -progress, but must not for some reason make too quick an advance. - -Presently she stepped into the profound gloom under Welford Bridge, -and in a few seconds emerged upon the other side. Here she made -another pause. - -Not a soul was in sight. She had met no one since taking the tow-path -at Leeham. The night was perfectly still. She looked around at the -bridge, and then moved rapidly along the path, as though wishing to -get beyond the point at which she might attract the attention of any -one looking over the parapet. - -When about two hundred yards from the bridge she paused once more. -Here was no building against which she could lean, but instead a -sharply sloping bank surmounted by a wall. Opposite where she stood a -large log of wood reclined against the slope. She crept over and -leaned against the bank beside the log. In this position she would be -perfectly invisible to any one looking over the parapet, or even -passing along the tow-path carelessly. Here the horse-track was more -than twice its ordinary width, and between the trodden part of the -path and the bank spread a space of grass-grown waste of equal width. - -Directly opposite to her stood Crawford's House, and a little further -to the left Boland's Ait. She put her hollowed right hand behind her -ear, leaned her head towards the islet, and listened intently. Not a -sound. She closed her eyes and concentrated all her faculties in the -one of hearing. The tranquillity of the cloudless night was unbroken -by any murmur but the dull dead murmur that always hangs over the -city, and is faintly perceptible even here. - -Suddenly a soft gentle sound stole upon her ears, but not from the -desired quarter. The voice of a woman singing reached her. She opened -her eyes. A light burned now in the top room of Crawford's House. - -The wayfarer on the tow-path could make nothing out, owing to the -distance and to the light being behind the singer, save that a woman -was standing at the open window and humming in a very low voice an old -lullaby song. The light of the lamp came through the hair of the -singer, and the listener saw that the colour of the hair was golden. - -The watcher leaned back against the bank, closed her eyes, and put her -hands over her ears. She remained so a considerable time. When she -opened her eyes the light had been extinguished. She took her hands -down from her ears--all was still once more. - -She looked up and down the track carefully, and strained her ear to -catch footfalls; but no one was in view, and no noise of feet broke -the frozen monotony of the silence. Gathering her cloak around her, -she left her resting-place, and, having gained the edge of the water, -resumed her way at a rapid rate in a southerly direction until she got -opposite the tail of Boland's Ait. - -Here she reduced her pace, and kept on with her eyes fixed eagerly on -the ground at her feet. She bent forward, and as low as she could. -Apparently, she was looking for some mark. - -There gleamed the full light of unclouded June night and unsullied -faint blue June stars, but no moon aided her search. - -At length she stopped and examined the ground very closely. Then she -stooped lower still and thrust her hand down, passing it outside the -bank until it touched the water. - -She seized some object first with one hand, and then with both, and -drew back from the bank softly, cautiously, as though her very life -depended on the care she took. Something stretched from her hands--a -line, a chain. It was fast to the bank, and reached from her hands out -into the water a few feet from where she stood. - -She had in her hands the chain by which the floating stage was drawn -from Boland's Ait across the canal when any one wanted to go from the -tow-path to the island. The chain yielded with her a little, and then -would come no more. She drew upon it with all her might, but it simply -rose out of the water at a slightly increased distance from the bank. -She became desperate, and pulled with all her might and main. She dug -her heels into the ground, and threw the whole weight of her body -backward. To no avail. - -She tore off her cloak and flung it on the ground that she might have -greater freedom. She dragged at the chain, now pulling it from one -side, now from the other. The stage did not move. Her hands were cut -and bleeding. - -She stooped low and got the chain over her shoulder, and flung the -whole weight of her body over and over again into the loop. - -The harsh ragged chain tore the skin and flesh of her soft delicate -shoulder until it too bled. But the stage remained motionless. - -She sank down on the ground half insensible from despair and pain. - -She rose up and put the chain on the uninjured shoulder, and wrenched -and tore and struggled at it, whispering to herself, "I will--I -must--I tell you I must see my child once more before I die. I only -want to see him asleep, through the window, any way, once. Do you hear -me? I _will_ see my child before I die. A mother has a right to see -her child before she dies. Mercy, mercy, mercy! One look, only one -before I go away for ever!" - -She sank to the ground again. The chain slipped from her shoulder, and -with a moan she spread out her torn and bleeding hands on the rugged -ground and lay still. - -The first faint streaks of dawn were in the sky before she recovered -consciousness. She rose, put on her cloak, and with dejected head and -tattering steps turned her back upon the Ait and walked in the -direction of Leeham. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - A HOSTAGE AT CRAWFORD'S HOUSE. - - -The failure of Philip Ray's expedition to Richmond had dispirited him -in the pursuit of the man whom he called John Ainsworth, but whom -Richmond knew as William Crawford. He was an impulsive man in action, -but when action was denied to him, he could make little or no -progress. He was a man of devices rather than plans. In the heat of -action he could invent, but he needed the stimulus of present -necessity or expediency before he could design. He could carry out a -plan, not invent one. He was a good captain, but no general. - -Hence, when he found himself baffled at Richmond, he did not know in -what direction to turn for a clue to Ainsworth. He chafed under his -impotency; but he could not remove it. The conclusion to which he came -was that Ainsworth did not live at Richmond, and he hated that town -because of the disappointment he had experienced in it. His -determination to take vengeance on Ainsworth was still unshaken; but -he felt that, having missed his man once, the likelihood of -encountering him again was diminished. Say, according to the law of -chances, they should be fated to meet twice in ten years: one of those -meetings had been missed, owing to the ill-luck of his not being in -Richmond the day Lambton saw Ainsworth there. This, of course, was not -logical, but then no one who knew Ray ever expected him to be -influenced by pure reason. It was not according to the law of chances, -for he had had no chance of seeing Ainsworth in Richmond, since he -himself had not been in the town that day. - -On the evening of his return from Richmond he had been asked by -Bramwell to go and apologise to Layard for the postponement or -abandonment of his brother-in-law's visit. Layard had opened the door -for him, and, seeing a young man he did not know, and having heard -from Hetty that Bramwell had promised to call, he concluded that this -was the promised visitor; held out his hand, and had drawn Philip -inside the door before the latter could explain. As soon as Ray had -told Layard he was not the expected man, and that he was only a -relative of the desired guest, "Well," said Layard with one of his -unexpected bright smiles on his homely face, "since you have ventured -into the bandit's cave, I must hold you as hostage until he comes to -release, or reclaim, or redeem you. Sit down." - -"But he will not come. He cannot come, he expects me back. He is -unable to come because he cannot leave the boy alone," said Ray, -somewhat disarmed and drawn towards this ugly man with the kind voice -and surprising smile. - -"Well, now, you cannot plead the same excuse. You are here, in the -first place, and, in the second place, the boy's not alone now. Do sit -down, pray. I do not make a new acquaintance once in a year, and I -haven't a single companionable neighbour. You won't miss half-an-hour -out of your life, and I should take it as a favour if you gave me -one." - -What could Ray do but sit down? - -"Do you smoke?" asked Layard. - -"Yes. - -"For," said Layard, as they lit their pipes, "my sister says she is -certain Mr. Bramwell doesn't smoke; and her reason for thinking so is -because he seems not to be a fool." - -"Then," said Ray, putting down his pipe, "perhaps Miss Layard objects -to smoking." - -"Not she," said Layard; "it is only her disagreeable way of rebuking -me. Please go on with your pipe." - -"Old maids," thought Ray, "invariably do object to smoking. I'm sorry -I sat down, and now I can't in decency get up for a while. An elderly -female edition of this man would be a dreadful sight." - -His own handsome face, with its straight brows and straight nose, was -reflected behind Layard's back in the little mirror of the chiffonier. - -"You do not live in this neighbourhood?" asked Layard, when Ray had -resumed his pipe. - -"No. I live in Camberwell." - -Layard straightened himself in his chair, and looked hard at the other -for a few seconds. - -"That receding forehead," thought Ray, "indicates a weak intellect. I -hope I am not face to face alone with a madman. What on earth is the -ape looking at! I wish this gorgon sister, however hideous she may be, -would come in." - -The door opened, and, in response to his thought, the gorgon entered. - -"My sister, Mr. Ray. Hetty, Mr. Ray has called to say that Mr. -Bramwell cannot come this evening; he must not leave his little boy -alone, and I have impounded Mr. Ray." - -Ray bowed, and took in his hand the slender hand that was held out to -him with a smile, took in his eyes the smile and the beauty of the -girl, and said to himself, "Are they real?" - -He was disposed to think some trick was being played upon him, for, -from what Frank said, he had been prepared for age and ugliness; and -what Layard had said about the smoking had prepared him for sourness -and sarcastic eyes, and here----! - -Hetty sat down quite close to Philip, and he felt very strangely at -this, because still he had the feeling that there must be some trick -in the affair; since he was prepared for blue spectacles, and a blue -nose, and a front, perhaps, and prominent teeth. And here, instead, -were the brightest and bluest and most cheerful eyes he had ever seen, -instead of spectacles; and a lovely delicate, shapely nose, with the -least suggestion of an aquiline curve in it, and of the colour of the -petal of a white rose that lies over the petal of a red rose, and hair -that was like amber against the sun, and teeth as even as a child's -and as white as a fresh cut apple. Was it all real? - -"Won't you go on smoking, Mr. Ray?" said the apparition at his side. - -"I will," said Ray, not knowing what he said, but putting the pipe -mechanically into his mouth. He didn't even say "Thank you." He had -still some notion of unreality in his mind. Was it a dream, if it -wasn't a trick? Anyway, it would be best to be on his guard, so he -only said "I will," without even "Thank you." He was waiting to see -what would happen next. - -The next thing that happened was nothing to astonish an ordinary -mortal, but it filled Philip Ray with such a feeling of at once -disappointment and joy that he was afterwards certain he must have -spoken incoherently for a few minutes. - -Said Layard to Hetty, "I was just on the point of saying to Mr. Ray -when you came in that if, by any misfortune, another quarter of an -hour went by without my getting food, all would be up with me." - -With a laugh Hetty rose and left the room. - -Ray thought, "That strange look I saw in his eyes must have been the -bale fire of cannibalism. He must have been thinking of eating me!" - -Then in a few minutes the strangest thing in this dream happened -before Philip's eyes. The girl of whose reality he had such doubt -carried in the supper-things like the simplest maiden that ever -ministered to man. Philip rose and stood with his back against the -mantelpiece, looking on, while Layard helped his sister to spread the -feast and kept up a running commentary on the various articles as they -were placed on the table. - -When all was ready they sat down, Philip still feeling dull and heavy, -like one in a dream. Could it be that this incomparable being was no -more in that household than the sister of the host? Could it be that -she busied herself with plates and knives and forks, and beef and -salad and cress, just like other girls he had seen? Incredible! And -yet if he had not been dreaming, so it was. - -"Pepper, mustard, vinegar, oil! I see only four cruets, Hetty," said -Alfred Layard reproachfully. "What is the meaning of only four cruets? -Where is the fifth?" - -"There are only four bottles. What do you want, Alfred?" - -"I do not want anything, but Mr. Ray does. Mr. Ray, do you take your -arsenic with your beef or in the salad?" - -Philip looked from one to the other with a stupid smile. He felt more -than ever that the whole thing was unreal, notwithstanding the fact -that he was eating and drinking. - -"When you know Alfred better, you won't mind anything he says," said -the girl, addressing the guest. - -"Speak for yourself," said Layard solemnly and in a warning voice. -"Listen to me! Just as you came into the room, Hetty----" - -"O, I know! You told us that before. You were on the point of fainting -from hunger." - -"No! That was only my way of putting it. What I really meant was that -I did not feel myself able to face the discovery I had made without -the aid of food instantly applied, and in ample quantities." - -"But what about the arsenic?" she asked, with a look of perplexed -amusement. - -"I'm coming to the arsenic." - -"I thought you intended it for Mr. Ray. What has he done?" - -"Hetty, you are flippant. What has he done? Why, do you know that he -lives at Camberwell?" cried Layard, putting down his knife and fork, -and glaring at his sister with a horrified expression. - -"Is that a capital offence at Welford?" asked Ray, trying to rouse -himself. - -"In the present connection it is ten thousand times a worse crime than -slaying the sacred Ibis. You live at Camberwell. You walk along the -tow-path. You get by a floating-stage from the tow-path to Boland's -Ait. Confess! You may as well confess. I see it all now. Were you on -Boland's Ait within the past week?" - -"Certainly; I confess I was. Is that a still greater offence than -living at Camberwell?" - -"It makes parts of the stupendous crime." - -"And what is the stupendous crime?" - -"Our sometime lodger, Mr. Crawford, saw you come along the track, saw -you disappear behind the head of the island, and saw you did not -reappear at the other end. Being thus unable to make head or tail of -you, he thought you were drowned, and insisted on my going out at a -most untimely hour in order that we might make certain of your fate. -As we just got under Welford Bridge you stepped out from under it, -looking not a penny the worse; I say you deserve death for these -abnormal aquatic habits of yours, by which you disturb a quiet -household, and take a peaceful citizen like me away from his warm -fireside into the bleak winds of December close on midnight." - -"I'm very sorry, I'm sure," said Ray, with a smile, "and I am very -much indebted to Mr. Crawford for the interest he took in me. He must -be a very kind-hearted man." - -"He's a hero!" cried Hetty enthusiastically. "A Bayard!" - -"But, as I told you before, rather fat for the part," said her -brother. "Mr. Ray, he is our lodger and our landlord, and hence he -must be above all reproach. Our association with him would put him all -right if he was a Thug. But my sister is really too much carried away -by her admiration for this Bayard because he married a rich woman----" - -"Who is a hopeless invalid," broke in Hetty. - -"Who owns a good deal of property in this neighbourhood----" - -"And is ever so much older than he. I call him a most heroic man." - -"And large savings out of her income." - -"Mr. Ray, don't mind Alfred. He is only joking. In his secret heart he -admires Mr. Crawford as much as I do; but he will not give in. This -man saved Mrs. Crawford from being burned in her house. She is ever so -much older than he, and he married her out of a wish to make her happy -after saving her life at the risk of his own." The girl became quite -excited as she spoke. Her lips quivered, her cheeks flushed, the -golden light blazed in her blue eyes. - -Her brother looked at her with admiration. - -Philip Ray looked at her, and for the first time in his life realised -ecstasy. He had never tasted the wine of love before, and now he was -drinking the most potent and intoxicating of all kinds--love at first -sight. - -"I consider," he said, at last fully awake, "Mr. Crawford a very lucky -man." He meant in having so beautiful an advocate. - -"So do I," said Layard, meaning in a worldly sense. - -"And does he live with you always?" asked Ray, who had some confused -memory of the phrase, "sometime lodger." - -"No," said Hetty. "He is to come to us for only a couple or three days -a month. He has his offices for the property upstairs." - -"O, I see," said Ray, much relieved. He did not want this object of -her admiration to be near her. He was now interested no more in Mr. -Crawford. To keep the conversation going, he said, "And where does Mr. -Crawford live the rest of the time?" - -"At Richmond." - -He started. The name of the town was a harsh, discordant note; but he -said nothing, and shortly after took his leave, promising to call -again. - -From that night he visited almost every evening at Crawford's House. -When he was not there he pitied himself with a pathetic, desperate -pity. When he was there he wondered how all the rest of the world -could be content to dwell so far apart from her. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - - CRAWFORD SELLS A PATENT. - - -A few days after William Crawford's return from Welford, and the scene -in which he gave his wife a specimen of his quality as the player of a -part in private theatricals, he went up to London with one of the -hundred pounds in his pocket. He told her he could not dream of taking -the money from her except to pay the men working on the models and -machines for his great patent, and in the interest of their joint -worldly welfare. - -He set off, as usual, in the afternoon, taking with him half the -money. He was a gambler, but no plunger. He played for the excitement -of the game, rather than for the sake of gaining. He had no idea that -he should win a fortune. His luck was usually bad, but this did not -keep him back; nor did he play on in the hope or expectation that it -would turn so as to recoup him. Every gambler is entitled to curse his -luck, and Crawford cursed his with no bated breath. But he would -rather have bad luck than no play. He was not a mean man with money -when he had it, but he was a desperate man when he wanted it. - -Cards and pretty faces were his weaknesses. With regard to cards, he -recognised the laws of honour; with regard to pretty faces, he -regarded no law but the law of his wishes. He had never been in love -in his life. He admired pretty women, and made love to every pretty -woman he met, if occasion served. But he was completely wanting in any -feeling of self-sacrifice or devotion. He was, as he told his wife, -good at private theatricals. He could play the heroic, or romantic, or -sentimental lover, according as circumstances demanded, to the utmost -perfection; but his heart was never once touched. He looked on women -as inferior creatures, the natural prey of man. With them he had no -mercy or compunction. He made love automatically to the owner of every -pretty face he came across, provided there was no great risk from male -friend or relative; for, though he could assume the air and words of a -hero in the presence of a woman, he fought shy of men in their anger, -and was of that prudent disposition that prefers flight to fight. - -On going to town this afternoon, he left half the money he had got -from his wife behind him. One hundred pounds was quite enough for one -night; one hundred pounds was quite as good as two. Playing for -certain stakes, one hundred pounds would last him the whole night, -even if luck were dead against him. Two hundred pounds would enable -him to play for stakes of double the amount: that was all. He would -rather play two nights for small stakes than one night for stakes of -double the value. - -William Crawford was a cautious, not to say cowardly, man. This talk -of the artificers engaged in making a machine for him was not wholly -illusory. From time to time he ordered inexpensive portions of -machinery at a mechanical engineer's in the Blackfriars Road. He never -took the parts of the machine away; but left them in the workshops, -saying he would not remove them until it was all ready to be put -together. He had no fear that he might one day be driven to make good -his words about this wonderful machine in course of construction; but -if he were, there lay the wheels and racks and drums in the workshop. -Of course the manner in which they were to be put together remained -his secret. It was not likely he would divulge that until he had -secured his patent, and, for aught you could know or should know from -him to the contrary, he might have other portions of the machine in -course of manufacture for him in other workshops. - -When he arrived in town this early day in June he went first to the -Blackfriars Road and gave an order for two cog-wheels of peculiar -make. He handed in a paper with the specification, paid a bill of a -couple of pounds, and then betook himself to the Counter Club. - -Here he dined, and from the dinner-table went to the card-room, which -he did not leave until seven o'clock the next morning. He breakfasted -at the club, and after breakfast fell asleep in a chair in the -deserted smoking-room, and did not wake for a couple of hours. Then he -went out, and, turning into Bond Street, did a little shopping, and -got back to Richmond at about noon. - -He found his wife in the drawing-room with some fancy work in her -hand. After an affectionate greeting, he sat down beside her and took -her hand as usual. Contrary to his custom, he had brought no book, or -flowers, or basket of fruit. - -"And how did you get on in town, William?" she asked, giving no time -for him to notice, if he had not already noticed, the omission of his -customary little present. - -"Very well indeed, Nellie. Better than I could have hoped. Better than -I deserved." - -"Not better than you deserved, surely, dear," she said fondly. "That -could not be." - -"Well, better than I could have hoped. I am afraid, Nellie, I got on -so splendidly that success has turned my head." - -She looked at him in surprise and pressed his hand. "I know you better -than to think success could turn your head." - -"Nevertheless, my success has had such an effect on me that I have not -brought you any flowers, or fruit, or a book. Does not that look like -being spoiled by success? Should I not be spoiled by prosperity when I -forgot you?" - -"It does not follow," she said tenderly, as though she were excusing -herself, not him, "that because you did not bring me something that -you forgot me." - -He put his hand in his pocket, took something out of it, and before -she knew what he was doing she found a gold bracelet, having a circle -of pearls round a large diamond, clasped upon her arm. - -She gave a little cry of wonder and pleasure. "Why, what is this? -Where did you get it? Whom is it for?" - -"It is for my own wife Nellie. I bought it for her in Bond Street -to-day, to show her that I did not forget her when away. And I did not -buy it out of the money she lent me yesterday--for, look!" He threw -into her lap a lot of gold and notes. "There's the hundred pounds I -took with me to town--and look!" He held out towards her more gold and -notes. "Here is another hundred I have got over and above what she -lent me, and the price of the bracelet." - -"Wonder upon wonder!" she cried with a laugh and a simple childlike -joy in her husband's success. "Tell me all about the affair. Have you -met fairies?" - -"No, dear. Only a good angel, and you are she," he said, and kissed -the hand below the gleaming bracelet. - -"But I did not give you this. You got this yourself." - -"No, you did not give me this money directly, but you gave me the -means of getting it." - -"But tell me all, dear. I am dying to hear." - -"You must know, then, that in designing some machinery for preparing -my fibre I hit upon an immense improvement in the scutching machine -now in use. I patented my improvement, and sold my patent last evening -for two hundred and fifty pounds." - -She was overwhelmed with gratitude and joy. This was the first-fruit -of his genius, the earnest of his great triumph. - -For half-an-hour they sat and chatted, he telling her his schemes for -the future, and she listening, full of delight and pride and love. -Then he said he had some writing to do, and went to his room. - -The fact was that he could hardly keep his eyes open. It had been a -very hot night at the Counter Club, and he had come away the winner of -close upon three hundred pounds. He locked the door, drew down the -blind, threw himself on a couch, and was fast asleep in a few minutes. - -Mrs. Crawford always breakfasted in her own room, and had her other -meals brought to her in the drawing-room. She had gradually sunk back -almost to the helpless condition in which she had lived so long before -the fire. She suffered no pain, but she was nearly as helpless as a -year ago. If necessity required it, she could creep about the room by -resting her hands on the furniture, but as a rule she went from one -place to the other by means of her invalid's chair. She never ventured -down-stairs now. She lived upon the first-floor. Here were her -bedroom, the drawing-room, her husband's study--which he called his -own room--and the dressing-room where he slept, so as to be within -call if she needed assistance in the night. - -The doctors told Crawford that his wife was, if anything, rather worse -than she had been before the fire, and that any other such shock would -in all likelihood kill her. - -"Is there no chance of it producing an effect like the former one?" -Crawford had asked. - -Well, there was no saying for certain. This, however, was sure, that -if she sustained another shock and by chance she once more regained -the use of her limbs, the relief would be only temporary, and the -reaction would leave her in a very critical condition indeed--the -chances were ten to one she would die. - -A shock, then, was to be avoided at any cost. - -With Mrs. Crawford's life all William Crawford's interest in the -property would pass away. This property brought in more than Ned -Bayliss, or Jim Ford, or Matt Jordan, or any of the other loafers on -Welford Bridge imagined. The income was nearer to two than one -thousand a year, and Mrs. Crawford's savings exceeded three thousand -pounds. These savings would become Crawford's absolute property upon -his wife's death. She had practically put them at his disposal -already. They were his own, she told him, and he took her word for it. -But that was a good reason why he should be moderately careful of -them. As long as she lived he had not only these savings at his -disposal, but the lion's share of the income as well. If he did not -blunder, nothing could take the savings away from him; if she died he -would lose all participation in the fine income. - -A shock was to be avoided at any cost. - -One morning after breakfast, in the middle of June, Crawford came into -the drawing-room, and said to his wife: - -"I have slept so badly! I do not know when I had so little sleep, and -the little I got so disturbed." - -She looked at him anxiously. "You are not unwell? You don't feel -anything the matter, do you?" - -"O, no! I am quite well. But I have had such horrid nightmares. What -you said to me a fortnight ago about the want of gates on that -ice-house all came back to me in sleep last night, and I had the most -awful visions of that young Layard drowning in it while I was looking -on, unable to stretch out my hand to save him." He made a gesture as -though to sweep away the spectacle still haunting him. - -"I am so sorry, William, I said anything about the place. I am, -indeed. I spoke foolishly, no doubt. You are not so superstitious as -to fancy anything dreadful has happened?" she asked, losing colour and -leaning back in her chair. - -"Dear me! No. And I don't think you spoke foolishly at all. I now see -that what you said was quite right. I own it's very selfish of me, but -I do not feel disposed to go through another such night as last. That -brought home to me the danger you saw at once, and instinctively." - -She could not help smiling and feeling gratified at these candid and -gracious words from so clever a man--from a man who got two hundred -and fifty pounds the other day for the pure brain-work of a couple of -hours. - -"And what do you think of doing?" - -"Well, I feel that the surest way to lay the ghost that haunted me -last night, and provide against all danger, would be for me to go down -to Welford and get these gateways boarded up." - -"Indeed, indeed! I'm sure that would be the best thing to do. When did -you fancy you would go?" - -"I could go to-day. I am not doing anything particular. Do you want me -for anything?" - -He asked the question in a soft submissive voice. - -"I!" she cried, flushing with pleasure at his deference to her. "Not -I, William! I am all right, and feel as well as usual. You could do -nothing that would please me more." - -"Very well, then; I'll go at once. I shall not want more than an hour -or so there. I need not wait to see the thing done. All I shall have -to do is to get hold of a carpenter, and put the job into his hands." - -And so he set out for Welford. - -The fact is he had dreamed last night of Hetty Layard's bright face -and wonderful golden hair, and he was getting tired of Richmond -and--the house. - -It would be very pleasant to go down to Welford, knock at the door, -and find Hetty alone. Her brother would be at the gasworks. Philip Ray -was in some public office or other, and could not come to make that -tow-path horrible with his presence at that hour of the day. He should -be able to reach Crawford's House at about eleven, and get away at -about one or two. Thus he would run no risks, and he should see again -the prettiest girl he had now in his memory. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - - WILLIAM CRAWFORD'S NIGHTMARE. - - -"Hetty," said Alfred Layard to his sister at breakfast that same -morning, "you know I am not a discontented man." - -"Indeed, I know that very well, Alfred. See how you put up with me!" - -"Hetty," said he severely, "in this house jokes are _my_ prerogative." - -"I am not joking in the least, Alfred. I know I am not anything like -as good as I ought to be to you. But I'll try to be better in future, -Alfred. Indeed I will!" - -Her tone was full of sorrow. - -"Hetty," said he sternly, "in this house pathos is _my_ prerogative -also. Mind what you're about. If you make me laugh or yourself cry you -will oblige me to do something I should be extremely loath to do." - -"And what is that?" she asked, struggling to repress a smile. - -"Hold my tongue. Bad as my loquacity is, my silence would be a -thousand times worse. How would you like me to sit at the table and -only point at the things I wanted? Suppose there was some one here, -how would you like me to make a motion for a slate, and write on it -with a squeaking pencil, 'Hetty, your hair is down!' You would -not like it a bit. No, Hetty; I was not thinking of you when I -said I was not a discontented man. I was thinking of Crawford, our -landlord-tenant." - -"Of Mr. Crawford! O, what were you thinking of him?" - -"I was thinking that I am not too well satisfied with our arrangements -about this house. I fancy I am almost sorry I entered into the -agreement at all." - -"But why? Surely we are saving money: twenty pounds a year or more by -the house, and Mr. Crawford is no trouble, or next to none." - -"He's very little trouble in the house, I own. But he troubles me in -my mind. There is something about the man I don't like. I can't tell -you for certain what it is, but I think it is because he is a coward." - -"A coward, Alfred! A coward! Good gracious! is it the man who saved -Mrs. Crawford from the burning house at the risk of his own life? -Don't you think you are very unjust?" - -"Perhaps. But for goodness' sake, don't say anything about Bayard!" - -"It was you who called him a Bayard." - -"I don't think it was; and if it was, I meant it sarcastically. That -man is in good bodily health, and yet he is afraid of something or -some one. Now, when a man in good bodily health goes about in fear you -may be certain he has good cause for being afraid, and you may be -equally sure that whatever he is afraid of is not to his credit." - -Layard rose to go. Freddie was in the kitchen with Mrs. Grainger. - -"Isn't a good deal of, or all, this fancy?" asked Hetty, as she too -rose. - -"It may be fancy that he is afraid of something discreditable; but I -am certain he is afraid." - -"How can you tell that?" asked the girl, in incredulous wonder. - -"By his eyes and the motion of his hands. That man could not for a -thousand pounds sit in a room the door of which had opened at his back -without turning round." - -"Upon my word, you are growing quite fanciful, Alfred. And did you -notice that he was very much afraid of us?" she said in a bantering -tone. - -"He is afraid of every one until he is assured of what that person -is." - -"Of Mrs. Grainger and me, for instance?" - -"Yes, he would be afraid of you until he saw your face and discovered -who you were." - -"Alfred, I never felt so proud in all my life before. To think that a -strong man like him should go about shaking in his shoes at sight of -me is quite romantic. I must cultivate all kinds of dark and -forbidding looks. I feel that I could act the bravo if I only had a -cloak and a dagger and the divided skirt." - -"Well, good-morning, Hetty. I am glad you will have no chance of -terrifying him for a fortnight, anyway;" and off he went. - -"That brother of mine," thought the girl, as she prepared to remove -the breakfast-things, "is the very best man in the world. He is the -most kind-hearted and generous fellow that ever breathed. But with -respect to this Mr. Crawford, he has some strange prejudice which I -cannot understand. I never knew him absolutely dislike a man before. -He has not gone so far as to say that he absolutely dislikes him, but -I feel sure he does." - -As soon as the breakfast-things were removed and washed up, it was -time to go out on the wharf and hand Freddie to Bramwell. This was -now so well-established a custom that it created little excitement -even in Freddie's mind. At about half-past ten Bramwell pushed the -floating-stage across the bay, went over, said a few words to Hetty, -took the boy, and returned with him. Then he hauled the stage back to -its moorings on the Ait, put Freddie into the timber-yard, where Frank -was already, fastened the gate, and went to his work in his study. At -half-past two he restored the boy to Hetty. The Layards breakfasted -late, and had not their midday meal till three. For the convenience of -the children, Bramwell adopted the same hour for his midday meal. - -"Mr. Bramwell," said Hetty that day as she handed the boy to him, "I -am sure I do not know how we are to allow this to continue longer. -Freddie goes over to you every day, and you will not let Frank come -over to us once even. I am afraid either of us is selfish." - -"Selfish? How, selfish?" He smiled as he looked up from the stage into -the girl's face. - -"Well, we seem to give you all the trouble of these two boys, which -makes us seem selfish in one way, and you seem to wish to take all the -trouble of them, which is selfish in another way. I am afraid we are -both very bad. I give you one more chance," she said, shaking a -warning finger at him. "To-morrow I am going to a toy-shop a little -bit down the Welford Road, and I intend to take Freddie with me to buy -him a Noah's ark in place of the one he lost----" - -"The cat flew away with it and ate the elephant and lion," said -Freddie. - -"And, of course, Freddie can't go over----" - -"Not even after dinner?" cried the boy. - -"No. Nor must you go over again unless Frank is allowed to come with -us to the toy-shop." - -"I'll bring him," said the boy confidently. "Frank will come with me. -We'll play Frank is a canal boat, and that I'm a horse, and I'll tow -him all the way." - -"But if his father won't give him leave?" said Hetty. - -"O, he'll come!" said Freddie, with decision. "Frank always plays what -I ask him. And will you get a Noah's ark for Frank too, Aunt Hetty?" - -"Of course. Mr. Bramwell, you will let the child come? You will, won't -you?" She held both her hands out to him pleadingly. - -His eyes were still upon her face. She looked so bright and strong and -full of spirits, it appeared as though the touch of her hand upon his -boy must benefit the child. He hesitated for a moment, and said, "Very -well, and thank you heartily, Miss Layard," and so the interview -ended. - -Bramwell carried the boy along the stage and put him into the yard, -where Frank was impatiently waiting. Then he came back, drew the stage -to its position alongside the islet, and moored it to the ring in the -ground. After this he went back to the cottage and buried himself in -his work. Unless something unusual occurred in the yard he might count -on three-and-a-half uninterrupted hours. From where he sat he could -hear the voices of the children at play. If anything went amiss he -would be at once apprised by his ears. - -As Hetty got into the small back hall from which the door opened on -the quay there was a sound at the front-door. A key had been thrust -into the latch and was being turned. - -"Alfred coming back for something he has forgotten," thought Hetty, -hurrying to meet him. - -The door swung open and Mr. William Crawford pulled out his key, took -off his hat, and bowed. - -Hetty stepped back with an exclamation of surprise. - -"You are surprised to see me, Miss Layard. Of course you are -surprised; but I hope you are not displeased?" - -He bowed with grave deference to her. - -"Displeased?" she said, with a gallant attempt at a smile. "O dear, -no! Why should I be displeased? When I heard the key in the door I -made sure it was my brother coming back for something he had -forgotten; and you know I had no reason to expect you." She now smiled -without effort. She had recovered self-possession. "Will you come in -here, or would you prefer going to your own rooms?" - -"I do not want to go to my own lair to-day, Miss Layard," he said, as -he followed her into their own sitting-room. "In fact, I am here by -the merest accident, and I do not know that you will not laugh at me -when I tell you why." He thought, "By Jove! what a contrast to some -one in Singleton Terrace, Richmond! She is much more lovely than I -thought her. I never saw her look so beautiful. Exquisite, exquisite -Hetty!" - -"Why do you think I shall laugh?" she asked. - -"Because I came here owing to a dream I had last night. A most -horrible dream! I am not superstitious, but this dream impressed me." -Crawford did not act on the principle that all women are alike. He -always considered every woman who interested him as a being the like -of whom he had never met before, one requiring special study and -special treatment. When he wooed his wife he always kept before him -the idea that she was tender and affectionate. Of Hetty he said to -himself, "She is imaginative and ardent." - -"A dream? It must have been a very remarkable dream that made you come -so far." - -"Yes, a most remarkable and unpleasant dream. I thought in my sleep -that some one--I knew not whom at first--had wandered out of the house -through the door on the Bay by night, and, turning to the left, went -near the open door of that flooded ice-house. There are two doorways -to the ice-house and no door. I thought I was standing at the further -one from this. The figure drew close to the nearer doorway, and I saw -that the wanderer was a somnambulist, and was quite unaware of any -danger. I thought I tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound. I -thought I tried to rush forward, but could not move. I was half mad -with terror, for as the figure drew near me I recognised who it was. -The figure kept on until it reached the raised threshold of the -ice-house. It stepped upon the sill of the doorway, and all at once I -heard a scream and a splash; and I looked in and saw the figure -struggling in the water. I strove with all my might to wrest myself -free from the leaden weights that held my feet. The face of the figure -was turned up to me, and I could see the golden hair and the lovely -cheek and the wonderful blue eyes, and I heard a voice, the sweetest -and dearest voice I ever heard, cry out in agony, 'Save me! Save me! -O, Mr. Crawford, won't you try to save me?' and I wrenched and -struggled, and at last I tore myself free, and with a great shout I -awoke, terrified and trembling, and in a cold perspiration. And I -could not sleep again." - -"What a horrible dream!" cried the girl, with blanched face, and eyes -wide open with dismay. - -"It was terrible, indeed. But, Miss Layard, all I have told you was to -me nothing compared with what I have yet to tell." - -She drew back trembling, and feeling faint. - -"Do you know who the drowning person that I could not succour was?" - -"No," whispered the girl. - -"You." - -"I?" - -"Yes; you!" - -The girl drew back another pace, and shuddered; she seemed about to -faint. - -"It was your face I saw, and you were in peril of death! and I--_I_ -was looking on and could not help you. Great heavens! fancy my finding -you in want of aid in my view, and I not able to help you! All the -horrible dreams of my life put together would not equal the anguish, -the insupportable agony, of that." - -He took out his handkerchief, breathed heavily--as though the memory -of his nightmare was almost as bad as the nightmare itself--and then -wiped his forehead laboriously with the handkerchief. After this he -sat for a while, leaning back in his chair with a hand resting on each -knee, as though to recover himself. In a few seconds he rose with the -affectation of an affected briskness, intended to convey that he was -struggling against emotions that overcame him. He said, with a wan -smile: - -"So I came straight here to have doors put on those hateful doorways. -I knew you would laugh at me." - -"Indeed, I do not laugh at you! That dream was enough to upset any -one." - -He shook his head, conveying by the shaking of his head and the -expression of his face the idea that, great as might be her power of -realising his sufferings, they were infinitely greater than she could -imagine. - -Then he shook the whole of his body to rouse himself out of his -lethargy, and establish himself in her mind as a man of action. He -begged of her to get him a piece of string, and when she had found him -some he asked her to favour him by accompanying him to the ice-house, -and aid him in taking measurements for the doors to block up the -yawning death traps, as he called the doorways. - -He could not reach the lintel of the doors without something on which -to stand. He asked her to hold the string for him till he came back, -and went to the kitchen and fetched a chair. He mounted on the chair, -and asked her to draw the string taut to the ground, and knot the -point at which the string touched the raised threshold. - -"There were double doors here once, but single doors will do now," he -said. - -When he had completed his measurement he said: - -"I shall go from this to the carpenter and leave orders for the doors. -I shall come back in a week to see them put up." - -For a few minutes he seemed to fall into a profound reverie, and then, -waking up all at once, looked at her with eyes full of terror, and, -pointing into the flooded ice-house said hoarsely: - -"Hetty, it was in there I saw you drowning! Do you know what that -sight meant to me, girl?" He bent close to her ear and answered his -own question in a whisper: - -"Madness!" - -Then, without another word, he hurried away, leaving her amazed, -breathless, not knowing what to think of him, and all he had been -saying, and not able to think of anything else. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - - "MAN OVERBOARD!" - - -When Hetty recovered from the astonishment into which Mr. William -Crawford's words and manner had cast her, the first fact which struck -her memory was that he had called her Hetty. That might, no doubt, be -excused in a man of his time of life to a girl of hers (she considered -his thirty-six years entitled him to be considered quite middle-aged). -But she would have felt more comfortable if the question had not been -raised at all. It was, she urged in mitigation, to be taken into -account that he spoke under great excitement and in haste. But, after -all, the thing was not worth a moment's thought. - -There was, however, a fact worth considering. This man, sleeping or -waking, did seem to have a special care of the lives of others. Had he -not rescued his wife from fire?--and here now was this dream, this -dreadful dream about the odious old ice-house. No doubt some men were -born with a natural taste for encountering risks, but her inclination -did not lead her to plunge into burning houses or flooded ice-houses. -For her part she would rather run away twenty miles. - -And then what were these words he had said about herself? Now that -they came back to her they seemed foolish, impertinent, and she ought -to have been angry with him for laughing at her. But no; he had not -been laughing at her. He could not laugh at anything on earth after -having such an awful dream, and no doubt what he had said of herself -was only his exaggerated way of describing how terribly hard he had -wanted to save the drowning woman. But there was no person really -drowning, and it would be nonsense not to forget the whole interview -with him. - -Yet it could hardly be got rid of in that way, for how would Alfred -take it? The whole affair was very provoking and horrible, and she -felt disposed to cry. Perhaps Alfred was right in his first estimate -of Crawford, and he was a little mad. - -Yes, clearly the man ought to be in a lunatic asylum, and not allowed -to go about the country dreaming and terrifying people. - -She had no doubt that in a few minutes a procession of men, carrying -planks on their shoulders and bags of tools in their hands, would -arrive and make the place unbearable with noise and chips. - -Hetty would have made her mind quite easy on the last score if she -could have seen into the mind of William Crawford as he left the door. -For he had no more notion of going to any carpenter that day about the -job than he had of flinging himself off Welford Bridge into the South -London Canal. What he did intend doing was, to come back in a week and -say he found the wretched carpenters to whom he had given the order -had wholly misunderstood him and botched the job. This would be -economical as far as the doors were concerned, and would give him -another interview with Hetty. - -He had no notion of keeping his promise to his wife either. What could -be easier and more pleasant than to enjoy a few hours' freedom in -town, and tell her on his return to Richmond that the difficulties to -be overcome at the ice-house were much greater than he had -anticipated, and that he had been most grievously delayed against his -will. - -From a map he had discovered, since his former visit, that he could -come or go by water. At the end of one of the Pine Groves lay the -Mercantile Pier, and Crawford turned in that direction, resolved to -get to town by river. - -It pleased him to know that there were two ways of approaching his -office, and the line from Crawford's House to the Mercantile Pier was -directly away from Camberwell, whereas the route by road was only at -right angles to it. - -"I think what I said to Hetty must create some effect," he thought, as -he walked with brisk footstep and alert body. "It did all I intended -anyway. She may, when she gets over her surprise, be either pleased or -indignant; but she cannot be indifferent, she is too imaginative for -that." - -He passed by the Neptune public-house, and entered the Pine Grove -leading to the Mercantile Pier. He had no need to ask his way: he -carried the map of the place in his head. - -Here on either side of him rose the tall black palings. The path -between them was only a footway, and wound along sinuously for half a -mile between the great docks on either side. The path bent so acutely -that it was impossible to see further than a hundred yards before or -behind. - -To Crawford, who was always expecting to find Philip Ray spring forth, -feel a burning sting, hear a report, and know that vengeance had -overtaken him at last, this characteristic had one great advantage: it -left both his sides protected. He could be approached only from the -front or rear. - -The place was very secret and retired. There was not a sound beyond -the far-off hum of the city. Spying through the chinks in the palings -one could see nothing but broken dark grey ground littered with all -kinds of odds and ends of timber and metal objects, looking as dreary -and deserted and forlorn as a locked-up and deserted graveyard. -Overhead spread the faint blue sky, with the sun behind a dull grey -cloud, and above the paling to right and left, and, as it were, rising -from hulls lying far off inland, the lofty motionless spars of great -ships in the stillness of the upper air. - -From the time Crawford entered the Pine Grove until he had got more -than half-way through he encountered no one. Then all at once he -became aware that he was gradually overtaking a woman who was walking -in front, and that footsteps which he had heard for some time behind -him were gradually gaining upon him. - -With him every unknown woman was an object of curiosity: every unknown -man Philip Ray. The woman in front was poorly clad, and walked with -lagging step and dejected head. She did not promise to interest him. -He turned round. The man was not Philip Ray. Without further thought -of either he continued his walk. - -Presently the man was level with him, and said, "Beg pardon, sir, but -I saw you pass the Neptune, and I thought I'd ask you if you had any -odd job hereabout on your property." - -Crawford started and looked sharply at the man out of his dark furtive -eyes. The speaker he recognised as the man who had acted as his guide, -and explained to him the means of Philip Ray's mysterious -disappearance from the tow-path. - -"No," he said sharply, "I have no job," and turned away to show he did -not wish to be spoken to again. - -"Perhaps, sir, you don't know the stage is off?" - -"What!" cried Crawford, stopping and confronting the man. "What do you -mean by the stage being off?" He remembered that Red Jim had told him -about the floating stage at Boland's Ait. Could it be that the -floating bridge had been removed, and that Ray's visit to the islet -and its idiotic owner had ceased? or that the owner had taken himself -away? - -Jim pointed down the Grove. "The stage that goes from the land to the -pier had to be taken away for repairs, and you have to get from the -shore to the pier in a small boat, and when the tide is low, as it is -now, you have to go down a long ladder so as to get to the bed of the -river, and from the bed of the river to the small boat; and people -with plenty of money don't care about doing that. So when I saw you -turn into the Grove I thought I'd come and tell you, as I felt sure if -you knew you wouldn't think of going by boat, and I remembered you -gave me two tanners a fortnight ago." - -"Then I won't give you anything now," said Crawford sharply, as he -resumed his way. His anger had been aroused by the hopes raised and -cast down by Red Jim's two speeches about the stage. - -"Not as much as a tanner?" - -"Not as much as half a farthing. I made a very bad bargain the last -time, and this must be given in with what you did before. Besides, -this is no use to me, for I intend going by boat all the same. -Good-day. If you beg again I shall call the police." - -The man abated his pace with a malediction, and Crawford went on, Red -Jim followed him slowly, cursing his own luck. - -The delay caused by the dialogue with Red Jim had given the woman a -good start, and by the time Crawford reached the head of the ladder -the woman was in the act of being handed into the small boat. - -When Crawford looked down he was very sorry he had not given Red Jim -sixpence for his news and advice, and gone back by land. But it was -too late to retrace his steps. He felt a dogged determination not to -give Jim anything or be jeered at by him. - -Half the descent was easy enough, as it was by rude wooden stairs; but -the other half had to be accomplished by means of a broad ladder of -very muddy, slippery, and rotten looking steps. The foreshore, too, -looked muddy, slimy, uninviting, and here and there was steaming in an -unpleasant manner under the influence of the sun, now shining clearly -between vast plains of pale grey clouds. - -Crawford hated boats for two reasons. First, he couldn't pull; and, -second, he always felt nervous in them, and he could not swim. - -However, there was not much time for liking or disliking, for the men -in the small boat beckoned him to come on. There were already in the -boat the crew of two men, the woman who had preceded him down the -lane, and six other women. - -With repugnance he descended to the foreshore, and with repugnance and -difficulty got into the boat. All the passengers except one were aft. - -Crawford took a seat on the starboard side, next to the woman who had -preceded him down the Grove. - -She took no notice of his coming aboard. She appeared unconscious of -everything round her. She wore a thick black veil, and kept her head -bowed upon her chest, giving him the idea that she suffered from some -deformity, or disease, or dire calamity. She clasped her elbow in one -hand, her arm across her chest, and her other hand across her eyes. -The moment she entered the boat she had assumed this posture, and had -not moved since. - -Her attitude was the result of two causes: her eyes were weak from -recent illness, and she was suffering from incurable sorrows. - -Her clothes were worn and betokened poverty, her purse penury. Under -her thin frayed dress her shoulders bore marks of recent scratches; -under the bosom of her dress her heart bore open wounds of anguish. -She was on her way to a free hospital about her eyes. - -Disease had lately threatened her life, but even Death refused to have -her. At what she believed to be her last hour she provided for her -only child, the apple of her eye, her solitary joy, by placing him in -safety, but beyond the power of a recalling cry from her lips. She had -then put aside money for her sepulchre. - -Death had disdained her, and she was now wandering about alone with -the vast world as a tomb and a solitude, and a broken heart and the -fate of an outcast, and the undying gnawing remorse for company, with -for the sustentation of her living body the money she had devised for -its decay. An illness had taken away her voice, which was her bread. - -Just as the boat shoved off, Red Jim reached the head of the stairs, -and stood there regarding the progress of his patron. He noticed that -the ebb tide was running very fast, and that the men kept the boat -heading a little up stream to make allowance for leeway. He noticed -that Crawford was the last passenger on the starboard side, and that, -therefore, he would be on the inside when the boat got alongside. "I -hope," thought Red Jim, "that there's some nice fresh paint or a nice -long nail waiting for him when he's going up the side." - -He saw the boat touch the side, and Crawford stagger instantly to his -feet. He saw him sway to and fro, and then suddenly fall back against -the hulk, boom the boat off with his legs, and drop overboard between -the boat and the hulk. - -Red Jim uttered a loud shout of triumph, and then began shouting and -dancing like mad for joy. - -"He'll shoot in under the hulk and be drowned!" cried Red Jim -exultingly. - -Then an oath: - -"That ---- woman's got him! - -"Catch him! Hold him!" cried the boatmen. "Hold on for your life or -he'll be sucked under!" - -The veiled woman had seized the sinking man and thrown herself on her -knees--was holding on with all the power of her enfeebled arms. - -"Trim the boat! Trim the boat, ---- you, or she'll capsize! On deck, -there!" shouted the boatman to the hulk. - -By this time aid had come from the deck, and the submerged man had -been seized by the hooks and had hold of a line. Up to this the -boatmen had been completely powerless, for all the women had crowded -to the starboard side, and bore down the boat's gunwale until it -washed level with the water, and if the men attempted to get near the -starboard side aft the boat must have gone over at once. And now the -passengers went on board the hulk. - -When the woman who had saved him was relieved of his weight, she gave -a loud cry, and fell back fainting in the boat. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - - REWARD FOR A LIFE. - - -Two men came down from deck and carried the fainting woman up, and -brought her into the pier-master's little room, and left her to the -kindly offices of some sympathetic women; while the two boatmen -dragged the half-stunned, half-drowned Crawford out of the river over -the stern of the boat, and then, after allowing some of the water to -run out of his clothes, helped him up the accommodation-ladder to the -deck of the hulk. - -Here men squeezed his clothes and rubbed him down, and told him how -thankful he ought to be that he had not been drowned, as he was within -an ace of being drawn under the hulk, and if once that had happened -his chance of ever seeing daylight again would have been small indeed. -Was he a good swimmer? - -No, he could not swim a yard. - -Well, then, he had better for the future keep out of the water. Yes, -of course he had lost his hat; but a sou'wester of the pierman's was -at his service temporarily. No? He wouldn't have it? Very well. Better -any day lose one's hat than one's life. He was very wet indeed; but, -then, when a man has been in the river one must expect to turn out wet -upon fetching port. - -Why had his position been so very dangerous? Was it more dangerous -than that of a man falling overboard under ordinary circumstances? - -A thousand times. For he had fallen against the hulk and boomed off -the boat, and in booming her off his back had slid down the side of -the hulk until his heels were higher than his head, and as he left the -boat his heels, driven by the force of the tide on the sheer of the -boat, would thrust him inward and downwards and so under the bottom of -the hulk, and then good-bye to him, particularly as he could not swim. - -And how then came he to be saved? - -Why, by the woman laying hold of him just as he slipped out, and -sticking to him; for, owing to the list to starboard the passengers -gave the boat, the boatmen durst not move, or she'd capsize for -certain. - -The woman laying hold of him? It was all dark to him. - -Of course it was all dark to him, and a good job it had ever come -light to him again. Why, the woman who had sat beside him! A poor -sorrowful-looking creature, who wore a veil and kept her hands across -her eyes. - -He had noticed her. And where was she now? - -In the master's room in a dead faint. She had fainted the moment they -told her she might let him go. She looked a poor soul that had had her -troubles, and if he thought well of doing such a thing, perhaps he -might do worse than give her a trifle by way of reward. - -A trifle! A trifle for saving his life! He could and he would reward -her most handsomely. Had she recovered yet? - -It was believed not. And now they had squeezed all they could out of -him--unless he'd like to give them something for their trouble, for -they had to go back at once. - -He handed a wet and clammy five-pound note to be divided as they -thought best among themselves. - -He was generous, for had not a great life been at stake? - -Was he going ashore, or going on? He had better get dry clothes. - -He should stay until that woman was well enough to receive the reward -for the great services she had rendered him. - -The boatmen descended the accommodation-ladder, and Crawford, partly -to keep off a chill and partly to prevent the people on the pier from -accosting him, began walking up and down the deck at a brisk rate. - -He had two reasons for not going to Welford for dry clothes. First, he -did not wish to weaken the effect of his visit and words of that -morning by so early a reappearance; and second, he did not care to -present himself to Hetty in his miserable and undignified plight. - -When he had money he liked carrying large sums about with him, for he -never felt so sure of the possession of it as when he could tap a -pocket-book containing a sheaf of notes. - -He made up his mind to give this woman fifty pounds, for had she not -done him the greatest service any man, woman or child ever performed -towards him? had she not saved his life, and was she not worthy of the -highest reward he could pay? He had no more than fifty pounds and some -broken money. - -In a few minutes the pier-master, who had heard him speak of the -reward, came and said the poor woman had fully recovered, and asked if -Crawford would wish to see her. - -"By all means. I must get these wet clothes off as soon as possible. -When is the next boat up?" - -"In about five or ten minutes." The pier-master moved off, and -returned immediately to say the woman was ready and willing to receive -him. Adding, "It's a kind of thing we'd like to see done, as we saw -her save your life, and know you are open-handed and have a good -heart; but she says she'd rather there was only you two." - -"Alone!" said Crawford in a tone of surprise. "It is a kind of thing -generally done openly. Did you tell her I wished to give her a -reward?" - -"Yes, sir. She said you would know before you left her why she -preferred no one should be present." - -"Well," said Crawford, who felt that this was an attempt to keep the -generosity of his gift from the eyes of others, "I am going to give -her these five tenners." He held out the notes in his hand and turned -them over, and then, still keeping them in his hand lest some one -might suspect a trick, stepped into the pier-master's private room or -cabin. - -It was a very tiny room, with a small table in the middle, a -writing-table in one of the two windows, and three chairs. There -seemed to be no space for moving about. Even if the chairs were out of -the way, two people could not walk abreast round the centre table. - -Standing with her back to the second window Crawford found the woman -who had saved his life less than half-an-hour ago. Her veil, which had -been disarranged in the struggle, was now close drawn. - -With the notes in one hand and holding out the other to grasp hers in -his gratitude, he was about to advance, when she held up her hand and -said in a hoarse dull voice, "No nearer. I have been very ill. It is -safer our hands should not meet." - -He sprang back as far as the walls would allow. He had the most -intense horror of contagious diseases. He was now in the most fervent -haste to bring the interview to an end. He would freely have given -another fifty to be out of that room. - -"I merely wished to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the -noble manner in which you snatched my life from death, to offer you -this fifty pounds as a small token of the esteem in which I hold the -services you have rendered me;" he shook the notes, but did not -advance his hand any nearer to the centre of contagion; "and to say -that my everlasting gratitude must be yours." He could always make a -little speech. - -"There was a time," she said in her peculiar hoarse, dull voice, "when -I should have been very glad to take those fifty pounds--ay, as many -shillings--from you, but I cannot take them now." - -"There was a time!" said he, surprised, and interested notwithstanding -his fear of disease; "surely I could not have had the privilege of -offering them to you longer ago than an hour." - -"You could," she said, "and you ought." - -"May I ask," said he, fairly carried away by curiosity, "if the -disease of which you speak was of a nervous character?" - -"You mean, was my mind affected?" - -"Yes, if you choose to put it that way?" - -"It was, but unfortunately I have not been in an asylum; even the -grave that they told me was gaping for me closed of its own accord. It -was the last door open to me, and it is shut now." - -"But if your disease was mental, I cannot understand why we might not -shake hands; why I might not shake the hand of my rescuer." - -"Because she could not touch yours. It is in _your_ hand the -contamination lies." - -"Poor creature!" he thought, "mad!--quite mad! To say such a thing of -me, who am never ill--of the soundest man in London! I, who take such -care not to be ill!" He laughed one of his short sharp laughs, and -said aloud, "Contagion in my hand! And who am I?" - -"I do not know who you are _now_." At the emphasised word he sprang -into the air off the ground as though he had been shot, and then took -a pace towards her, and paused and looked furtively at the door. - -Was she, too, armed? - -She also took a pace forward. They were not now two yards apart. With -a scornful gesture she tore the veil from before her face and, looking -into his, cried, "And who am _I?_" - -The face was haggard and blotched. - -He sprang back against the wall, crying: - -"Good heavens, Kate, this is not you!" - -"Yes, this is Kate. I saved your life to-day, and you offer me fifty -pounds. How glad I should have been to get as many shillings when you -left me and my child to starve in America! I saved your life to-day, -and you offer me a reward. I will take it----" - -He held out the notes to her. - -She pushed his hand aside with a laugh. - -"The reward I want you to give me cannot be bought for money--not even -for your splendid fifty pounds. I saved your life to-day; give me for -reward my husband and my child, and my innocence. It is a fair demand. -You cannot give me less, John Ainsworth." - -She thrust her hand suddenly into her pocket. - -"She is armed!" he cried, and, bursting from the room, he leaped -aboard a steamer then a foot from the pier on its way up to London. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - - A NEW VISITOR AT CRAWFORD'S HOUSE. - - -When Red Jim saw Crawford hauled out of the water and aided up the -side of the hulk his interest in maritime affairs was over. He had -gone down to the end of the Pine Grove in the hope that Crawford would -change his mind, and adopt the land route when he saw how uninviting -the means of getting to the steamboat looked. In case Crawford came -back he might fairly count on getting sixpence, surly as the other had -been to him. But now there was no chance of anything good, not even of -Crawford being drowned. Red Jim looked up at the sky as though -reproaching heaven with doing him ill-turns, faced right about and -began retracing his fruitless steps. - -As he walked he reflected that it was not every day one saw a -gentleman fall into the river and rescued. He had seen this sight -to-day, and, moreover, as far as the shore was concerned, he had had -the monopoly of the spectacle. Then after a long pause he asked -himself was it not possible to convert his unique position into a -little money? - -Once more he turned those vacant blue eyes of his up to the sky, not -this time, however, in reproach, but in appeal for light. - -Suddenly he shook his head with the quick short jerk of determination, -and quickened his pace. "Why, of course," he said out loud, "I'll go -to Crawford's House, and tell them about it, and they'll give me a -tanner for my kindness." So he hastened along until he arrived at the -shabby green door, and then he knocked. - -Hetty opened the door, and seeing a strange man, who looked as though -he had a right to come there, concluded he had called about the -ice-house. "O!" said she, "you've called about those gates, have you?" - -"Hallo!" thought Jim, "there may be another tanner in this. Let's -see." All Jim's thoughts ran on tanners. A shilling was two tanners, -half-a-crown five, a sovereign ever so many. In the case between him -and the young lady at the door caution was the great thing. He must -take care not to commit himself. So he said nothing, but looked round -as though in search of the gates. - -"Come this way," said Hetty, observing the glance of search, "and I -will show you the place." - -"Yes, ma'am," said Red Jim, entering the house and following Hetty -through it to the little quay beyond. - -"These are the doorways that Mr. Crawford wishes to have boarded up," -said Hetty, pronouncing the name with an effort, for she was still in -tumult and perplexity about his visit and words. - -"Yes, ma'am," said Red Jim with extreme deference, and looking full at -her with his wide, open expressionless blue eyes, but moving no -muscle, showing no sign of taking action. - -The girl was highly strung, and his impassive stolidity irritated her. - -"Well, what are you going to do?" she asked briskly. - -"Whatever you like, ma'am," he answered with gallantry and -impartiality. - -"Whatever _I_ like!" she cried impatiently. "I have nothing to do with -it. What did Mr. Crawford say to you about this place. There can be no -mistake, I suppose--you saw him to-day?" - -"I did." - -"And what did he say to you about this?" pointing to the gaping -gateway. - -"Nothing." - -The girl stared at him in angry surprise. "Then why did you come -here?" - -"To tell you, ma'am, that Mr. Crawford fell in the river. I thought -you'd like to know that." - -"Mr. Crawford fell into the river! You thought _I_ would like to know -_that!_ What do you mean?" Hetty was beginning to get confused and a -little frightened. There was first of all Crawford's visit, then his -account of his horrible dream of her drowning, then his strange, -impudent words to her; now came this dreadful-looking man to say that -_Crawford_ had fallen into the river, and, last of all, she would be -glad to hear he had fallen into the river? "Why do you think I would -be glad to hear that Mr. Crawford fell into the river?" - -"Well, he lives here, and when people fall into the river the folk -they live with are mostly glad to hear of it." - -"O," thought the girl, with a feeling of relief at finding that no -mysterious net was closing round her, "so you only came to tell me the -news?" - -"And to tell you more news." - -"What is it?" - -"That he was got out again." - -"Of course." - -"But you didn't know until I told you." - -"Certainly I did. If he hadn't been taken out you would have said he -was drowned." - -This was a sore blow to Red Jim. It had occurred to him as a brilliant -idea to split up his news into two parts. First, that Crawford had -fallen in; second, that Crawford had been dragged out. He had a vague -hope that, treated in this way, the news might be worth two tanners, -as it consisted of two items. It now occurred to him that in future he -ought to say a man was drowned, get his reward, and then, as a second -item, say that it had been for a long time believed he was drowned, -but that it was at last found out he wasn't. In the present case, -however, he thought he had better make the best of things as they -were. He told her then exactly what had happened as far as he had been -able to see, and assured her he had run every step of the way and was -mortal dry, and he hoped she'd consider his trouble and good -intentions. - -She gave him sixpence. - -"And how much this job, ma'am? he asked, pointing to the gateways. - -"I have nothing to do with that. When you knocked I thought Mr. -Crawford had sent you." - -"Well, he as good as sent me. Only he fell in, I'd never have come -here." - -"But you have done nothing, and you are to do nothing, and I have -nothing to do with it," said the girl, a little apprehensively. They -were alone on the quay at the back of the house, and there was not a -soul in the house but herself and this ragged, rugged, red-bearded, -rusty-necked man, who was asking her for money he had no claim to, and -asking her for it on, no doubt, the knowledge of their isolation. - -"There's my time, though, ma'am," said Red Jim firmly. "You call me -in, and you say there's the gate, and I do all I can for you." - -"But you have done nothing at all. Why should I pay you for doing -nothing? I thought you were Mr. Crawford's man." - -The girl was now becoming fairly alarmed. Suppose this horrible man -should become violent? - -"Some one must pay me for my time, ma'am. I'm only a poor labouring -man trying to earn his bread, and if people go and take up my time, -how am I to earn my bread by the sweat of my brow, or any other way? -That's what I want to know." - -He stood in front of her: between her and the door of the house. - -The girl now became fairly frightened. She was by no means timid by -nature. But here was she hidden from the view of any one, alone with -this rugged, threatening, desperate man. No one on the tow-path could -see them, because Boland's Ait intervened. Worst of all, she had not -any money. The sixpence she had given him was the last coin in her -possession; still, she tried to look brave. - -"If you want any money for this job as you call it, go to Mr. Crawford -for it." - -"How do I know where to find Mr. Crawford?" - -"He lives at Richmond." - -"He lives here, and my principle is cash--no tick. A nice thing, -indeed, to expect a poor labouring man to give his time and anxiety of -mind to jobs, and then tell him to go to Richmond for his money! Is -that justice or fair-play?" - -"Well, I tell you that you must go to him. I have no money." She was -beginning to feel faint and giddy. - -"No money, and live in a house like that!" he cried, pointing up to -the old dilapidated habitation to which the late owner of the place -had given his name. "Why, how could any one keep up a house like that -without lots of money?" - -Red Jim's notion of the probable financial result of this interview -had enlarged considerably since it had begun. He had talked himself -into the conviction that he had an honest claim for compensation for -loss of time, and he saw that they were in a lonely place, that this -girl was frightened, and that there was no succour for her near at -hand. He now put down the result of his inspection of the ice-house at -four tanners. - -"I tell you I have no money," she repeated, feeling sick, "and you -must go away at once." - -"Look here, ma'am; what am I going to do with the rest of my day if I -get nothing for this?" He hadn't done a day's work for months. "The -rest of my day is no sort of use to me. I own I haven't been here half -a day, but half a day is gone, all the same, and I couldn't think of -taking less than two shillings; it's against the rules of my Society -to take less that two shillings for half a day, anyhow." - -"I tell you once for all, I have no money." - -She began to tremble. She had never before been in such an alarming -situation as this. She was afraid to threaten lest he should at once -seize her and fling her headlong into the ice-house, where there would -be no William Crawford or anybody else to rescue her. She could have -borne the thought of death with comparative fortitude, but the girl's -dainty senses revolted from the notion of contact with this foul and -hideous being. She felt that if he touched her she should die. - -"Nice thing for you to say!" cried the man angrily. "Take a poor man -in here and steal--yes, steal--half a day from him, and then say you -have no money!" - -Up to this he had been importunate, then angry, but he had not -threatened. Now he advanced a step, and shaking his fist at her, said: - -"Look here, if you don't just pay me what you owe me I'll----" - -The girl screamed, and at the same time, as if by magic, Red Jim -disappeared from her sight. - -She looked down. - -Red Jim was rolling and writhing on the ground, felled by a blow from -behind. - -She looked up. Francis Bramwell stood before her, pallid with -indignation. - -"This blackguard has been annoying you, Miss Layard," said he, -spurning the prostrate man with his foot. - -"O, thank you, Mr. Bramwell! I thought he was going to kill me." - -"I came out to fetch Freddie back, but found it wasn't quite time, and -then I heard your voice and this wretch's angry words, and came round -and crossed. He hasn't _touched_ you?" asked Bramwell fiercely. The -whole man was roused now, and he looked large in stature and -irresistible in force. - -"O, no! He has not touched me, but he threatened me, and I felt as -though I should die." - -"What shall I do with him. Give him to the police?" - -"Don't do that, guv'nor," said the prostrate man. He had made no -attempt to rise. He did not want to have his other ear deaf and the -inside of his head at the other side ringing like a sledge-bell. -"Don't do that, guv'nor, for they have something against me about a -trifle of canvas and a few copper bolts I never had anything to do -with." - -"Very well. Now, Miss Layard, if you will go into the house, I'll -attend to this gentleman. I shall take him across my place to the -tow-path, and then come back to see how you are." - -"But you won't harm him, Mr. Bramwell?" asked Hetty in a tremulous -voice as she moved away. - -"You hear what the lady says?" whined Jim. "Good, kind lady, don't go -away and leave me to him. He has half killed me already, and if you -leave me to him he'll murder me. Do let me go through your house. I -was only joking. Indeed, it was only a little joke, and I only went on -as I did to make your beautiful face smile. That's all, indeed." - -"I promise you, Miss Layard, not to hurt him in the least. He shall be -much better off when he leaves me than he is now." - -Hetty went into the house. - -"He's going to pay me the half day's wages," thought Jim, as at -Bramwell's bidding he rose from the ground and crossed over to -Boland's Ait. Bramwell led the way to the canal side of the islet. - -"How much did you claim from that lady?" asked Bramwell, who knew -nothing of the justness of the demand. - -"Two shillings, fairly earned and fairly due," answered Jim, his heart -expanding under the hope of tanners. "You will not keep a poor working -man out of his own?" - -"I'll pay you. But first you must answer me one question: Can you -swim?" He took a two-shilling piece out of his pocket. - -"I can, sir," said Jim eagerly. "I can do almost anything." - -Bramwell flung the coin across the canal to the tow-path, crying, -"Then swim for that." - -"But, sir----" - -"In you go, clothes and all, and if ever I find you here again I'll -hand you over to your friends the police. Don't keep standing there, -or I'll heave you in. Do as you are told, sir. The washing and cooling -will do you good." - -And seeing there was no chance of escape, and fearing some one might -come by and steal the coin, Red Jim dived into the dark turbid waters -and crossed to the opposite shore. - -When Bramwell saw the man safely out of the canal he turned away, and, -having crossed by the stage, entered for the first time Crawford's -House--the house of the man who had wrecked his home and his happiness -and his life three years before. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - - A BRIDGE OF SIGHS. - - -When Bramwell entered Crawford's House the first sight that met his -eyes was the form of Hetty Layard lying prone on the floor of the -passage. - -With a cry of dismay he sprang to her and raised her. He looked round -for help and called out, but there was no succour in sight; no -response came to his cry. He took her up and carried her into the -sitting-room, and laid her on the couch. - -"I might have guessed she would faint," he moaned; "and now what am I -to do?" - -There was water on the table laid for dinner. He sprinkled some on her -face. "What am I to do? Shall I run for help?" he cried, looking -frantically round the room. - -At that moment there was the sound of a latch-key in the door. -Bramwell rushed out eagerly into the passage, saying to himself, "This -must be either her brother or Mr. Crawford; Philip told me there are -only two keys." - -If instead of going up the river in the steamboat Crawford had come -back to Welford, he would have arrived at about this time. - -The front door opened, and a man with a remarkably long beard entered, -and for an instant stood looking in speechless amazement at the other -man. - -"My name is Bramwell. Your sister has fainted. She is in the front -room." - -"Fainted!" cried Alfred Layard in alarm, as he dashed past the other. - -At that moment Hetty opened her eyes and sighed. - -"Hetty, Hetty, dear Hetty! what is this. What is the matter?" - -Bramwell remained in the passage. He walked up and down in great -agitation. - -"I don't know what happened," said the girl, in a weak, tremulous -voice. - -Her brother got some wine, and made her drink a little. - -"Try and remember, dear," said Layard with passionate tenderness. "Did -any accident occur? Drink just a little more. Did you get a fright, -dear? Has anything happened to the boy?" - -"No, Alfred. O, I am better now. I remember it all. A dreadful man -terrified me, and Mr. Bramwell came to my assistance, and I ran into -the house; and I can remember no more." - -Bramwell, hearing voices, knew that Hetty had recovered, and that he -could be of no further use; so he stole quietly out of the house, and -returned to his own island domain. - -He did not seek the boys, who were playing in the timber-yard that the -old barrow was a Punch-and-Judy show. He took the canal side of the -wharf, and began pacing up and down hurriedly. - -His condition was one of extreme exultation; he knew not, inquired -not, at what. He trod the clouds, and surveyed below his feet a -subjugated and golden world. The air was intoxication, and life a -dream of jocund day. He did not pause to ask a reason for these -feelings and sensations; they were his; that was enough. - -Of late the hideous gloom in which he had lived for two years, a -solitary upon that lonely and unlovely islet, had been leaving him as -darkness leaves a hill at the approach of day. Now from the summit to -the base, his nature seemed bathed in an extraordinary midday -splendour. His soul was shining among the stars. He was a blessed -spirit amid the angels. He was the theme to which all the rest of the -world answered in harmonious parts. - -It was not passion or love, but a spiritual effulgence. It was like -the elation induced by a subtle perfume. He would have been satisfied -to be, and only to be, if he might be thus. He was in clear air at a -stupendous height of happiness, and yet did not feel giddy. He could -think of no higher earthly joy than he experienced. It was a joy -the very essence of which seemed of the rapture of heaven. It was -a kind of ecstatic and boundless worship from a self-conscious and -self-centred soul. It idealised the world, and restored Paradise to -earth. - -In his mind was no thought, no defined thought, of love for his -beautiful neighbour, Hetty Layard. He was in the delicious spiritual -experiences of that hour merely celebrating his emancipation from -bondage. The note from Kate which had come with Frank and the -subsequent announcement of Kate's death in the newspapers had left him -no room to doubt that he was free. That day he had struck a man an -angry blow for the first time in all his life. And he had struck that -blow in defence of this beautiful girl, who was so good and so devoted -to the little orphan boy, the son of her brother. He had an orphan boy -too, and she was very gentle to his son. He had known for some time -that he was a free man, free to look upon the face of woman with a -view to choosing another wife; but until this day, until this hour, he -had not realised what this freedom meant. - -The notion that he might take another companion for life had not taken -concrete form since Frank's coming, and now the only way in which it -presented itself to him was that he might smile back to Hetty's smile, -and glory in her beauty. - -He was startled by hearing a voice saying behind him, "Mr. Bramwell, I -have taken the liberty of coming over uninvited to thank you from the -bottom of my heart for your timely and much-needed aid to my sister." - -Bramwell coloured, and became confused. He was unaccustomed to new -faces, unaccustomed to thanks, unaccustomed to pleasant thoughts of -woman. - -"I--I did nothing," he said. "It was merely by accident I knew about -it." - -To be thanked made him feel as though he had done something shameful. - -"However it happened," said Layard, taking his hand in both his own -and shaking it cordially, "you have placed me under a deep debt of -gratitude to you." - -"If you do not wish to make me very uncomfortable, you will not say -another word about it. I hope Miss Layard is nothing the worse of the -affair?" - -"My sister is all right. Of course it gave her an ugly turn. It isn't -a nice place to encounter a bullying rowdy alone. Since you ask me to -say no more about your share in the business, I shall be dumb." - -The two men were now walking up and down side by side along the tiny -quay of the tiny islet. - -A thin film of cloud dulled the glare of the afternoon sun. The whole -expanse of heaven was radiant with diaphanous white clouds; a barge -laded with wood indolently glided by to the clank-clank of the horse's -hoofs on the tow-path; the sounds from Welford Bridge, which in the -mornings came sharp and clear, were now dulled by the muffled hum of -larger noises from afar. There was an air of silence and solitude over -Boland's Ait. Notwithstanding the griminess of the surroundings and -the dilapidations of the buildings on the holm, there was an aspect of -peace and retirement in the place. - -Hetty had not told her brother anything of Crawford's visit save as -much as was necessary to explain the admission of Red Jim to the house -and quay. - -After a few sentences, Layard said, "You must know, Mr. Bramwell, I -don't think I shall stay in this house a minute longer that I can -possibly help." - -"Indeed!" said Bramwell, feeling as though the sunlight from the sky -had been suddenly dulled, and the things upon which his eyes fell had -grown more squalid. - -"To be candid with you, I don't care about my landlord. He is, to say -the least of it, eccentric; and after the affair of to-day I shall -never be easy. You see, the house is quite isolated, and no one ever -by any chance passes the door." - -"It must be very lonely for Miss Layard," Bramwell said, forgetting in -his sympathy for the girl his own two years of absolute seclusion. - -"She says, and I believe her, that she does not feel the want of -company; but after to-day she will, I am afraid, dread the place. Of -course, I must get some person to stay with her all the time I am out -of the house. Could any one have been more helpless than she was -to-day?" - -"What you say has a great deal of force in it; but," said he, trying -to restore the full complement of sunlight to the sky, "don't you -think with a second person in the house all would be safe?" - -"Well, I should imagine so; but one does not like to be continually -saying, 'all is safe.' One likes to take it for granted, as one takes -the sufficiency of air or the coming of daylight with the sun." - -They walked for a few seconds in silence, and then Bramwell said, "No -barge ever comes through the Bay now, but, owing to my habit with the -floating-stage on the canal, I moor the second stage to the Ait every -afternoon when Freddie has gone home, and haul it across in the -morning. For the future I shall leave it across permanently, so that -Miss Layard may feel I am as near to her as some one living next door. -I hope and trust, and believe, she will never have any need of my -help, but it may give her a little confidence to know that I can be -with her instantly in case of need." - -"It is extremely kind of you to think of that. It seems you are -determined to place me under obligations I can never discharge. The -worst of it is that when I came over here I had it in my mind to ask -you a favour, and now you have offered to do one unasked." - -"If what you came to ask is anything in the world I can do, you may -count on me, Mr. Layard. For, remember, that although this is the -first time we have met, I am quite well acquainted with you through -Philip Ray." - -"And I with you, through him also, or I should not speak so freely." - -"Isn't Ray a fine fellow?" asked Bramwell enthusiastically. - -"The finest fellow I know," answered Layard cordially. - -"He is a little enthusiastic, or hot-headed, or fierce, I know, but he -will calm down in years. Indeed, I find that of late he is calming -down a good deal. As I said before, I treat you as an old friend. I -suppose I have been so long an eremite that once I come forth and open -my mouth I shall never stop talking. What I have in my mind about -Philip, who was the only friend of my solitude, is that if he got a -good sensible wife it would be the making of him." - -"I have no doubt it would." - -"But the worst of it is that I don't think he ever once regarded one -woman with more favour than another. In fact, I have always put him -down as a man who will never marry." - -"Indeed!" said Layard. "I wonder does Ray himself share that notion. -If he does, he is treating Hetty badly," he thought. - -"And the pity of it is, that if he would only marry he would make the -best husband in England." - -"It is indeed a pity," said Layard, but he did not say what -constituted the pity. To himself, "I don't think anything has been -said between them yet, but it seems to me Hetty or he will have some -news for me very soon." He said aloud, "The little favour I told you I -had to ask----" - -"Of course; and I told you if it lay within my power I'd do it." - -"Yes; and it does lie easily within your power, and I will take no -excuse. Come over and spend an hour with us this evening." - -"But I cannot!" cried Bramwell. - -"But you must. We will take no excuse." - -He wavered. His views of all things had greatly altered since he was -first invited to Crawford's House. "Still the boy. I cannot leave him -alone." He felt half inclined to go. - -"The boy will not be alone. Why, now that you have decided to leave -the stage across all night, your house and ours may be looked on as -one." - -What a pleasant fancy it was that Crawford's House, where she lived, -and Boland's Ait, where he lived, might be looked on as one! - -"If," went on Layard, "you are uneasy about your boy, at any moment -you can run across and see him. You really have no excuse. Our sons -have been friends some time, and now you have placed me under a great -obligation to you, and you refuse to make the obligation greater. Is -that generous of you?" - -Bramwell smiled. "I am conquered, fairly conquered." - -"Very well; and mind, not later than eight o'clock. Now, where's this -young savage of mine? His aunt will imagine you have sold the two of -us into slavery." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - A LAST RESOLVE. - - -"Good gracious, Mrs. Mellor, you don't mean to say you have been to -the hospital and got back again since! But why do I say such a thing? -If you had wings you couldn't do it," exclaimed kind-hearted Mrs. -Pemberton as Kate Mellor walked into the greengrocer's shop in Leeham, -hard by Welford, the same day William Crawford jumped aboard the -moving steamboat after his immersion and scene with the invalid woman -at the Mercantile Pier. - -"No," answered Mrs. Mellor wearily. She did not remove her veil on -entering the shop. "I hadn't the heart to go to-day. I got as far as -the pier and then turned back." She did not care to enter into any -further explanation. - -"Hadn't the heart, dear child! And why hadn't you the heart?" said the -sympathetic woman, raising her ponderous bulk with deliberation from -the chair, and going quickly with outstretched hands to her -unfortunate lodger. - -"I didn't feel equal to it, and so I came back." - -"Well, dear if you didn't go to the hospital I'm very glad you came -back here straight, for the house seems queer and lonesome when you're -not in it. You don't feel any worse, do you, dear?" - -"No worse, thank you, Mrs. Pemberton, but I think the heat tired me a -little, and that I'll go up and lie down awhile." - -"The very best thing you could do, dear. There's nothing to freshen -you up when you're hot and tired like a nice quiet rest in a cool -room; and the sun is off your room now. I was just saying to Mrs. -Pearse here, that I was sure you'd come in half-dead of the heat. Is -there anything I could get you, dear, before you lie down?" - -"No, thank you, Mrs. Pemberton," and Kate Mellor passed out of the -shop and up to her bedroom on the first floor. - -"That's just the way with her always," said Mrs. Pemberton to Mrs. -Pearse. "She never complains of anything but being tired, and she -never wants anything. If ever there was a broken heart in this world -it's hers. She has said to me over and over again it was a mistake -that she recovered. What makes me so uneasy about her is that I am -afraid her money won't last her much longer, and that when it's gone -she'll run away. Though, goodness knows, she's welcome to stay as long -as she likes, for she's a real lady, and it's almost as easy to keep -two as one, particularly as she isn't a bit particular about what she -eats or drinks; and I don't want to let her room unless I could get -some one as nice as she, and I'd go far before I could find her -equal." - -"The loss of the child is preying upon her mind," said Mrs. Pearse. "I -remember when I lost my little Ted, I thought I should never be able -to lift my head again." - -"Ah, but you lost your little Ted in a natural though a sad way; but -poor Mrs. Mellor lost her boy by an accident, as it were, and by her -own act, too. You know, she is very close, and although she's as -friendly as can be, she never says anything about the past. Whoever -she sent the boy to will not give him back to her again." - -"And you don't know to what person she sent the child?" - -"He went first to Boland's Ait, but of course not to stop there. Why, -there's no woman on the Ait to look after a child. The boy must be -gone to some of his father's people. O, it's a sad, sad case! and I -have a feeling--you can't help your feelings--that she's not long for -this world, poor thing; and it breaks my heart to think of that, for I -do love her as if she was my own child, though it was never given to -me to know the feelings of a mother. I expect that private detective -knew all about the case." - -Meanwhile Kate Mellor had taken off her bonnet and cloak, and lain -down on her bed, to rest and think. Up to that day she had lived hour -by hour, since the loss of her boy and her recovery, with no definite -purpose. At first she had been too ill and weak to consider her -position or determine upon any course of action. She had drifted down -to this hour without any plan or purpose. She knew the law would not -enable her to recover her child, and she felt certain that her husband -would see the child dead rather than restored to her arms. She had -inserted the announcement of her death partly that her husband might -not be fettered in anything he might design for the welfare of their -child by considerations of her, and partly out of a pathetic craving -for pain and self-sacrifice. She had bought the paper, and had cried a -score of times over the bald, cold intimation that the world was over -for her: for her the once beautiful and beloved bride of Frank Mellor, -now the deserted, marred outcast of shame. She had wept that she, Kate -Ray, Kate Mellor, was dead and buried before thirty--when she was not -twenty-five. She had wept that she was poor. She had wept that her -voice, her only means of earning a living, had been destroyed. She had -wept longest of all that her beauty was gone from her for ever. Her -beauty had been her greatest gift, her greatest curse, and she wept -for it as though it had been an unmixed blessing. - -Lying on her bed here to-day, she had no tears to shed. The scene on -the pier had in some mysterious way calmed her spirits. She had read -the announcement of her death in the paper, and now she was dead in -verity. - -Why should she live? What had she to live for? Everything woman could -hold dear was gone--husband, child, reputation, beauty. In material -affairs her destitution could scarcely be greater than it was at this -moment. She had a little money still left, but when that was gone -where should she find more? _He_, the betrayer, had been overjoyed to -get his life back from the jaws of death that day; she, the victim, -would enter those awful jaws freely, But she must see her child, her -little Frank, the sweet baby she had held at her breast and cherished -with the warmth of her embraces. - -She was afraid of only one person in the world, and that was Frank -Mellor, who had changed his name to Francis Bramwell for shame of her. -If he found her he would kill her, and she owned that at his hands she -deserved death; she had robbed him of everything he held dear. - -She had resolved upon death, but she could not take it at his hands. -It was too awful to think of a meeting between them. That would be ten -times worse than the most painful form of quitting life. That would be -an agony of the spirit ten thousand times transcending any possible -agony of the body. - -Frank, her husband, had always been a man of strong feeling. At times -this strong feeling had exhibited itself to her in profound -taciturnity, at times in overwhelming ecstasy. If she should encounter -him now, he would be possessed by the demon of insatiable revenge; he -would strike her to the ground and murder her cruelly, and mangle her -dead body. While he was beating the life out of her he would revile -and curse her. He would heap coals of fire on her head, and crush out -of her the last trace of self-respect. And in all this he would, -perhaps, be justified--in much of it certainly. - -How good and indulgent he had been to her! She had not understood him -then. She had eyes for nothing then but admiration and finery. To-day -she had nothing to call forth admiration--no finery; and yet, if she -had not hearkened to that other man, could she believe that Frank -would not love and shield and cherish her now as he had then? Frank -was the very soul of honour. He would not hurt a brute or wrong any -living being. She had not known, had not understood, him then as she -did now, judged by the light of subsequent experience. - -She must see the boy once more--just once more before she died. She -would not look upon another day. By some means or other she would see -her child, and then bid good-bye to the world. When she saw her child, -there would be the canal close at hand. But that would not do. It -would not do to pollute with the last crime of her life the presence -of her child. No; the river of which that other man had stood in such -terror would be the fitting ending place for such a wicked life as -hers. - -"O, how different would all have been if only that man had not tempted -her with lies, and she had not listened through vanity! Frank would -have been good and kind to her, and by this time she should have grown -to love him as she had never loved the other; and her boy, her -darling, her little Frank, her baby, would be with her, his arms round -her neck, his soft, round, warm cheek against her own! - -"But, there, there, there!" she moaned, putting her hand before her -blotched, disfigured, worn face. "It is all over! I have lost -everything, and no one is to blame but myself and the other. Only I -must suffer all. Yet it will not be for long. I _will_ see my boy -to-night, even if I die there and then. I don't care about dying. -Death has refused me once, but it shall not this time. O, my little -Frank! my little innocent Frank! my baby that I warmed against my -breast!" - -She lay in a kind of torpor for a few hours; then having got up and -made some small arrangements, she wrote a note for Mrs. Pemberton, -placed it in her trunk, and, putting a lock of hair and an old worn -glove of her boy's in her bosom, went down-stairs and slipped out by -the private door beside the shop. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - WILLIAM CRAWFORD'S LUCK. - - -When William Crawford found himself safe aboard the moving steamboat, -he uttered an exclamation of intense relief and satisfaction. He -looked quickly behind him, and noticed with a laugh that pursuit was -out of the question. He was safe! His life had been twice imperilled -that day, and he had escaped with nothing worse than a wetting. He had -been in imminent danger of death from drowning, had been saved by a -woman whom he had ruined, and then escaped from her deadly demoniacal, -maniac wrath. After all this, who could say that there was not luck in -the world? and who could deny that luck had befriended him in a -phenomenal manner? - -Yes, he was lucky; he had been lucky all his life up to this, except -at cards, and he should be lucky to the end. If Fate had meant ever to -do him an ill turn, surely it would not have let slip two such -remarkable opportunities. No, he was born to good fortune; and the -saying was true that it was better to be born lucky than rich. And, -thinking of riches, this day's mishaps had not even cost him the fifty -pounds, for he still held the notes in his hand. What a fool that -woman was not to take them! But then she had always been a fool. - -And with this generous thought of the woman who had sacrificed -everything for him, he dismissed her from his mind. - -He was hatless, and his clothes were all rumpled and creased; and the -water dripped from the ends of his trousers, making a wet patch on the -deck wherever he stepped. - -The people on the steamboat had noticed the hasty manner of his coming -aboard, his rush out of the pier-master's room, and his leap from the -hulk. They also observed that his clothes were wet, and that he was -without any covering for his head. They were observing him with -interest and curiosity. Becoming conscious of this, and feeling a -slight shiver pass through him, he turned to one of the crew and said: - -"In coming from the shore to the pier I fell into the water. Is there -any brandy aboard?" - -"Plenty, sir, in the fore-cabin." - -To the fore-cabin he went forthwith, and drove off the chill with -brandy, and escaped the curious eyes of the passengers. - -He remained below until the boat arrived at Blackfriars Bridge. Here -he went ashore, and, hailing the first hansom, drove to a tailor and -outfitter's, where he got everything he wanted except boots, and these -the obliging shopkeeper procured for him. - -It was now four o'clock. He had had two great shocks that day, each of -which was more severe than any other he had endured in his life. He -felt that something in the way of compensation was due to him. Play -went on all day long and all night long at the Counter Club. What -better could he do with himself than have a few quiet games before -going back to his dull Richmond home? He did not like appearing at the -club in a suit of ready-made clothes, but, then, all kinds of men, in -all kinds of costumes, went to the Counter; and he had never been a -great dandy. - -Accordingly to the Counter he drove, with four of the damp ten-pound -notes in his pocket and some broken money. It was not as much as he -should have liked, but then, he had no intention of making a night of -it. He would get back to Richmond about dusk. - -He left the club just in time to catch the last train for home. He -found an empty compartment, and, as he threw himself into a corner, -cried softly to himself: - -"Luck! Why, of course, there never was such luck as mine! I used to be -unlucky at cards. Unlucky at cards, lucky in love, they say. Well, I -have been more lucky than most men in love, and here now are cards -turning in my favour. I have now won twice running. I have a hundred -and twenty pounds more in my pocket than when I came to town this -morning. There seems to be absolutely no end to my luck. If that fool -Kate had taken the fifty, of course I could not have played, and, of -course, if I had not played I could not have won. My good fortune is -almost miraculous. If any other person but Kate had rescued me, he -or she would have taken the money, and there would have been no play; -and if I had not fallen into the water it is very likely I should not -have thought of treating myself to a game. Upon my word, it _is_ -miraculous--nothing short of miraculous." - -His eyes winked rapidly, and he stroked his smoothly-shaven chin with -intense satisfaction. - -"But," he went on, "the whole thing is due to that delightful Hetty, -for if I had not wanted to see that charming girl again I should not -have gone to Welford to-day, and, of course, should not have played -this afternoon. Like all other gamblers, I am a bit superstitious, and -I do believe that she has brought me luck. Now twice out of three -times that I have played since I saw her I have won, and that never -happened in all my life before. Yes, she has undoubtedly brought me -luck. Suppose this luck continued, I should be a rich man in a short -time. I should be quite independent of Welford and Singleton Terrace, -Richmond, and although I am good at private theatricals, I am getting -a bit sick of Singleton Terrace, Richmond. A man gets tired of a -goody-goody part sooner than of any other kind. I do believe, after -all, that if I had that three thousand pounds for capital and Hetty -for luck, I should be better off without Singleton Terrace, Richmond. -That is an aspect of the future well worth thinking over." - -When he got home he found to his surprise and disgust that his wife -had not yet gone to bed. He put his arm round her and kissed her -tenderly, and chid her gently for sitting up. She said she was anxious -about him, as he had said he should be back early. - -"The fact of the matter is, Nellie, I had a great deal more trouble -about those gates than I anticipated. You have no notion of how stupid -workmen can be. They always want to do something or other you have -said distinctly you do not want to have done. I told the creature I -went to as plainly as I am telling you that I did not wish to have -ice-house doors, but simply gates sufficiently strong and well secured -to prevent anyone falling into the water. I told him to go see the -place, and that I should come back in an hour to hear what he had to -say about price; and would you believe it? the animal had made out an -estimate for double doors! I could hardly get him to adopt my views. -He said an ice-house ought to have ice-house doors, and that to put up -any others would not be workmanlike, and would expose him to contempt -and ridicule in the neighbourhood! Did you ever hear anything so -monstrously absurd in all your life?" - -"It was very provoking, William, and I am sorry that my foolish fears -caused you so much trouble," she said in a tone of self-reproach, -softly stroking his hand held in both hers. - -"Not at all, dear! Not at all! I am very glad I went. But of course -the work about the gates did not keep me till now. I have had a little -adventure." - -She looked up at him in alarm, and glanced in fear at the unfamiliar -clothes he wore. "A little adventure?" she cried faintly. - -"Yes," he said, with one of his short quick laughs, "but you need not -be uneasy; I am not the worse of it, and there was no fair lady in it -to make you jealous." - -"Jealous!" she cried, with a rapturous smile of utter faith. "Not all -the fair ladies in the world could make me jealous, William. I know -you too well." - -"Thank you, Nellie," he said in a grateful, serious tone, raising one -of her hands and kissing it. "No. The fact is, as I was waiting on the -pier for the steamer, a little boy, about the age of the one I saw in -my dream, about the age of young Layard, fell into the river, and as -he was beyond the reach of the poles and too young to catch a line or -lifebuoy, and was in great danger of drowning, I jumped in and got him -out." - -With a sigh of horror she lay back in her chair unable to speak. - -"It was a strange fulfilment of my dream. As you know, I am not in the -least superstitious, but it seems to me that the nightmare I had last -night was sent to me that I might be on the spot to save that poor -little chap from a watery grave. Don't look so terrified, Nellie. -There was great danger for the little fellow, but not the slightest -for me. I am as much at home in the water as a duck, and you see, -being stout, I am buoyant and swim very high." - -"O, but 'tis dreadful to think of you, William, in the water!" she -whispered in a voice breathless with a combined feeling of dread of -the peril he had been in and thankfulness for his present security. - -"Well, it's all over now, and you needn't be afraid of my doing -anything of the kind again. When I got out of the water I went and -bought a dry suit of ready-made clothes, and I think you must admit I -am quite a swell in them." - -She forced a smile. He went on: - -"Well, even all this wouldn't account for my being so late. You must -know there is nothing I hate so much as notoriety, and I had -absolutely got to Waterloo on my way home when it suddenly occurred to -me that as two or three hundred people saw the rescue some one might -go to the newspapers with an account of it. Nothing could make me more -shamefaced than to see my name in print in connection with this -affair. I had experience of something of the kind at the time of the -fire--you remember, dearest?" - -She pressed his hand and said, "My own, my own, my own!" - -"So I took a cab and drove round to all the newspaper-offices to bar a -report going in. That was what kept me till this hour." - -They sat talking for a little while longer, and then she rang for the -maid and he went to the dressing-room. - -The anxiety caused by his unexpected delay in town, or by the tale he -had told her, may have had an injurious effect on the invalid, or it -may be that, without any exciting cause, the aggravation would have -taken place; but at all events, that night, or, rather, early in the -morning, Mrs. Crawford rang her bell, and upon her husband coming to -her he found her so much worse that he set off at once for the doctor. - -As he closed the front-door after him he whispered to himself, "I -wonder is this more of my luck?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - AN INTRUDER UPON THE AIT. - - -When Kate Mellor found herself in the streets of Leeham that evening -the light was beginning to fail. The clouds, which during the day had -been thin and fleecy, had, as the hours went by, grown in extent and -mass. They now hung above, fold over fold, dark, gloomy, threatening. -The air was heavy, moist, oppressive. Not a breath of wind stirred. - -The woman turned to the left, and, taking the tow-path, as she had one -night before, set out in the direction of Welford. She wore her veil -closely drawn over her disfigured face. Her step was more firm and -elastic than in the afternoon. Then she had been on her way to seek -physical relief; now she was on her way to alleviate her heart. - -She left the tow-path by the approach at Welford, and gained the -bridge. The usual group of loungers and loafers were there, but they -took no notice of her. They could see by a glance at her that she was -poor and miserable, and to be poor and miserable at Welford Bridge -insured one against close observation or inquisitive speculation--it -was to wear the uniform of the place. - -She leaned against the parapet, and gazed at the canal side of -Boland's Ait. Everything there was as usual: the floating-stage being -moored by the side of the islet, as it had been on the night she tried -to draw it across the water. - -She turned her eyes on the other side of the island, and started. She -saw what she had never seen before: the floating-stage stretching -across the water of the bay, making a bridge from one bank to the -other. This discovery set her heart beating fast, for if one could -only get on Crawford's Quay one could cross over the stage to the Ait. - -Hitherto all her hopes had been centred on the stage lying along the -islet on the canal side. Now the best chance of gaining the holm lay -on the side of the bay. - -Crawford's Quay was not used for purposes of trade now, all the -buildings being vacant except the house in which Layard lived. - -The daylight was almost gone, and the heavy banks of cloud shrouded -earth in a dull deep gloom--a gloom deeper than that of clear midnight -in this month of June. - -Kate Mellor turned again to her left and walked to the top of Crawford -Street. She looked down it. All was dark except the one lamp burning -like an angry eye at the bottom. As she was perfectly certain no one -could recognise her, she went into Crawford Street without much -trepidation. She kept on the left-hand side: the one opposite to -Crawford's House. - -The window of the sitting-room was fully open for air. In the room -were four people: a man with a long beard, whom she did not know; a -girl with golden-brown hair, whom she had more than once seen take -Freddie from her husband at the end of the stage; and a second man -whom she could not see, for his back was towards her. And her husband. -They were all just in the act of sitting down to supper. - -She knew the place and the ways of the people thoroughly. She had -studied nothing else for days and days. - -"There is no one now on the island but the child, and they will be -half-an-hour at supper; they will not stir for half-an-hour! Now is my -chance, or never!" - -Her heart throbbed painfully; she was so excited that she tottered in -her walk. She was afraid to run lest she should attract the attention -of people passing along Welford Road at the top of the street. - -Everything depended on speed. She had been down here twice before, and -found that one of the staples of a padlock securing a gate had rusted -loose in the jamb. Without the floating-stage for a bridge, this -discovery was useless; without the absence of her husband from the -island, or unless he was sunk in profound sleep, the loose staple and -the stage-bridge would be of little avail. But here, owing to some -extraordinary and beneficent freak, all three combined in her interest -to-night! - -Not a second was to be lost. Already she was working fiercely at the -loose staple. It was rusted and worn, and the wood was decayed all -round it, but still it clung to the post, as a loose tooth to the gum. - -She seized it with both her hands, although there was hardly room for -one hand, and swayed it this way and that until her breath came short -and the blood trickled from her fingers. - -No doubt it was yielding, but would it come away in time? She had not -hours to accomplish the task. She had only minutes, and every minute -lost was stolen from the time she might bend over her darling, -watching, devouring his lovely face, and listening to his innocent -breathing, and feeling his sweet baby breath upon her cheek! - -O, this was horrible! Break iron! break wood! break fingers! break -arm! but let this poor distracted outcast mother into the presence of -her child for the last time, for one parting sight, one parting kiss, -in secret and fear! - -At last the staple yielded and came away in her hand, and in another -moment, after a few gratings and squealings, which turned her cold, -lest they should be heard, the unhappy mother forced open the door and -passed through. - -In another moment she was across the bridge and on the land which her -love for her little one had made dearer to her from afar off than ever -Canaan was to the desert-withered Israelites of old. - -There was light enough to walk without stumbling. She knew the lie of -the place as well as it could be learned without absolutely treading -the ground. She took her way rapidly round the wall of the old -timber-yard and then across the little open space to the cottage. She -observed no precaution now, but went on impetuously, headlong. - -The door of the cottage was shut. She opened it by the latch, and, -having entered, closed it after her. She did not pause to listen; she -did not care whether there was any one in the place or not. She knew -she was within reach of her child, and that she should be able to see -him, to touch him, before she died. She was within arm's length of -him, and she would touch him, though he was surrounded by levelled -spears. The spears might pierce her bosom, but even though they did -she could stretch out her hand and caress his head before the sense -left her hand, the sight her eye. - -She knew where to find the door of the room in which he slept, for the -light she had seen the other night through the eye of Welford Bridge -as she came along the tow-path was burning, much dimmed, on the same -window-sill now. - -She opened the door and entered the room. - -In the middle of the bed lay the child, half-naked. The heat of the -night had made him restless, and he had kicked off the clothes. - -With a long tremulous moan she flung herself forward on the bed, and, -penning his little body within the circle of her arms, laid her -disfigured face against his head and burst into tears. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - HETTY'S VISIT TO THE AIT. - - -"And so we have got you at last, and here is Mr. Ray, who will hardly -believe you are really coming," said Layard that evening, as Bramwell -knocked at the back door and entered Crawford's House. "It is very -good of you to make an exception in our favour." - -"All the goodness is on your side in inviting one who has been out of -the world for so long a time. I know you will believe me when I say -that now we are known to one another I am very glad to come." - -"There is nothing like breaking the ice, and let us hope for a -phenomenon that the water below may be warm. You have no notion of -what it is to be at the works all day long and never exchange a word -with a congenial soul. Then when I come home I do not think it fair to -my sister to leave her alone. So my life is a little monotonous and -dull; but now that I have made the acquaintance of you and Mr. Ray I -mean to lead quite a riotous existence." - -"You will, I know, excuse me if I do not stay long tonight. I must go -back to the boy." - -"You may go back now and then to see that all is well. But, after all, -what is there to be afraid of?" - -"Well, you know, I made an enemy to-day, and it might occur to him to -revenge himself upon the child." - -"But he can't get near the child. Your stage on the canal side is -moored, Mr. Ray tells me, and we are here at this end of the other -stage, and I don't think there is a small boat he could get on the -whole canal. Besides, how is he to know but you are at home? I am sure -you may make your mind quite easy." - -"Still, if you allow me, I shall go early." - -"You may go early to see that all is safe, but we will not let you say -good-night until you are quite tired of us. Come in: Mr. Ray and my -sister are in the front room." - -Layard had purposely delayed a little while in the passage. He was a -most affectionate and sympathetic brother, and he did not know but -that the two people in the front room might have something to say to -one another. - -They had, but it did not seem matter of great interest or importance. - -"Miss Layard," said Philip Ray when her brother had left the room, -"you told me you never were on Boland's Ait." - -"Never," she answered. - -"Mr. Bramwell is certain to be anxious about the boy, and it would be -a great kindness if you would go over the stage and see that all is -well." - -"I! what? Do you mean in the dark?" she said, looking at him in -astonishment. - -"Well, Miss Layard, I thought you had more courage than to be afraid -of a little darkness; but if you did feel anything like timidity, -rather than that Mr. Bramwell should remain uneasy, I would go with -you and show you the way. What do you say to that?" - -She said nothing, but, bending her head over her stitching, blushed -until her bent neck grew pink under her golden-brown hair. - -He did not insist upon an answer. Apparently he felt satisfied. In a -moment the door opened, and Layard and Bramwell came in. - -Although the lamp-light in the room was not particularly strong, for a -moment Bramwell was dazzled and confused. He had not been in so bright -a room since his retirement from the world. Although the furniture was -faded and infirm, it was splendid compared with that in his cottage. -Then there were a few prints upon the walls in gilt frames, and -curtains to the window, and pieces of china and an ornamental clock on -the chimney-piece, and a square of carpet in the middle of the floor, -and a bright cover on the table, not one thing of the like being on -Boland's Ait. - -There was, too, an atmosphere of humanity about the place which did -not find its way to the island; here was a sense of human interest, -human contact, human sympathy wholly wanting in his home. Bramwell had -come from the cell of an anchorite to a festival of man. - -But above all else and before all else was the tall, lithe, -bright-faced, blooming girl, with plenteous hair and blue eyes, in -which there were glints of gold, and the ready smile and white teeth -that showed between her moist red lips when she spoke. This was the -first lady Bramwell had spoken to or met since his exile from the -world, and she was beautiful enough for a goddess--a Hebe. - -Was this, he asked himself, the dream of a captive, and should he wake -to find himself once more mured between his white washed walls, -environed by silence and bound by the hideous fetters of a bond which -was a horror and a disgrace? Should he wake up as he had awakened -every morning for three years, to think of his ruined home, his -blighted life, and his wife, who, though living, was dead for ever to -him, and yet with her dead and infamous hand held him back from taking -a new companion, to be to him what he had hoped she would be when he -took her in all love and faith? - -No--all this was true. The talk and the laughter were true. His own -talk and laughter were true; and, above all, this radiant girl, with -her quick wit and beautiful intelligence and sympathy, was true. All -true--and he was no more than thirty years of age! A young man. A man -no older than the youngest girl might marry. Philip had told him that -this girl was twenty. Why, twenty and thirty were just the ages for -bride and bridegroom! - -And how different was this girl from the other! Here was no vanity, no -craving for admiration, no airs and graces, and, above all, here were -the swift responsive spirit, the keen sympathy, the aspiring spirit, -the exquisite sensibility! - -Ay, and it was all true, and it was allowable for him to dream, for he -was free. Free as he had been when, carried away by the mere beauty of -face and form, he had asked nothing but physical beauty, believing -that he could inform it with the soul of a goddess, until he found -that the physical beauty was clay, which would commingle with no noble -essence, which preferred a handful of trinkets or an oath of hollow -homage to all the stirring tumults of the poets or the intense -aspirings of the lute! Yes, he could be a poet under the influence of -such a deity. He could sing if those ears would only listen; he could -succeed if those lips would only applaud! - -He took no heed of time; it slipped away like dry sand held in the -hand. He never could tell afterwards what the conversation had been -about, but he knew he was talking fast and well. Never in all his life -had he spoken under such an intoxicating spell as that of new hope -springing in the presence of this girl. It was intoxication on an -intellectual ether. His blood was fire and dew. His ideas were flame. -The human voices around him were the music of eternal joy. There was -in his spirit a sacred purpose that defied definition. He seemed to be -praying in melody. He was upheld by the purpose of an all-wise -beneficence now revealed to him for the first time; he was transported -out of himself and carried into converse with justified angels. - -Philip Ray sat in amazed silence at the transformation. It was more -wonderful than the miracle of Pygmalion's statue: it was the -enchantment of emancipation, the delirium of liberty. He had known and -honoured--nay, worshipped--this man for years, but until to-night he -had never suspected that he was a genius and a demi-god. He had known -him as a martyr, but until this night he had never realised that he -was a saint. - -"I must go," at length said Bramwell, rising. "I have already stayed -too long." - -"No, no," said Philip Ray, springing up, "you must not stir yet. This -is doing you all the good in the world. I have asked Miss Layard to -have a look at the island, and she will see to the boy. You cannot -deny her this little gratification. We arranged it before you came. -You are here now, and you must do what you are told. I will take her -safely over the bridge and back, and then we shall have another chat." - -Hetty rose with a heightened colour. - -"Pray sit down, Mr. Bramwell; we will bring you back news of the boy. -It is much too early to think of leaving, and we are afraid that if -once you went across to-night you would not come back again. Now that -we have got you we will not let you go." - -Layard passed his hand over his bearded mouth to conceal a smile. He -guessed the object of Ray's proposal. - -"Mr. Bramwell," he said earnestly, "you must not think of stirring." - -He rose, and, placing his hands on the other's shoulders, gently -forced him back on his chair. - -"I am giving you too much trouble, Miss Layard," Bramwell said, with a -smile; "but if I must stay and you will go, there is nothing for it -but to submit." - -His real reason for yielding so readily was the intense pleasure it -gave him to find that she took such an interest in his boy. - -"Put the lamp in the kitchen-window, Miss Layard," said Philip, when -the two found themselves in the back passage. "The light will be -useful in crossing the stage." - -She did as she was bidden, and rejoined him on Crawford's Quay, just -outside the back door, which they left open so as to get the benefit -of the hall-light. - -"Give me your hand now," said he, and he led her across the floating -bridge. "You had better leave me your hand still," he said when they -were on the Ait. "It is very dark, and I know the place thoroughly. -What do you think of Mr. Bramwell?" - -"I think him simply wonderful. I never heard anything like him before. -Does he always talk as he did to-night?" - -"No; still he usually talks well. But though I have been very intimate -with him for many years I never heard him talk so well. As a rule he -speaks with great caution, but to-night he threw reserve to the winds -and let himself go." - -"I think I can manage now without your help," she said, endeavouring -to withdraw her hand. - -"I should be very sorry to believe anything of the kind," said he, -preventing her. "You had better leave me your hand for a little -while." - -She bent her head and ceased her effort. - -"Miss Layard," he said, after a moment's pause, "I want you to do me a -great favour. Will you?" - -"If I can," she said in a very low voice, so low that he had to bend -towards her to catch it. - -"In the dark and the daylight leave me your hand. Give it to me for -ever." - -"But the boy?" she said. "We must go see the boy." - -She made a slight attempt to release her hand. He closed his fingers -round it. - -"We shall go see the boy presently." They were now standing at the -tail of the Ait "I have your hand now, Hetty darling, and I mean to -keep it. I have loved you since the first time I saw you, and I never -loved any other woman. You will give me your hand, dear, and yourself, -dear, and I will give you my heart and soul for all my life. You will -give me your hand, dear?" - -She did not take it away. - -Then he let it go himself, and, putting his arms carefully round her, -folded her gently to his breast, and said, with a broken sob: - -"Merciful Heaven, this is more than any man deserves. May I kiss you, -dear?" - -"Yes." - -Her head was leaning on his shoulder. He bent down and kissed her -forehead. - -"I'm glad there's no light, dear." - -"Why?" - -"Because if I saw you I could not believe this is true. Hetty." - -"What?" - -"Nothing, dear. I only wanted to hear your voice, so that I might be -sure this is you." - -He put his hand on her head. - -"Is that your hair, dear?" - -"Yes." - -"I can't believe it. And do you think you will grow fond of me?" - -"No fonder than I am, Philip. I could not be any fonder than I am." - -"This is not to be believed. So that when I come into the room where -you are it makes you glad?" - -"It gives me such gladness as I never knew before, nor ever thought -of." - -"This is not to be believed." - -"And when you go away I feel so lonely and desolate." - -"Do not tell me any more, or I shall hate myself for causing you -pain." - -"But I would rather feel the pain than be without it. And I'd give you -my life, Philip, if you wanted it. I mean I'd go to death for you, -Philip; and I'd follow you all round the world, if you wanted it--all -round the world, if you would only look back at me now and then." - -"You must not say such things, child." - -"But they are true." - -"I had hoped, dear, but I had not hoped so much as this--nothing like -so much as this, and I cannot bear to hear you say so much. Listening -to it makes me seem to have done you an injury." - -"And I'd do everything that you told me. I'd even go away." - -"Hush, child, hush! It is not right to say such things." - -"But they are true. I'd go away and live alone with my heart if you -told me, Philip. Now don't you see that I love you?" - -"I do, dear. But now I see how much less my love is than yours, for I -could not go away and live alone with my heart." - -"I could. Shall we see to the boy now?" - -"Yes." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - BY THE BOY'S BEDSIDE. - - -Kate Mellor, lying beside her child on the bed, suddenly became aware -of footsteps approaching the cottage along the canal face of the -island. She had been fondling and talking to Frank, and he was now -half awake. - -Between the bed and the wall there was the space of a foot. The mother -slipped down through this space to the floor, and there lay in terror, -trying to hush her breathing and still the beatings of her heart. She -could not tell herself exactly what it was she dreaded more than -discovery. Her fears took no definite form. - -The footsteps came up to the cottage, and then stopped. Through the -open window sounded voices, the voices of a man and a girl. As the -concealed woman listened her heart stood still, for she recognised the -male voice as that of her brother. - -"Go in, Hetty," said the male voice, "and I'll wait for you here. The -room is on the left-hand side." - -"You won't come in?" asked the girl. - -"No. Of course all is right. If you speak in the room I shall hear -you." - -The girl came into the cottage, opened the door of the sleeping-room, -and approached the bed. - -"Mother," said the boy, who was now covered up. - -The concealed woman grew cold with fear. - -"Are you awake, Frank?" - -"Yes, mother," said the boy, stretching himself, yawning, and rubbing -his eyes. "Are you going to take me away again? If you do, take -Freddie too." - -"I'm not your mother, Frank. Don't you know me?" said the girl. - -"You said you were my mother, and I know you are, though you have -spots on your face." - -"Rouse up, Frank," said the girl in a tone of alarm. "Look at me. Who -am I? Don't you know me?" - -"You're mother, and you said you'd take me away to Mrs. Pemberton's, -only father wouldn't let you," said the boy, with another yawn. - -There sounded a tumult in the ears of the mother, and she thought she -should go mad if she did not scream out. - -The visitor went to the window and spoke to the man outside. "The -child has been dreaming, and fancies I'm his mother." - -"Heaven forbid!" - -"Why?" - -"His mother is not to be spoken of. His mother was the basest, the -worse woman that ever lived. She, fortunately for herself and every -one else, died a little while ago. You are not to mention her name, -dear. It sullies wherever it is uttered." - -The hiding woman shrank into herself as if struck by an icy blast. -Was it thus she deserved to be spoken of by her only brother? -Yes--yes--yes! As the basest, the worst woman who ever lived? whose -name sullied the place in which it was uttered? O yes--yes--yes! It -was true! Too true. - -The boy's eyes were now wide open, and he was looking at the tall -slender figure of the girl standing out black against the lamp in the -window. - -"Aunt Hetty." - -"That's my own boy. Now you know me," said the girl in a soothing and -encouraging tone as she went back to the bed. - -"Aunt Hetty, where's mother gone?" - -"She wasn't here, Frank. You were only dreaming." - -"O, but I wasn't. I saw her. She lay down beside me on the bed, and -she had red spots on her face." - -The girl shuddered. - -The woman gasped and felt as if her heart would burst through her -ribs. - -"Philip," said the girl, once more going to the window, "I don't like -this at all. I think the child must be a little feverish. He says his -mother was here, and that she lay down beside him on the bed, and that -she has spots on her face. What do you say ought to be done?" - -"Nothing at all. Get the child to sleep if you can. As you say, he has -been dreaming." - -"But, indeed, I don't like it. He's so very circumstantial. He says -his mother told him she'd take him back to Mrs. Pemberton's, only his -father won't let her. Who is Mrs. Pemberton?" - -"I don't know. Some lodging-house keeper, no doubt." - -"Well, I don't know what ought to be done. There is no chance of the -child going to sleep soon, and either he is raving or--or--or--" the -girl's voice trembled--"something very dreadful indeed has occurred -here. The child cannot certainly be left alone now." She looked around -her with apprehension. She was pale and trembling. - -"You seem uneasy, Hetty." - -"I am terrified." - -"I assure you the child has been dreaming, that is all. It is quite a -common thing, I have read, for children to believe what they see in -dreams has real existence." - -"O, talking in that way is no use. I am miserable and frightened out -of my wits, Philip." - -"What would you wish me to do?" - -"I think you had better go for Mr. Bramwell." - -"Very well." - -"But no--no--no, I should die of fright. What should I do if _that_ -came again and lay down on the bed beside the child?" moaned the girl -in terror and despair. - -"You really ought not to think of anything so much out of reason. -There was nothing in it but the uneasy dream of a child." - -"Indeed, indeed I shall go frantic. Can nothing be done?" - -"Well, you know, I could not think of letting you cross over the stage -by yourself. Nothing on earth would induce me to let you attempt such -a thing. And you do not wish me to go away, and you will not have the -two of us go. I cannot see any way out of the difficulty." - -"O dear, O dear, O dear!" cried the girl. "I shall go crazy! Stop! I -have it. Didn't we leave the back door open?" - -"We did, so as to have the benefit of the hall-lamp." - -"Well, you stay here and watch the boy, and I'll go and call for Mr. -Bramwell across the bay. They will hear my voice easily in the -dining-room. That's the best plan, isn't it." - -"Yes, if any plan is wanted, which I doubt." - -The girl ran out of the room with a shudder. - -The concealed woman had fainted. She lost consciousness when it was -decided to summon her husband without watch being removed from the -room. - -As Hetty passed Ray he caught her for a moment and said, "Mind, on no -account whatever are you to attempt to cross the stage by yourself. If -you cannot make yourself heard, dear, won't you come back to me?" - -"O, I promise; but please let me go. I am beside myself with terror." - -He loosed his hold, and in a minute she disappeared round the corner -of the old timber-yard. Philip Ray went up to the window, and with his -face just above the sill kept guard. He heard her call eagerly two or -three times, and then he caught the sound of a response. After that he -knew a brief and hurried conversation was held, and then came -footsteps, and the form of Bramwell hastening along the wharf. - -"You are to go to Miss Layard at once and take her over. She would -not come back. She is fairly scared. She told me all that has -happened here. Run to her, and get her away from this place quickly. -Good-night." - -"It is nothing at all. The boy has had a nightmare." - -"Nothing more? Do not delay. Good-night." - -"Good-night." - -The father then went into the cottage, and, having bolted the outer -door, stole softly to the room where little Frank lay. - -The child was wide awake. - -"Well, my boy," said the father, kissing him tenderly, and smoothing -the child's dark hair with a gentle hand. "So your Aunt Hetty has been -to see you." - -"Yes, and mother too." - -"That was a dream, Frank, and you mustn't think any more about it." - -The boy shook his head on the pillow. "No dream," he said. "She lay -down on the bed there beside me, and put her arms round me like at -Mrs. Pemberton's, where we lived before I came here; and she cried -like at Mrs. Pemberton's, and I asked her to take me back to Mrs. -Pemberton's, and she said she would, only you wouldn't let me go. -Won't you let me go?" - -"We'll see in the morning." - -"And won't Aunt Hetty let Freddie come too? for I had no little boy to -play with at Mrs. Pemberton's." - -"We'll talk to Aunt Hetty about it." - -"And mother has spots, red spots, on her face now, and there used to -be no spots. And why won't you let me go? for I love my mother more -than I love you." - -"We'll talk about all that in the morning; but it is very late now, -and all good little boys are asleep." - -"And all good fathers and mothers asleep too?" - -"Well, yes; most of them." - -"And why aren't you asleep?" - -"Because I'm not sleepy. But as you have had a dream that woke you -I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll move the stretcher away, and sit down -beside you and hold your hand until you go to sleep again." He did as -he said, and when he had the little hand within his own he said, "Now, -shut your eyes and go to sleep." - -"Father." - -"Yes, my child?" - -"Didn't you know mother once?" - -"Yes, my boy." - -"A long time ago?" - -"A long time ago." - -"And when you knew her she had no ugly red spots over her face?" - -"No, child." - -"Well, she has now--all over her face." - -"Go to sleep like a good boy. I will not talk to you any more. -Good-night." - -"Good-night;" and with one little hand under his cheek and the other -clasped lightly in his father's, little Frank lay still awhile, and -then fell off into tranquil slumber. - -For a long time the father sat motionless. He was afraid to stir lest -he might wake the little fellow. His mind went back to the evening he -had just spent. How bright and cheerful it had been compared with the -loneliness and gloom of those evenings with which he had been so long -sadly familiar! - -What a charming girl that was, and how she had brightened up the whole -evening with her enchanting presence! What a home her presence would -make! He had admired her as he had seen her on Crawford's Quay with -little Freddie, but then she was bending her mind down to a child's -level. That night he had seen her among men, the perfect complement of -them, and the flower of womanhood. He felt his face, his whole being -soften when he thought of her. Even to think of her was to feel the -influence of a gracious spirit. - -She was twenty and he was only thirty--who knows! - -And then his head fell forward on his chest, and he slept. But Hetty -followed him into his sleep--into his dreams. - -He was walking along a country road in May, dejected and -broken-spirited, thinking of the miserable past three years, when -suddenly at a turning he met Hetty holding his boy by the hand and -coming to meet him. And then, with a laugh, he knew that all these -three years which tortured him so cruelly had been nothing but a -dream, and that this sweet and joyous and perfect Hetty had been the -wife of his young manhood. With outstretched arms and a cry he rushed -to meet her. - -The cry awoke him, and he looked up. - -Between the bed and the wall rose a thin black figure sharp against -the white of the wall, and above the figure a pale haggard face -dabbled with large red spots like gouts of blood. - -With a shriek of horror he sprang to his feet and flung himself -against the wall farthest from this awful apparition. - -"In the name of God, who or what are you?" - -"Nothing to you, I know, except a curse and a blight, but _his_ -mother," pointing to the child. - -"Living?" - -"I could not die." - -He thrust both arms upward with a gesture of desperate appeal. -"Merciful God! am I mad?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - BRAMWELL FINDS A SISTER. - - -The sound of the voices had awakened the child, and he sat up in the -bed, looking with wide-open eyes from father to mother, from mother to -father. - -Bramwell stood with his back against the wall, staring at his wife and -breathing hard. He was stunned, overwhelmed. He felt uncertain of his -own identity, of the place around him, and of the child. The only -thing of which he felt sure was that he stood face to face with his -wife, who had risen from the tomb. - -"I did not come," she said, moving out from her position between the -bed and the wall, "to see you or to ask mercy or forgiveness of you. -You need not reproach me for being alive; because only I fainted, you -should not have seen me to-night; you should never have seen me again, -for I was on my way to my grave, where I could not go without looking -on my child once more. The announcement of my death came only a little -while before its time. I shall not see another day." - -Her voice was dull and hoarse, the features wasted and pinched, and -mottled with marring blotches of scorbutic red. - -"This is no place for us to talk," he said, pointing to the child on -the bed. "Follow me." - -She hesitated. - -"I do not want to talk with you; I wish to spare you. I know you would -be justified in killing me. But I would not have you suffer because -you wish me dead. I shall not trouble you or the world with another -day of my wretched life. Cover your face, and let me kiss the boy -again, and I will go. I know my way to the river, and I would spare -you any harm that might come to you of my dying here--at your hands." - -"This is no place, I say, for such a scene or for such words. Follow -me." - -"You will not kill me?" - -"I will not harm you, poor soul." - -"Your pity harms me worse than blows." - -"Then I will not pity you. Come." - -"May I kiss the child once more before I leave the room? You may cover -your eyes, so that you may not see your child polluted by my touch." - -"You will be free to kiss him when we have done our talk. I shall not -hinder you." - -He held the door open for her, and with tottering steps and bent head, -she went out into the dark and waited for him. - -"Lie down now, my child, and try to go to sleep. Mother will come to -you later." - -The child, overawed, covered himself up and closed his eyes. -Bramwell took the lamp off the window-sill, and led the way into the -sitting-room. - -He shut the door behind them, put the lamp on the table, and, setting -a chair for her by it, bade her sit down. She complied in silence, -resting her elbow on the table, and covering her face with her hand. - -"You said you fainted," he said, "do you feel weak still?" - -"A little." - -"I keep some brandy in case of sudden illness, for this is a lonely -place." It was a relief to him to utter commonplaces. "And there are, -or at least were until lately, no neighbours of whom I could borrow." - -He poured some out of a pocket-flask, and added water, and handed the -glass to her. "Drink that." - -"What! you will give me aid under your roof?" - -"Under the roof of Heaven. Drink." - -She raised the glass to her lips, and swallowed a small quantity. - -"All. Drink it all. You have need of it." - -She did as she was told. - -He began walking up and down the room softly. - -"You sent me the boy when you believed you were dying, and when the -crisis turned in favour of life you inserted the announcement of your -death in order that I might believe myself free of you for ever?" - -"Yes. I intended you should never see me or hear of me again." - -"That I might be free to marry again if I chose?" - -"That was my idea." - -"And then you came to bid good-bye to your child before going to the -river?" - -"Yes; they never would have found out who I was. I left all papers -behind me, and cut the marks off my clothes." - -"But the love of your child was so strong, you risked everything to -bid him a last farewell?" - -"I am his mother, and all that is left to me of a heart is in my -child. I do not ask you to forgive me for the past. I do not ask your -pardon for what I did three years ago; but I do entreat you, as you -are a just and merciful man, to forgive me for coming to see my -innocent little child!" - -"She took her hand from before her face, and, clasping both her hands -together, raised them in passionate supplication to him as he passed -her in his walk. Her thick, dull voice was full of unutterable woe. - -"I forgive you the past and the present utterly. Say no more in that -strain. My head is very heavy, and I am trying to think. Do not excite -yourself about forgiveness. I am endeavouring to see my way. This has -come suddenly and unexpectedly, and my brain seems feeble, and it will -not work freely. In a little while all will be plain to me. In the -meantime keep quiet." - -He spoke very gently. - -She groaned and covered her face again. She would have preferred the -river to this, but the manner of the man compelled obedience as she -had never felt obedience compelled before, and it was obvious he did -not wish her to go to the river--yet, at all events. - -"It was a terrible risk to run--a terrible risk. Suppose I had -married?" - -"But I never would have interfered with you, or come near you, or let -you know I was alive. You were the last being on earth I wanted to -see." She took her hand down from before her face and looked at him -earnestly. - -"I am sure of that, but you see what has fallen out to-night." - -"O, forgive me, and let me go! My lot is bitter enough for what has -happened, without reproaches for something that has not occurred. You -have not married again? Have you?" - -He shook his head, and said with a mournful smile, "No. I have not -married again. Well, let that pass. Let that pass. Mentioning it helps -me to clear up matters--enables me to see my way." - -"May I go now?" - -"Not yet. Stay awhile." - -"I would rather be in the river than here." - -"So would I; but I must not go, for many reasons. There is the child, -for example, to go no Higher." - -"But I can be of no use to the child. Your coldness is killing me. Why -don't you rage at me or let me go? Are you a man of stone? or do you -take me for a woman of stone?" she cried passionately, writhing on her -chair. - -He waved her outburst aside with a gentle gesture. "Nothing can be -gained by heat or haste." - -"Let me say good-bye to my child and go," she cried vehemently. - -"The child and the river can bide awhile; bide you also awhile. It is -a long time since we last met." - -She grasped her throat with her hand. She was on the point of breaking -down. His last words pierced her to the soul. With a superhuman effort -she controlled herself and sat silent. - -For a minute there was silence. He continued his walk up and down. -Gradually his footfalls, which had been light all along, grew fainter -and fainter until they became almost inaudible. Gradually his face, -which had been perplexed, lost its troubled look and softened into a -peaceful smile. It seemed as though he had ceased to be aware of her -presence. He looked like a solitary man communing with himself and -drawing solace from his thoughts. He looked as though he beheld some -beatific vision that yielded heavenly content--as though a voice of -calming and elevating melody were reaching him from afar off. When he -spoke his tones were fine and infinitely tender, and sounded like a -benediction. He saw his way clearly now. - -"You risked everything to-night to get a glimpse of your child, a -final look, to say a last farewell. You were willing to risk -everything here; you were willing to risk hereafter everything that -may be the fate of those who lay violent hands upon their own lives. -Why need you risk anything at all, either for the boy's sake or in the -hereafter, because of laying violent hands upon your life?" - -"I do not understand you," she whispered, looking at him in awe. His -appearance, his manner, his voice, did not seem of earth. - -"Why not stay with your boy and fill your heart with him?" - -"What?" she whispered, growing faint and catching the table for -support. - -"Why not stay with your boy and fill your heart with ministering to -him?" - -"What? Here? In this place?" she cried in a wavering voice, still no -louder than a whisper. - -"In this place. Why should you not stay with your child? There is no -one so fit to tend and guard a little child as a mother." - -"And you?" she asked in a wild intense whisper. "Will you go to the -river to hide the head I have dishonoured?" - -"No. I too will stay and help you to shield and succour the child. -Mother and father are the proper guardians of little ones." - -"Frank Mellor, are you mad?" she cried out loud, springing to her feet -and dashing her hand across her face to clear her vision. - -"No; there isn't substance enough in me now to make a madman." - -"And," she cried, starting up and facing him, "Frank Mellor, do you -know who I am? Do you know that three years ago I left your house -under infamous circumstances, and that I brought shame and sorrow and -destruction upon your home and you? Do you know that I have made you a -byeword in Beechley and London, and wherever you have been heard of? -Do you know that I am your _wife?_" - -She had raised her hoarse voice to its highest pitch. Her eyes -flashed. She brandished her arms. Her face blazed red in the -undisfigured parts, and the red spots turned purple and livid. She was -frantically defending the magnanimity of this man against the baseness -of her former self, against the evil of her present reputation, -against contact with the leprosy of her sin. - -"All that needs to be known, I know," he said, in the same calm, -gentle voice. "Years ago I lost my wife. I lost sight of her for a -long time. To-night I find a sister." - -"Sister!" she cried in a whisper, sinking on a chair, and losing at -once all her fierce aspect and enhanced colour. - -"To-night I find a sister who is in despair because of the loss of her -child. I restore her child to her empty arms, and I say, 'My roof is -your roof, and my bread is your bread.'" He lit a candle, and handed -it to her. "Go to your room where the boy is, and take him in your -arms, for it comforts a mother to have her child in her arms. I shall -stay here. It is dawn already, and I have work to do. Good-night." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - "I MUST GO TO FETCH HER HOME." - - -When Philip Ray left Crawford's House that night he felt anything at -all but the elation supposed to be proper in the accepted suitor of a -beautiful girl. He had, indeed, a great many troubles in his mind, and -as he walked home to his lonely lodgings in Camberwell he was nearly a -miserable man. It would not be true to say he was out and out -miserable, but he was perilously close to it. - -In the first place, he had to leave Hetty behind him, a thing almost -beyond endurance. Then, when removed from the intoxicating influence -of her presence and undistracted by the magic of her beauty, he -began to turn his eyes inward upon himself, and investigate his own -unworthiness with brutal candour--nay, with gross injustice. - -What on earth was he that a faultless, an exquisite creature like -Hetty should give herself to him? That was a question he asked himself -over and over again, without being able to find any reason whatever -for her sacrifice. More than once he felt inclined to go back, make a -clean breast of it by telling her that as a friend he would recommend -her to have nothing whatever to do with himself. The words of love and -devotion she had spoken to him on the island were a source of intense -pain to him. A nice kind of fellow _he_ was indeed for her to say -_she_ would follow round all the world! He was obtaining love under -false pretences, that's what he was doing. And such love! and from -such a perfect creature! It was simply a monstrous fraud! There was -something underhand and dishonourable about it; for if she had only -known him for what he was, she would flee out of the very parish away -from him. He must have been mad to ask her to marry him. - -It had all come on him suddenly. When he suggested that she should go -to the island with him on the excuse of seeing how the boy got on, he -had no intention of proposing to her; and, nevertheless, no sooner had -he set foot on the Ait than he must retain her hand and ask her to -give it to him for ever! Could he have meant the whole thing as a -joke, or was the Master of all Evil at the bottom of it? - -But the full turpitude of his act did not appear until he considered -ways and means. At present his salary was barely enough to keep -himself in the strictest economy. He could not, after paying for food, -lodgings, and clothes all on the humblest scale, save five pounds a -year. It is true he had a yearly increase of salary, and by-and-by -would have the chance of promotion. But at the most favourable -estimate he could not hope to have an income on which he might -prudently marry sooner than between twenty and thirty years. Say, in -twenty-five years, when his salary would be sufficient, he would be -fifty-two and she forty-five! If he had any hair left on his head then -it would be snow-white, and he would be sure to have rheumatism and -most likely a touch of asthma as well. He would have confirmed -bachelor habits and exacting notions about his food and an abject -horror of the east wind. He would tell old stories as new, and laugh -at them, and the younger men in the office would laugh at him for -laughing at these old tales, and mimic him behind his back, and call -him an old fossil and other endearing names, indicative of pity in -them and senility in him! What a poor idiot he had been to speak to -the girl! - -It was true the Layards were not very well off themselves now; but -they had once been rich, and naturally Hetty ought to be raised by -marriage far up above their present position. She was a lady and a -beauty, and the most enchanting girl that ever the sun shone on, and -ought to wear a coronet if such things went by charm; and here was he, -a pauper junior clerk in one of the most miserably-paid branches of -the Civil Service, coolly asking her to be his wife! His conduct had -been criminal, nothing short of it. - -What on earth would Frank say when he told him of it? If Frank was an -honourable man he would go over to Layard, and advise the brother to -forbid the suitor his house. - -Suitor, indeed! Pretty suitor he was to go wooing such a girl as -Hetty! - -But then Hetty had told him she loved him and would follow him to the -ends of the earth, and he'd just like to hear any man in _his_ -presence say Hetty wasn't to do what she pleased, even if her pleasure -took such a preposterous form as love for him. Now that he came to -think of it in that way, if it pleased Hetty to love him she should -love him, in spite of all the Franks and all the brothers in -Christendom; for wasn't Hetty's happiness and pleasure dearer to him -than the welfare of empires? And if he hadn't quite a hundred a year, -he could make it more by coaching fellows for the Civil Service and in -a thousand other ways. - -Philip Ray having arrived at this more hopeful and wholesome view of -his affairs went to bed, and lay awake some time trying to compose a -poem in his sweetheart's praise. Having found, however, that he could -not keep the lines of equal length, and that the rhymes came in now at -the wrong places and anon not at all, he abandoned poetry as an -occupation with which he had no familiarity, and took to one in which -he had experience--sleep. - -When he awoke next morning all his troubles and doubts had cleared -away. The lead of the night before had been transmuted into gold by -the alchemy of sleep. He seemed to himself really a fairly good fellow -(which was no egotistical over-estimate, but a very fair appraisement -of his value). No insuperable difficulties presented themselves in his -mind to the making thirty, forty, fifty pounds a year more than his -salary. He knew Hetty loved him, and he simply adored his exquisite -jocund Hebe with the rich heart and frank avowal of love. A fig for -obstacles with such a prize before him! If any considerable sum of -money was attached to the setting of the Thames on fire here was your -man able and willing to undertake the feat. - -When the afternoon came, and he found himself released from the -drudgery of his desk, he hastened to Welford. Alfred Layard did not -get home in the evening until eight o'clock, and, of course, Ray could -not call at Crawford's House until after that hour. But he could go to -the Ait, and who could say but Hetty might appear at the window, or -even come out on Crawford's Quay? In any case he wanted to see Frank -and tell him what he had done, for he would as soon have thought of -picking a pocket as of keeping a secret from his brother-in-law. - -Philip Ray hastened along the canal with long quick strides, swinging -his arms as he went. Now that the prospect of seeing Hetty again was -close upon him he had not only lost all his gloom, but was in a state -of enthusiastic hopefulness. He hailed the island three times before -Bramwell answered. - -"I thought you were never coming," said he, as the two shook hands -upon his landing. - -"I was busy when you hailed," said Bramwell, "and I could not -believe it was you so early." Then noticing the excitement of his -brother-in-law, he said, "What is the matter? Has anything happened?" - -"Yes. Let us go in. I want to talk to you most particularly," said -Ray. Then in his turn noticing the appearance and manner of the other, -he said, "What is the matter with _you?_ _You_ too look as if -something had happened." - -"I have been up all night at work," he answered, as they entered the -cottage. - -Ray's sister had gone to Mrs. Pemberton's to get the luggage she had -left there. - -They went into the sitting-room. Frank was playing by himself in the -old timber-yard. - -"Now, what is your news?" asked Bramwell, feeling sick at the thought -that it must be something about Ainsworth. - -Ray fidgeted on his chair. He found it more easy to say to himself, "I -must tell Frank at once," than to accomplish the design now that the -two were face to face. He hummed and hawed, and loosed his collar by -thrusting his finger between his neck and the band of his shirt, but -no words came. At last he got up and began walking about nervously. - -"What is it, Philip? Can I do anything for you?" asked Bramwell, in a -placid voice and with a quiet smile. - -"No, thank you, Frank, I've done it all myself. I've done all that man -could do." - -Bramwell turned pale; seizing the arms of his chair, he said -apprehensively, "You don't mean to say have met Ainsworth, and----" - -"No--no--no!" - -Bramwell threw himself back, infinitely relieved. - -"The fact is I have made a fool of myself." - -"In what way, Philip?" - -"You know my income?" - -Bramwell nodded. - -"Well, it may as well come out first as last. I--don't start, and -pray, pray don't laugh at me--I've fallen in love." - -Bramwell nodded again and looked grave. - -"And I have proposed." - -Bramwell looked pained. - -"And have been accepted." - -"There is no chance whatever of my knowing anything of the lady?" said -Bramwell in a tone implying that the answer must be in the negative. - -"There is. You do. I proposed last night on this island to Miss -Layard, and she has accepted me." - -"Merciful heavens!" cried the other man, springing to his feet. - -Ray paused and stared at his brother-in-law. "Why, what on earth is -the matter with you, Frank? There is nothing so very shocking or -astonishing in it, is there? I know for a man in my position it was -rash, almost mad, to do such a thing. But there is nothing to make you -look scared. Tell me why you are so astonished and shocked? If I told -you I had shot Ainsworth you couldn't look more alarmed." - -"I'll tell you later--not now. Go on with your story, Philip. When you -know all you will see why I was startled. It has nothing to do with -you. I wish you and Miss Layard all the happiness that can fall to the -lot of mortals; but I need scarcely tell you that, my dear, dear -Philip." - -"I know it, Frank. You need not tell me you wish me well. You're the -most-generous-hearted fellow alive. You have suffered cruel wrong -through my blood, but never through me personally. Yet I believe if I -had done you a personal wrong you would shake my hand and wish me well -all the same. I believe if you yourself had thought of Hetty, and she -chose me, you would be just as cordial in your good wishes as you are -now." - -"I should indeed," said Bramwell, with a strange light in his eyes. -"And now tell me the rest of your story." - -Again he shook his brother-in-law warmly by both hands, and then sat -down. - -"There is nothing else to tell. When we came over here to see about -the boy last night I asked her to be my wife, and she consented. By -the way, how did he get on after I left?" - -"For a while his rest was broken," said Bramwell, with a wan smile, -"but after that he slept perfectly till it was time to get up." - -"I knew the child was only dreaming. But Hetty"--yes, he had called -her Hetty to his brother-in-law: how incomparably rich this made him -feel!--"but Hetty was fairly terrified, and I thought it better to -give way to her. It was nothing but a nightmare or a dream." - -"Do you know, I am not so sure of that, Philip?" - -"So sure of what?" asked the other man, drawing down his straight -eyebrows over his eyes, and peering into Bramwell's face, looking for -symptoms of incipient insanity. - -"That it was all a dream," answered the other, returning his gaze. - -"Are you mad?" cried Ray, drawing back, and regarding his companion -with severe displeasure. - -"That is the second time I have been asked the same question within -the past twenty-four hours. Do you know who the other person was who -asked me that question?" - -"Who?" - -"Kate." - -"O, he is mad!" cried Ray, stopping in his walk and surveying Bramwell -with pity and despair. - -The other went on, quietly looking his brother-in-law in the face -steadily. - -"The crisis of that disease went in her favour. She inserted that -announcement of her death in order that I might feel myself free to -marry if I chose. On her way to the River she came to this place to -get one more sight of her child. I found her here----" - -"And you forgave her?" said Ray, in a breathless voice. - -"Yes." - -"Why?" fiercely. - -"Because I thought it would be well for her to be near her child. And -she is to stay here----" - -"Here? With you? You do not mean to say you will meet her day after -day for evermore?" - -"Why not? She had nowhere else to go to--except the River." - -"But he will come again, and she will leave you." - -"No, no. He will not come again. Her beauty is gone for ever." - -"Her beauty gone for ever! How came that to be?" - -"The illness marked her for life." - -"And yet she may stay?" - -"Why not? Will it not comfort her to be near her child?" - -"O, Frank, you make all other men look small!" - -"I said I would tell you why I started and cried out a while ago. Last -night, when I believed myself free, I thought I might speak to Miss -Layard----" - -"O, my brother! O, this is the cruellest blow that ever fell on man! -My heart is breaking for you." - -"I did not know last night that your mind was set on Miss Layard." - -"Do not speak of me." - -"Boland's Ait!" cried a voice from without. - -"Hark!" said Bramwell, holding up his finger. "That is Kate's voice. I -must go to fetch her home." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - CRAWFORD'S PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. - - -Dr. Loftus pronounced Mrs. Crawford's condition to be very serious. He -told her husband he did not expect a fatal termination immediately, -but that in such cases there was no knowing what might happen, and it -would be prudent that all preparations should be made for the worst. -Above all, any violent shock was to be guarded against. There was now, -he thought, absolutely no hope of improvement. If she felt equal to -it, she might get up, and be wheeled about in her chair. In reply to -Crawford's inquiry, the doctor could not tell how far off the end -might be--hours, days, weeks. - -"Months?" - -"Scarcely." - -When the doctor was gone Crawford sat a long time in deep thought. It -was daylight now, and he lay down on a couch in his own room to ponder -over the whole affair. The income of the property would be lost to him -on her death. The three thousand pounds of savings would come to him. -But how, and after what delay? There would be legal formalities and -bother, and he hated both. That fool the doctor either could not or -would not say how long the present state of things was likely to last. -Yet, as he had said, it was wise to be ready for anything, for -everything. Plainly, the best plan for him to adopt would be to induce -his wife to make him a deed of gift of the three thousand pounds. That -would diminish trouble in case of her death. There was no need of -cruelty in asking her to do this. The only thing absolutely necessary -was success. He need not even hint to her that he was taking the -precaution because of the fragility of her life. He could manage to -make the deed of gift seem desirable because of some other reason. One -should seldom tell men the truth, and women never. The truth was too -strong for women. Their delicate natures were not constructed to bear -it with advantage to themselves, and if you told the truth to men they -were likely to use it to their own advantage. Quite right: truth was a -jewel, but, like any other jewel, it was fit only for holiday wear. - -As soon as he got that deed of gift executed there would not be much -more for him to do at Singleton Terrace. Viewed as a place of mere -free board and lodgings, it was not of much consequence. With three -thousand pounds and his present turn of luck he should be well off. -Viewed as the home of a confirmed invalid who doted on him, Singleton -Terrace was distasteful. - -There would not be the least necessity for brutality or unkindness. -Unkindness and brutality were always cardinal mistakes. He believed he -could manage the whole matter with his wife, and appear in it greatly -to his own advantage. He'd try that very day to arrange matters, so -that at any hour he could quit Richmond for ever. What a merciful -deliverance that would be for him! During the past few months he had -scarcely dared to call his soul his own. Yes, if that deed could be -got ready and executed in twenty-four hours, there was no reason why -he should not shake the dust of Richmond off his feet in twenty-five. - -Whither should he go? Ultimately back to the States, no doubt; but in -the first instance to Welford. The latter place would be perfect only -for two circumstances: first, that infernal Philip Ray visited -Boland's Ait close by, and, second, Hetty--that charming Hetty--had a -brother, a most forbidding and ruffianly-looking man, who might make -himself intensely disagreeable. But it would be delightful to be under -the same roof with that beautiful girl and saying agreeable things to -her when they met. In all his life he never saw any girl so lovely as -Hetty; and then look at the luck she had brought him! He would try -Welford for a week or two--try the effect of Hetty's luck by playing -every night for a fortnight. If he had won a good sum at the end of -his trial, he should then be certain it was owing to Hetty. It would -be easy to avoid Ray. He was engaged at his office until the -afternoon. Every afternoon Crawford could leave Welford, go to the -Counter Club, dine there, and not come back till morning. The affair -was as simple as possible. - -Then he thought of his escape from drowning and his meeting with Kate. -But these were unpleasant memories, and he made it a rule never to -cherish any reminiscences which could depress him, so he banished them -from his mind and fell into a peaceful sleep. - -It was late when he awoke. Some letters had come for him, and, after -reading them, he went to his wife's room, and put them down -impressively on a small table by the bedside. His inquiries were -exhaustive, sympathetic, affectionate. He kissed her tenderly, and sat -by her, holding her hand in his, and patting it. He said all the -soothing words he could think of, and assured her of his conviction -that in a few days she would be as well as she had been when they were -so happily married. - -She smiled, and answered him in gentle words, and in her soft sweet -voice. She thanked him for his encouraging sayings, but told him -with a shake of her head that she felt certain she should never be -better--that this was the beginning of the end. - -"But, indeed, you must get well," he said. "You must get well for my -sake. Look, what glorious news I have had this morning! Here is a -letter from my place in South America. It is, unfortunately, full of -technicalities. Shall I read it to you? or tell you the substance of -it?" He held up a bulky envelope, with several foreign stamps on it. - -"O, tell me the substance, by all means! I am not clever like you over -technicalities." - -"It is, in effect, that my manager there has himself invented a -machine quite capable of dealing with the fibre, and that we are now -in a position to set about manufacturing." - -"What splendid news, William!" she cried, with gentle enthusiasm, -pressing the hand she still retained. "You did not expect anything of -this kind?" - -"No. But excellent as the news is, it has a drawback; and that -drawback is one of the reasons why you must get well at once." - -"Why, what has my recovery to do with the affair, and what is the -drawback?" - -"Well, the fact of the matter is we cannot get the machinery made -without some money, and the little I have isn't nearly enough." - -"But I have some. Take the savings. I have told you over and over -again that they are yours. Would what I have be enough?" - -"Well, with what I have and what I can raise I think it would; but you -must get well first. It is only sentiment, no doubt; but I could not -bear to take your money while you are not as well as you were a little -while ago. The only interest or object I now have in this discovery is -that you may share the great benefit of it with me." - -"Indeed, indeed, you must not think of me in this way. It is like your -dear kind self to say what you have just said; but it is not -businesslike, and you must take the money. I am only sorry it is not -ten times as much." - -"No, no! Not, anyway, until you are as well as you were a couple of -months ago, dear Nellie." - -"But you must. I will listen to no denial. Fancy, allowing my illness -to stand in the way of your success!" - -For a good while he resisted, but in the end she prevailed, and he -reluctantly consented to accept the money, and settle about the -transfer from her to him that very day. - -Accordingly, he went to town after breakfast, armed with a letter from -his wife to Mr. Brereton, Mrs. Crawford's lawyer. - -He came back early in the afternoon somewhat disappointed: it would -take a day to complete the business. - -"After all," he thought, "I must not grumble about the delay. The -direct transfer of the money will be better for me than the deed of -gift. In the one case I shall have the money, in the other I should -have only a document." - -He had abstained from going to the Counter Club that day for two -reasons: first, he did not wish to risk discovery of his taste for -play while the three thousand pounds were hanging in the clouds; and, -second, he wished to believe the luck born of his acquaintance with -Hetty prevailed most on the days he saw her, and should, to operate -daily, be daily renewed by sight of her. - -"When all is settled I'll write for Mrs. Farraday to come back and -stay here. She promised she would in case of need. Then I'll tell my -wife that my personal presence is absolutely necessary in America, and -I'll say good-bye to her and go down to Welford. I must arrange with -my wife that Blore, the former agent, is not set to work collecting -for a month or six weeks, so that I may have time to get out of the -country, or away from Welford at all events. I don't think I shall -require more than three weeks at Welford. I can get those gates put up -and taken down again, and stay there on pretence of superintending the -work." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - HUSBAND AND WIFE. - - -The meeting between Philip Ray and his sister was full of pain and -shame to him and the acutest agony to her. Few words were spoken. -Bramwell was not in the room. He tarried behind on the pretence of -mooring the stage, so that the two might not be restrained or -embarrassed by any consideration of him. But the presence of the -husband seemed to haunt the place, and was felt by both as a -restraining influence. - -"If he can forgive her and take her back, what have I to say in the -affair?" asked Philip of himself. - -"No matter how much he may reproach me, I will not answer," thought -the unhappy woman. "Anything Philip could say to me would not hurt me -now." - -So beyond a few formal words no speech was exchanged between the two, -and shortly after Bramwell came back Philip went away. - -"May I stay in this room? This is your room, I know," said Kate -meekly, when they were alone. "I do not wish to intrude. I know you -have writing to do, and that I may be in the way." - -There was no tone of bitterness or complaint in her voice. She simply -wanted to know what his wishes were. - -"While you were out," he said, "I arranged the room I had intended to -be a play-room for the boy as my own. Yours will be the one you used -last night, and this will be common to all of us. I shall shift my -books into my own room and write there." - -"And the boy?" said she, with a tremble in her hoarse, dull voice. -"Which room will be the boy's?" - -"Yours, of course." - -She moved towards him as if to catch his hand in gratitude. He stood -still, and made no responsive sign. - -"When I came here two years ago," he said quietly, "I changed my name -from Mellor to Bramwell. I shall retain the name of Bramwell, and you -will take it." - -He did not request her to do it or command her to do it. He told her -she would do it. - -"As no doubt you are aware, I am very badly off now compared with the -time--compared with some years ago." He was going to say "compared -with the time I married you," but he forebore out of mercy. "I have -little more than a hundred a year and this place rent-free; it is my -own, but I cannot let it. I hope soon to be able to add to my income. -If my anticipations are realised I may double my income; but at -present I am very poor." - -"And I am bankrupt," said she with passionate self-reproach, "in -fortune, in appearance, and in reputation." - -He held up his hand in deprecation of her vehemence. - -"Understand me clearly. Mrs. Bramwell may not have any money, and may -not be as remarkable for beauty as some other women. But recollect, -she has no reputation, good or bad. She did not exist until this -present interview began. The past can be of no use to us. I shall -never refer to it again; you will never refer to it again. There may -have been things in the life of Kate and Frank Mellor which each of -them contemplates with pain. No pain has come into the life of -Francis Bramwell during the two years of his existence. No pain can -have come into the life of Kate Bramwell during the few minutes she -has existed. It will be wisest if we do not trouble ourselves with the -miseries of the Mellors. Do you understand?" he asked in his deep, -full, organ-toned voice. - -"I think I do," she answered. "You mean that we are to forget the -past." - -"Wholly, and without exception." - -"And you will forget that you ever cared for me?" - -"Entirely." - -His voice was full and firm, but when he had spoken the word his lip -trembled and his eyelids drooped. - -He was walking softly up and down the room. She was sitting by the -table in the same place as she had sat last night. Her arms hung down -by her side, her head was bowed on her chest, her air one of infinite, -incommunicable misery. - -"And you will never say a kind word to me again?" she said, her voice -choked and broken. - -"I hope I shall never say any word to you that is unkind." - -"That is not what I mean. You will never change towards me from what -you are now this minute? You will never say a loving word to me as you -used--long ago?" - -She raised her face and looked beseechingly at him as he passed her -chair. - -"I shall, I hope, be always as kind-minded to you as I am now." - -"And never any more?" - -"I cannot be any more." - -"Is there--is there no hope?" She clasped her hands and looked up at -him in wild appeal. - -He shook his head. "I loved you once, but I cannot love you again." - -"You say you forgive me. If you forgive me, why cannot you love me? -for I love you now as I never loved any one before." - -"Too late! Too late!" - -"Is it because my good looks are gone? Why, O, why cannot you love me -again, unless it is because my good looks are gone?" - -"No; your good looks have no weight in the matter. I could not forgive -you if I loved you in the old way." - -"Then," she cried, rising and stretching forth her arms wildly towards -him, "do not forgive me; revile me, abuse me, yes, beat me, but tell -me you love me as you did long ago; for I love you now above anything -and all things on earth. Yes, ten thousand times better than I love my -child! I never knew you until now. I was too giddy and vain and -shallow to understand you. I have behaved to you worse than a -murderess. But, Frank, I would die for you now!" She flung herself on -her knees on the floor, and raised her clasped hands above her -streaming face to him. "On my knees I ask you in the name of merciful -Heaven to give me back your love, as I had it once! Give it to me for -a little while, and then I shall be content to die. You are noble -enough to forgive me and to take me back into your house. Take me back -into your heart too. Raise me up and take me in your arms once, and -then I will kill myself, if you wish it; I shall then die content. -Refill my empty veins with words of love and I will trouble you no -more. I have been walking blindfold in the desert all my life, and now -that the bandages are taken off my eyes and I can see the promised -land, am I to find I can never enter it? I am only a weak, wicked -woman. You have extended to me forgiveness that makes you a god. Have -for me, a weak woman, the pity of a god." - -"I am no longer a man," he said, leaning against the wall. "I am -smoke, an abstraction, a thing, an idea, a code. You are my wife and I -will not cast a stone at you. You are my wife, and you are entitled to -the shelter of my roof and the protection of my name. I make you free -of both. But when you ask for love such as once was yours, I fail to -catch the meaning of your words. You are speaking a language the -import of which is lost to me. It is not that I will not, but that I -cannot, give you what you ask. There would have been no meaning in the -love I offered you years ago if I could offer you love now. Get up. It -was with a view to avoiding a scene I spoke." - -"I will not get up until you tell me there is hope--that some day you -may relent." - -"There is no question of relenting. When you left me you destroyed in -me the faculty of loving you. Now get up. We have had enough of this. -We must have no more. I have been betrayed into saying things I -determined not even to refer to. Get up, and, mind, no more of this." -With strong, firm arms he raised her from her knees. - -She stood for a moment, leaning one hand on the table to steady -herself. Then in a low quavering whisper, she said, "Is there any, any -hope?" - -"There is none." - -She raised herself, and moved with uncertain feet to the door. "It -would have been better I went to the river last night." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - TEA AT CRAWFORD'S HOUSE. - - -When Philip Ray left Boland's Ait he crossed over to the tow-path, and -not to Crawford's Quay. It was still too early to call at Layard's. -There was nothing else for it but to kill time walking about. Under -ordinary circumstances when greatly excited he went for a very long -walk. If nothing else but the startling and confounding affairs at -Boland's Ait had to be considered, he would have dashed off at the top -of his speed and kept on straight until he had calmed himself or worn -himself out. But there was Crawford's House to be thought of. That -must not be left far behind. Even now when he intended circling it he -could not bear to think he was turning his face away from it, although -he knew it was necessary to make a radius before he could begin his -circle. - -His mind was in a whirl, and he could see nothing clearly. The -astounding return of his sister from the grave, and the still more -astounding pardon extended to her by her husband, threw all his ideas -into phantasmagoric confusion. Images leaped and bounded through his -brain, and would not wait to be examined. Of only one thing was he -certain: that Frank was the noblest man he had ever met. Although he -repeated over and over to himself Bramwell's words about Kate, -although over and over again he called up the vision of Kate in that -room on the islet, he could not convince his reason that forgiveness -had been extended to her. In his memory he saw the figures and heard -the voices, and understood the words spoken, but a dozen times he -asked himself, could it be true? or had his imagination played him -false? - -The affairs at the Ait dwarfed his own concerns, and made them seem -tame and commonplace. That a young man should fall desperately in love -with a beautiful girl like Hetty was the most natural thing in the -world; but that a hermit, a young man of scrupulous honour like Frank, -should take back an errant wife, whose former beauty had now turned -almost to repulsiveness, transcended belief. It was true, but it was -incredible. - -As time went on, and the walking allayed the tumult in his mind, his -thoughts came to his own position in the circumstances. He had not -told Layard or Hetty any of Frank's history beyond the fact that it -was a painful one, and a subject to be avoided. He had not told them -that he was Bramwell's brother-in-law. He had never said a word about -Bramwell's wife. - -Now all would have to be explained. Of course, he had intended telling -when he spoke to Layard about Hetty; things had changed beyond -anticipation, beyond belief, since last night. Had he known what was -going to happen on the Ait last night, what had absolutely happened -when Hetty and he landed there, he would not have said a word of love -to the girl. He would have told her the facts about Kate before asking -Hetty to marry Kate's brother, before asking Hetty to become the -sister of this miserable woman. - -He knew he was in no way responsible for his sister's sins, but some -people considered a whole family tainted by such an act in one of its -members. Some people believed conduct of this kind was a matter of -heredity, and ran in the blood. Some people would ask, If the sister -did this, what could you expect from the brother? - -Would the painful tale he had to tell Layard influence Hetty's brother -against his suit? There were thousands of people who would consider -that he himself was smirched by his sister's fault. Was Layard one of -these? - -The best thing for him to do was to relate the story at once; the most -honourable and straightforward way for him to proceed would be to -speak to Layard before he again saw Hetty. If Layard raised an -objection, and that objection was insuperable, the most honourable -course for him to pursue would be to give up all pretensions to Hetty. - -Yes, but could he? And would he be justified in renouncing her now -that he knew she loved him? It would be all very well if he had not -made love to her and gone so far as to ask her to marry him. If only -his happiness were concerned the path of duty would be plain enough. -But Hetty and he were now partners in love, and had he the power or -the right to dissolve the partnership without consulting her? Clearly -not. However he looked at the situation doubts and difficulties arose -before his mind. There was only one matter clear--he ought to speak to -Layard at once. - -It was now half-past seven. Layard left the gasworks at eight. Why -should he not intercept him on his way home and put him in possession -of all the facts? Upon what Layard said, the course to be adopted -could be based. - -He got to the gas-house, and was walking up and down impatiently when -Alfred Layard came out of the gateway and saw him. - -"Anything the matter?" asked Layard apprehensively when Ray came up to -him. - -"At your place? O, no! I wanted a few minutes' talk with you, so I -came to meet you." - -"All right," said Layard, with a smile. He thought he could guess what -the talk would prove to be about. He was the incarnation of -unselfishness, and it never occurred to him for a moment to consider -how awkward it would be for him if Hetty married and left him. - -"I want first of all to tell you a very painful piece of family -history," said Ray, anxious to get the worst over as soon as possible. - -"But why should you, Ray? I am the least curious man alive." - -"You will know why I wish to tell you before I have finished." - -Then, without further preface, he narrated the history of Kate, her -marriage, her flight, her supposed death, her appearance last night at -the Ait, and her husband's forgiveness. - -Layard was greatly interested and excited by the story. When it was -finished, he said: - -"There is enough Christianity in that man Bramwell to make a bishop." - -"To make the whole bench of bishops," cried Ray enthusiastically. "I -always knew he was a hero, but I was not prepared to find the spirit -of a martyr as well. And yet I ought to have been prepared for -anything noble and disinterested in him. He does what he believes to -be right without any view to reward here or hereafter. He has had his -wild days when he plunged, under his great trouble, into the -excitement of gambling, but even in that he was unselfish; he injured -no one but himself. Once he pulled up, he stopped for good and all. -And now I come to the reason for taking you into confidence and -telling you what you need never have known only for something which -concerns myself more deeply than all else which has happened to me in -my life." - -Then in a few words he explained his position, his feelings towards -Hetty, and his belief that his feelings were reciprocated. - -"You have three matters to weigh," he said, in conclusion; "first, the -family history I have told you; then my financial position, taking -into account the chance of my getting the tuitions; and, last, whether -you would object to me personally. In the short time I have known you, -I have taken to you more than to any other man I ever met except -Frank. I am speaking to you as much as a friend as Hetty's brother. If -I did not look on you as a friend, I should not care greatly to take -you into my confidence and defer to you. But the notion of doing -anything underhand or behind your back would seem to me intolerable -treason." - -"I'll be as straightforward with you as you have been with me. I have -liked you from the first moment of our short acquaintance. The way in -which you have spoken to me this evening strengthens ten thousand -times my good opinion of you. The miserable family history you have -told me has no bearing whatever on you, and I see nothing to stop you -but the getting of those tuitions. Why, I married on little more than -your salary; and during my short married life I never for one moment -repented, nor did my poor girl. Contented and willing hearts are the -riches of marriage, not money." - -Ray was too much moved to say more than "Thank you, Layard;" but he -stopped in his walk, and, with tears in his eyes, wrung the hands of -the other man. - -"And now," said Layard, as they resumed their way, "let us get home to -tea." - -That was his way of telling Ray that there was no need of further -words either in explanation or of thanks. - -"I thought we were going to have a thunderstorm last night, and -to-night it looks like it too. I always feel a coming storm in the -muscles of my arms, and they are tingling this evening." - -Layard opened the door with his latch-key. The two men went into the -front room, and in a few minutes Hetty appeared with the tea-pot. She -coloured deeply on seeing Ray with her brother. She had not heard the -footfalls of two people, and was not prepared to find him there. He -had never before come in with Alfred, and a suspicion of what had -occurred flashed through her mind. - -She did not speak to Ray. She felt confused, and half-pretended, even -to herself, that she did not know he was present. Her brother went to -her and put his arm round her waist and kissed her cheek, and then -drew her over to the chimney-piece, where Ray stood, feeling somewhat -like a thief. - -"You forgot to say good-evening to Ray," said the brother. - -"Good-evening," said she, in a low voice, holding out her hand. - -Ray took the long slender hand, feeling still more dishonest and -shamefaced and miserable. - -When the fingers of the lovers touched, Layard caught the joined hands -in both his, and pressed them softly and silently together; then, -turning away, he stepped quickly to the window, and stood a long time -looking at the dead wall opposite through misty eyes. - -"I don't think we shall have that storm," said Ray at length. - -Layard turned round. Hetty was pouring out the tea, and Ray was -standing with his back to the chimney-piece. - -"No," said Layard, "I fancy it is passing away. My arms feel easier." - -Hetty was smiling, but looking pale. - -"Do you take sugar and milk, Mr. Ray?" said she. - -"Dear me, Hetty," said her brother, "what a lot you have to learn -yet!" - -She coloured violently, and shook her head at him. - -"I wish you would sit down, Alfred. You are keeping all the light out -of the room; I can't see what I'm doing." - -"No," said he, looking meaningly from her to Ray; "but, bad as the -light is, I can see what you have done." - -At this Hetty and Ray laughed a suppressed laugh, and looked at one -another with joyous glances. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - CRAWFORD WRITES HOME. - - -The morning after Mrs. Crawford's relapse and Crawford's visit to town -about the three thousand pounds, the husband was sitting by his wife's -bedside. He was in a particularly cheerful and hopeful humour, and -insisted that she had already begun to mend, and would in a week be -better than she had been for months. - -She shook her head with a sad smile, but said nothing. She did not -wish to sadden the being she loved above all other living creatures by -the thought of a final separation between them, a separation which she -felt was inevitable, and to which she could not reconcile her mind. -When alone she would cry out in despair to her gentle heart, "To be so -loved, and to be so loving, and to be separated so soon!" - -He went on affecting undiminished confidence in her recovery. "I tell -you, I am certain you must, you will, get well, and that much sooner -than even the doctor thinks." (The doctor had told him again that day -there was little hope of her rallying.) "What good would my luck be if -you were not by my side to share it? My Nelly comforted and sustained -me in my days of doubt and difficulty. Do you mean that she is not to -share my triumph? I will take very good care she shall. And now I want -to tell you what I insist upon doing. I will take no denial, for I -look on it as essential to your recovery." - -"I will do anything you tell me," she said with meek devotion. "I will -do all I can to get well. For, William, I am the happiest and most -blessed woman in England, and I do not want to leave you, dear." - -"That's my own brave wife," said he, winking his eyes quickly and -patting her arm. "I don't think you will raise much, if any, objection -to what I am about to do. I am going to write to Mrs. Farraday to come -back and stay with you. She promised she would come if you needed her, -and she will be a great source of comfort and confidence to you." - -"But her brother?" - -"Oh, her brother can do without her for awhile. You will be all right -again in less than no time, and then, if she wishes, she can go back -to her brother. And now I am off to write to Rochester for her by this -very post, for a good thing cannot be done too soon, and I am sure -this is a good thing for you." - -He left her, went to his own room, wrote the letter, and posted it -immediately himself. Then he came back to the house, and having -entered the dining-room on the ground-floor, began walking up and down -with brows lowered in deep meditation. - -"I had better get it over me before Mrs. Farraday comes," he thought -as the result of his cogitations. "I can't stay here any longer. I am -not a sick-nurse to philander after an ailing woman, and dally in an -invalid's room. She was a fool to marry me. Did she think for a moment -I fell a victim to her ancient charms? If she did she ought to be in a -lunatic asylum. Of course I told her I wanted to marry her for love, -but is there in the history of the whole human race a single case of a -man saying to a woman, 'I want to marry you for your money'? Not one. - -"I can't stand this house any longer; it suffocates me. The doctor -says there is no hope. Why should I wait to see the end? The approach -of death and the presence of death are abhorrent to all healthy -people. I can do no good by staying, and I have to think of myself. -There are very few men living who would have been as good to her as I -have been. She cannot expect me to do more, and," with one of his -short laughs and a quick winking of his eyes, "my affairs in South -America urgently demand my presence. I'll get the business over me at -once. Brereton told me I could have the money early this afternoon." - -Here his mind became so intensely occupied that his legs ceased to -move, and he stood in the middle of the room lost in thought. He was -contemplating scenes in his imagination: not proceeding by words. -Presently words began to flow through his brain again, and he resumed -his pacing up and down. - -"If there should be any hitch about that money I should be in a nice -mess." He shook his head gravely and repeated this contingency to -himself two or three times. "That would never do. It would look weak -and foolish. When I act I must act with firmness and decision. No, I -had better make sure of the cash first." - -He put all the money he had in his pocket, left the house, and took -the first train to town. At Waterloo he jumped into a hansom and drove -straight to the office of Mrs. Crawford's solicitor. He found Mr. -Brereton in, and everything ready. The solicitor handed him an open -cheque for £3,270, saying gravely as he did so: - -"And you are fully resolved to put this money in that South American -speculation?" - -"My dear sir, there's a vast fortune in that fibre of mine; and now -that the machinery has been perfected, it is only stretching out one's -hands to gather in hundreds of thousands of pounds." - -Brereton shook his head. - -"The best place in which to put money is English Consols." - -"What, less than three per cent.! For you can't buy even at par now. -Why, my dear sir, it's letting money rust." - -"It's keeping money safe." - -Crawford shrugged his shoulders and made a grimace of dissatisfaction. - -"Over-prudence, my dear Mr. Brereton. Who never ventured never got." - -"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush; and of all the uncertain -things I know of there is only one worse than putting money in South -American speculations, and that is putting it in Central American -ones." - -"Ah, but you have never been in South America!" said he triumphantly, -and his eyes winked quickly, and he laughed a short unpleasant laugh, -and thought to himself, "Nor have I either." Then he continued aloud, -"I am aware that it is most unwise of any one who does not know the -ground to dabble in South American speculations, but, you see, I am -well acquainted with the place, and know the ropes." - -"The last client I had who touched anything in South America blew his -brains out. But, of course, it is no affair of mine. I have only to do -what I am asked by Mrs. Crawford in her letter to me. The cheque is an -open one, as you requested. They will pay you across the counter. I -hope you will not think of keeping such a sum as that in your house?" - -"O, dear, no! I am going to remit it at once to my agent. When you see -me next, Mr. Brereton," laughing and winking his eyes, "you will -congratulate me upon my spirit and success." - -"I hope so," said the lawyer drily, and in a tone and manner which -plainly said he believed nothing of the kind would occur. - -Crawford said good-bye and went straight to the bank, where he got -thirty-two one-hundred pound notes and seventy in fives. - -He had never had so much money in his possession before. He had never -had any sum approaching it. Once or twice after a good racing week in -the old times he had been master of five or six hundred, but three -thousand two hundred pounds! It was almost incredible! And it was all -in cash! It did not lie in the cold obstruction of any bank. It was -not represented by doubtful I.O.U.'s. It was not represented by -shadowy entries in a betting-book. It was not invested in any shaky -securities. It was not manifested by abstract entries in a ledger. The -money was concrete and tangible, and lying safely in his breast-pocket -under the stout cloth of his coat. He could take it out and count it -now if he liked. That minute he could start for Monte Carlo or St. -Petersburg, Australia or Norway. - -As he walked along the streets he held his head high. He felt -independent of all men, independent of fortune, of Fate. He had -married for money, he had realised the prize, and it was now safe in -his pocket. These notes were as much legally his own as his hands or -his teeth. No one could take them from him except by force, and he -took pride in thinking that few men who passed him in the street would -be able to cope with him single-handed. He had as much thought of -risking his money in anything so far off and tame as South American -speculations as he had of buying a box of matches and burning it note -by note. - -Of course, Brereton had been right in saying it would be a dangerous -thing to keep such a tempting sum in an ordinary house. There might -even be danger in walking about the streets with it in his pocket. -Some dishonest person might have seen him draw it out of the bank and -might be following him. He might be a match for more than an average -man, but he would be no match for two or three. Garrotting had gone -out of use, but it might be revived even in midday in London by men -who knew the prize he carried, and were bold and prompt. If in a quiet -street he were seized from behind and throttled so that he could not -cry out, and if a man in front cut the pocket out of his coat, the -thieves might be off before passers-by knew what was going on or -suspected anything being wrong. He had a horror of revolvers, but -plainly he ought to be armed. He did not yet know where he should keep -his hoard, but in any case it would be well to possess the means of -defending it. - -Crawford had by this time got out of the City and was strolling -through Regent Street. He turned into a gunsmith's shop and bought a -short large-bore revolver and some cartridges. The man showed him how -to load the weapon. Crawford explained that he was about to leave the -country for Algiers, and wished to have all the chambers charged, as -he was going in a vessel with a crew of many nationalities, and was -taking out a lot of valuable jewellery. - -Lying was a positive pleasure to him, even when it was not necessary. -"It keeps a man's hand in," he explained the habit to himself. - -It was now about two o'clock, and he began to feel the want of -luncheon. There was no place where better food could be got or where -the charges were more moderate than at the Counter Club. He was only a -short distance from it. What could be more reasonable than that he -should go and lunch there? Nothing. So he turned into an off street on -the left, and in a few minutes was seated in a luxurious armchair in -the dining-room, waiting for the meal he had ordered of the obsequious -waiter. - -He was somewhat tired by his walk, and found rest in the -well-cushioned chair grateful and soothing. - -Could anything be more comfortable and cheering than to sit at ease in -this well-appointed club, with a small fortune in notes under one's -coat? Here was no suggestion of illness or approaching death. All the -men present were in excellent health and spirits. They were talking of -cheerful subjects--horses, theatres, cards, the gossip and scandal of -the town. They spoke of nothing that was not a source of enjoyment; -and though all they said ran on assumption that they did not -contemplate the idea of any man denying himself pleasure or being -unable to obtain pleasure owing to the want of money, they were not -all rich men, but all spoke as if they were. It was so much pleasanter -to sit here, listening to this talk and taking part in it, than to -wander about that cold-mannered house in Singleton Terrace at -Richmond, or to sit by the sick-bed of a wife ten years older than -himself and whine out loving phrases and indulge in distasteful -private theatricals. - -Then the obsequious and silent-footed waiter brought in his cutlets, -and whispered that his luncheon was ready. Everything was very nice at -Singleton Terrace, but somehow cutlets there and here were two widely -different matters. It was no doubt easy to explain the reason of the -difference. In one place the cook got twenty, in the other a hundred, -pounds a year. But though that explained the difference, it made the -cutlets at Singleton Terrace no better. - -He had had enough of Richmond. Why should he go back there? As he had -always held, there was no advantage in being brutal, and he would not -undeceive his elderly wife. He would not tell her in plain words that -he had never cared in the least for her, that he had married her -merely for her money, and now that she was dying and her income would, -for him, die with her, and that he had got all the money she had, that -his whole mind was occupied with the image of a beautiful young girl -whom he was about to make love to and ask to fly with him on her -(his wife's) money. No. It would be uselessly unkind to tell that -middle-aged silly invalid any of these things. But why should he go -back to Richmond? - -If he went back to say good-bye he would have to play a long scene in -private theatricals to which no salary was now attached, since he had -all the savings in his pocket. Besides, he would find it hard, -credulous as his elderly wife was, to make her believe there could be -any urgent necessity for his immediate departure to South America. -There would be a scene and tears--and he hated scenes and tears--and -then if the surprise or shock made her worse, who could tell the -consequences, the unpleasant consequences, which might arise? - -In the next room were pen, ink, and paper. Why should he not write -instead of going back? That was it! He'd write explaining, play at the -club to-night, and go on to Welford in the morning. That was a better -programme than crawling back to that silly old invalid and acting -sorrow at parting when his heart was overrunning with joy. - -He went into the next room and wrote his first letter to his wife. He -used a sheet of unheaded paper, and did not date or domicile it. - - -My dearest Nellie,--Upon coming to town I found waiting for me a -telegram from Rio Janeiro to the effect that if I did not reach that -city at the very earliest moment possible--in fact, by a steamer -sailing from London to-day--my title to the estate on which the fibre -grows would lapse. Nothing but my personal presence could save it. So, -much against my will, I was obliged to drive in hot haste to the boat -without the satisfaction of bidding you good-bye. Indeed, I have -barely time to write this scrawl, and shall have to intrust it to a -waterman for post. Be quite sure all will go well with me, and that I -shall telegraph you the moment I land. I am so glad I wrote for Mrs. -Farraday before leaving home this morning. I know she will take every -care of my Nellie while I am away, and I am sure my Nellie will take -every care of herself, and be quite well long before the return of her -loving husband, - - William Crawford. - - -"Thank heaven that's the end of this ridiculous connection!" he said -to himself as he dropped the letter into a pillar-box in front of -the club. "My mind is now easy, and I can enjoy myself. I can play -to-night as though I were still a bachelor with no thought of the -morrow. Ah, but I have thought of the morrow! What delightful thought, -too! delightful Hetty." - -It was late in the evening when this letter was delivered at Singleton -Terrace. Nothing else came by that post. Although Mrs. Crawford had -often seen her husband's writing, this was the first letter she had -got from him, and she had never before seen her name and the address -of that house in his writing. She did not recognise the hand, and -thinking the letter must be connected with routine business about the -Welford property, she put it on the table by her bedside unopened. He -attended to all such matters. - -When the maid brought in her supper she took up the letter again and -turned it over idly in her hands. All at once it struck her that the -writing was familiar, but whose it was she could not guess. - -With a smile at her own curiosity, she broke the cover and drew out -the sheet of paper. - -She looked at the signature languidly until she read it. Then hastily, -tremulously she scanned the first few lines. When she gathered their -import she uttered a low wailing sob and fell back insensible on the -pillow. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII. - - WILLIAM CRAWFORD FREE. - - -When William Crawford had posted his letter to his wife he felt ten -years younger than an hour before. He enjoyed an extraordinary -accession of spirits. The day had grown heavy and cloudy, but to him -it was brighter than the flawless blue of Mediterranean summer. -Richmond and Singleton Terrace were done with for good and all. There -were to be no more private theatricals played for board and lodgings. -Instead of simulating love for an elderly woman, he was at liberty to -make real love to the most charming young girl he had ever met. His -notions of right and wrong were clear and simple: what he liked was -right, what he did not like was wrong. Since he had come to man's -estate he had acted upon the code, and it never once occurred to him -to question it. He did not object to other men being pious or just or -modest; he did not object to their even preaching a little to him -about the merit of these or any other virtues. All he asked was to be -let go his own gait unmolested. - -He was now at liberty to take what path he chose and adopt what sport -pleased his humour. He had played for a small fortune and won. He felt -proud of his success, and sorry that the nature of it forbade him -glorying in it. He was aware that the most disreputable and -unprincipled blackleg in the Counter Club would scorn to get money -as he had acquired his. But this did not matter to him. He was -not going to tell any one at the club how he came by the money; -that was an irksome self-restraint imposed upon himself out of -deference to ridiculous conventional ideas. But he had the money in -his pocket--that was the great thing. - -As he intended playing all through the night, if the game were kept -up, it was too early to begin at three o'clock in the afternoon. He -should be fagged out before morning if he sat down now. He was neither -so young nor so impetuous that he could not discipline desire to -delay. - -All at once he remembered that in abandoning Singleton Terrace so -suddenly he had lost his kit. The value of his baggage was not very -great, and with the sum now in his possession he would not for three -times its value go back to Richmond for it. He had now no personal -belongings but the clothes he stood in and a portmanteau at Welford. -He would go to a tailor and an outfitter and order what he wanted. -That would amuse him and help to kill time. He should get back to the -club about seven, and devote the rest of the evening and all the night -to cards. - -He did not go to the tailor with whom he had dealt since he came to -live at Richmond. He wanted to cut himself off from that place as -completely as possible. - -At the tailor's he ordered three suits of clothes to be ready in three -days and forwarded to Crawford's House, Crawford Street, Welford. What -he bought at the outfitter's were to be sent to the tailor's and to -accompany the parcel of the latter. He paid in advance for all. Then -he went to another shop, purchased a portmanteau, and directed it to -be delivered at the tailor's, and sent a note with it, asking him to -put the outfitter's parcel and the clothes into it and send it to the -address already given. - -Then he bethought him of a dressing-bag, and he bought a handsome one -with silver-mounted bottle and ivory-backed brushes. The bag, being of -leather, reminded him that he had no boots but those on his feet. So -he purchased a couple of pairs and a pair of slippers, and the -slippers put him in mind of a dressing-gown. - -He directed all these things to be sent to the tailor's, and wrote to -the tailor to let them all be forwarded at the one time--that is, when -the clothes were finished, in three days. - -He enjoyed this shopping greatly. He had never before spent so much -money on himself in one day. It was so pleasant to buy these articles -without worrying about the price, to be in doubt as to whether he -should have a dressing-bag at thirty or thirty-five pounds, and to -decide in favour of the thirty-five-pound one merely because it had -prettier bottles and a greater number of pockets. - -When he could think of nothing else which he wanted, he said to -himself, "And now what shall I take Hetty? I must get the very -handsomest present I can light upon." - -This set him off calling Hetty up to mind. He looked into the windows -of a dozen jewellers' and shops where fancy articles were sold. He -failed to find an article to his liking. He could not realise Hetty -accepting any of the costly gifts presented to his view. At length -with a sudden start he cried out to himself, "What an idiot I have -been! Of course, she would not accept any of these things from me now. -A few simple flowers from Covent Garden to-morrow morning on my way to -Welford will be the very thing." - -It never once occurred to him during the day that the money he was -spending belonged to his wife, and was being laid out in a way and -under conditions not contemplated by her in giving it to him. When he -decided on taking flowers to Hetty, it never once occurred to him that -this would be spending his wife's money to conciliate a rival of hers, -and that twenty-four hours ago he would have bought these same flowers -for his deserted wife. - -"Hetty," he said, formulating his theory, "is to be won through her -imagination, not by pelf." - -When he got back to the club he reckoned up what he had spent. -It was an agreeable surprise to find that although he had treated -himself with great liberality, all his purchases did not absorb the -hundred-pound note he had changed at the tailor's. He had got a -moderate outfit and a very handsome dressing-case, with cut-glass -bottles silver-mounted, and ivory-backed brushes, for less than one -thirty-second part of the money received from Mr. Brereton that -afternoon. He sat down to an excellent dinner with the conviction that -he had done a fair day's work, and that he was entitled to enjoy -himself for the remainder of the evening, and as far into the morning -as he chose. - -The dinner was excellent; his shopping had given him zest for it, and -when he stood up from the table he felt in the most excellent humour -with himself and all the world. - -He looked at his watch. - -"She has my letter by this time," he said to himself, thinking of his -wife. "If she is not a greater fool than I take her for, she will know -from it that she has seen the last of me." - -When he wrote the letter he had no intention of conveying any such -idea to her, but his shopping and thoughts of Hetty had hardened his -heart since then towards his unhappy wife, and now he wanted to -believe that his letter would leave her no loophole of hope. - -"Dr. Loftus said any shock might bring on the end. Perhaps my -letter----" He paused and did not finish the sentence, but began -another: "When a case is hopeless the greatest mercy which can be -shown to the sufferer is, of course, to put an end to the struggle. -She could not have fancied for a moment that I was going to spend all -my life in the sick-room of a woman almost old enough to be my mother. -Anyway, I need not bother my head any more about the matter. She -cannot say that while our married life lasted I was not a kind and -considerate husband. Turn about is fair play, and I am going to be a -little kind and considerate to myself now. I'll put the past away from -my mind. 'Gather we rosebuds while we may' is my version. Now to lose -for the last time." - -At the Counter Club there were men every night who did not mind how -far into the morning they sat so long as they were winning. From the -moment Crawford touched the cards until he rose at half-past six he -had lost steadily. Though he had played for higher stakes than usual, -he had been as careful of his game as if he had no more than a few -hundred pounds with him. He had not been reckless. He had not plunged. -Luck had simply been dead against him, and when, while eating his -early breakfast, he counted up the cost, he found he was close on -three hundred pounds the worse for his night's experience. - -Mentally he cursed his bad luck. - -"But I deserve no better," he thought. "I told myself that I should -have good luck only when I had come from Welford. The luck I played -with last night was my wife's or my own, and both have been invariably -bad. I shall go to Welford to-day, and play to-night with Hetty's -luck, and win back all I have lost and more besides. And now to get a -bouquet for Hetty--for the loveliest girl in the whole of England. But -the bouquet must not be too splendid. It must be simple and cheap, or -it might do more harm than good." - -At Covent Garden he bought some simple blossoms, and had them tied -carelessly together. - -"She will not value them for what they cost, but for my remembering -her." - -He was full of confidence in his power to fascinate and win. It never -for a moment occurred to him that Hetty might not care for him or his -memory of her. The notion of a rival had never entered his head, and -if any one had suggested such a thing he would have laughed the -consideration of it to scorn. He admired Hetty intensely, and he meant -to succeed, and succeed he would. - -He lounged about Covent Garden for a good while, for he did not want -to reach Welford until Layard had gone to the gasworks. Of course he -should say his visit to Crawford's House was made with the purpose of -seeing what progress had been made with the gates for the flooded -ice-house. - -It was about eleven o'clock when he got to Welford Bridge. - -"The coast will be quite clear till one or two o'clock," he thought, -with a sense of satisfaction. "Layard has gone to the works and Philip -Ray is in his office, curse him!" - -When Hetty heard the latch in the door that day she came to no hasty -conclusion that it was her brother come back for something he had -forgotten. She was in the kitchen with Mrs. Grainger at the moment, -and guessed immediately it was Crawford, although the week was not yet -up. If Philip Ray had not spoken out to her, that sound at the door -and the likelihood of the visitor being the landlord of the house -would have thrown her into unpleasant excitement bordering on panic; -but now she felt as calm and as much at ease as though certain it was -Alfred himself. - -"I shall say nothing of what that dreadful man said about his falling -into the river," she resolved hastily. "If he chooses to speak of it, -well and good; if he does not, well and good also. We are to leave -this house as soon as Alfred can make arrangements for doing so. The -quieter and the smoother everything goes in the meantime the better." - -Crawford paused in the hall. Mrs. Grainger appeared "Is Mr. Layard -in?" he asked, well-knowing he was not. - -"No, sir, he's gone to the works." - -"Then will you tell Miss Layard I should be glad to see her for a few -minutes?" he said, taking off his hat and putting it on the table. - -Hetty came at once, and held out her hand with a smile. - -"She looks lovelier than ever," he thought, as he took the long -slender hand and retained it. "I know I have come before my time, but -I have been bothered again in my sleep about that ice-house and you. I -will stay a day or so in order to see the gates put up--that is, of -course, if you do not object?" - -"Object!" she said, withdrawing her hand. "Why on earth should we -object?" - -"Well, I don't know," said he. "It may seem to you that I am unduly -anxious about the matter. But upon my word, my anxiety about you has -deprived me of all peace since I saw you last, and that scoundrel to -whom I gave the order for the gates has not begun them yet. I assure -you I had to exercise all my self-restraint to keep my hands off the -fellow when I forced the truth from him. Will you accept a few simple -flowers as a peace-offering and in lieu of the gates?" - -"O, thank you," she said. "They are beautiful! But you give yourself a -great deal of unnecessary anxiety and trouble about that ice-house. We -never allow little Freddie on the Quay by himself, and of course there -is no danger for a grown-up person, because no grown-up person ever -goes near it. How on earth," she asked, with a laugh, "do you fancy a -grown-up person could fall into such a place?" She wondered was he -going up to his own room, or did he intend to remain standing there -all day? - -"I daresay I should not mind it if my dream happened to be about any -one else. But the mere hint that any danger could threaten you is -enough to drive me distracted. It is indeed," he said, looking at her -intently, and with a pained expression on his usually passive face. "I -assure you I did not sleep a wink last night; I could not, and I feel -quite worn out and ill this morning. I have been wandering about, -trying to kill time until I thought it was not too early to call here. -I am hardly able to stand with anxiety, want of sleep, and fatigue." - -"Would you not like to go to your own room and rest awhile? I will -send Mrs. Grainger up with something nice for you." - -"Mrs. Grainger could bring up nothing that I'd care for, and I hate -the notion of going to that lonely room. I am quite nervous and -unstrung." He sighed faintly and leaned against the wall for support. - -"Well," she said, "will you come into our room and rest there?" -Plainly, after his reference to the loneliness of his own place and -the declaration of his exhausted condition, there was nothing but to -offer him their front-room. - -"Thank you," he said, "I shall very gladly accept your offer. I am -thoroughly ashamed of seeming so weak and unmanned, but indeed I have -had an awful time of it." - -He sank on a chair as though completely exhausted. She stood by the -door and said, "Cannot I send you something, Mr. Crawford?" - -"If you would be so good as to get me a glass of water and then not -leave me for a little while I should feel very grateful to you." - -She hastened away and returned in a few seconds with the water. - -"Miss Layard, I cannot tell you how ill I felt as I came along here. I -really thought I should not have had courage to open the front door. I -was full of the direst imaginings. I fancied that no sooner should I -raise the latch than some awful form of bad news about you would -strike me dumb with horror, paralyse me with despair." He took out his -handkerchief and rubbed his forehead, which, however, was perfectly -free from moisture. - -"I am very sorry to be the cause of so much trouble to you, Mr. -Crawford," said Hetty with some concern, though she had a vague kind -of feeling that there was something wrong with the man--that he was -either acting or of weak intellect. It never once occurred to her that -he was thinking of making love to her. How could it? Was not he a -married man? And did he not know that they were aware the owner of the -Welford and Leeham property was his wife? She thought he had been a -good deal too impulsive and a little impertinent on the former -occasion when he told her of his dream, but now she was almost -convinced that his violence of language on the former occasion and his -physical collapse now were the result of a weak mind under strong -excitement. - -For a while after drinking the water he sat still and did not speak. -Apparently he was gradually recovering, for he sighed once or twice, -and once or twice straightened himself and sat upright on his chair. -"I shall be all right in a few minutes. The sight of you is doing me -good." - -"Well, of course you know now nothing dreadful has happened?" - -"To you--yes; I know that, thank Heaven! but to me, yes." - -"Something dreadful has happened to you?" cried Hetty. "I am sorry to -hear you say so. Nothing, I hope, that can't be mended?" - -"Well, I do not know about that. If my condition were very desperate, -Miss Layard, and it was in your power to mend it, and I asked you to -help me, would you do so?" - -"Certainly, Mr. Crawford, if I possibly could." He rose and went to -her where she sat by the table, and bent over her, and said in a low, -tremulous, tender voice, "Thank you--thank you a thousand times, my -dear Miss Layard, my dear Hetty--may I call you Hetty?" - -She coloured and looked uncomfortable, and this made her shine in his -eyes with ineffable beauty. "It is not usual," she said at last. - -"No, it is not usual, but I would deem it a great privilege. I of -course would not call you by your dear Christian name when any one was -by, but when you and I were having a little chat by ourselves I might, -might I?" - -Her colour and her confusion increased. "It is not usual," she -repeated. "There is no reason why you should call me one thing now and -another thing at another time." She raised her eyes, drew away a -little from him, and pointing to the chair, said with steady emphasis -which surprised herself, and showed him he must go no further--now, -anyway: "I am afraid you are not yet rested enough to stand so long. -Will you not sit down again?" - -"You are right," he said with a deep sigh. "You are quite right. I am -completely worn out, and my head is confused." - -"There is no couch in your own room--perhaps you would like to rest on -the one here? You will not be disturbed for some hours yet. My brother -does not come in till three." - -"Thank you very much, Miss Layard," he said, without any emphasis on -her name. "But I think I'll go to my own room and lie down now. If I -could get an hour's sleep I should be all right." - -When he stood alone in his own room he said to himself, "I have not -made much progress with her yet. I durst not go any further to-day -than I went. Next time I ask her I'd bet a thousand pounds to a penny -she'll give me leave to call her Hetty when we're alone. Once let her -give me leave to call her Hetty when we are alone while I am to call -her Miss Layard when any one else is present, and the rest is simple. -My dreams"--he uttered his short sharp laugh and winked his eyes -rapidly--"my dreams and my enormous solicitude for her welfare _must_ -tell in the end." - -He went to the open window and looked out at the canal and the Ait and -the tow-path. Then he turned his eyes downward. - -With a cry of terror he sprang back, as though a deadly weapon or -venomous snake in act to strike were a hand's breadth from his breast. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - CRAWFORD IS SLEEPLESS. - - -What startled Crawford and made him draw back in terror from the -window was the sight beneath him of the stage reaching from Boland's -Ait to Crawford's Quay across the murky waters of Crawford's Bay. - -Involuntarily he put his hand behind and felt for the revolver in his -pocket. It was reassuring to find it safe and within easy reach. - -It had been bad enough to know that Philip Ray visited the idiotic -recluse, Bramwell, on this accursed island; but to find a means of -communication established between the Ait and the Quay was alarming in -the extreme. - -What could be the object of this floating bridge? Of course it was not -there merely by accident. It was there with the consent of the Layards -and the poor drivelling creature who lived on the holm. - -William Crawford was not an intrepid man. Layard was near the truth -when he called him a coward. Crawford never courted danger. His -instinct was to flee from it. If he could not run away, he preferred -thrusting his head into the sand to looking menace straight in the -face. If a person or a place became obnoxious to him he simply went -away or stayed away. - -In the present case the thing he would like best was that Philip Ray -might die, or be killed, or stop away from Boland's Ait because of -some sufficient and final reason, death being the most satisfactory of -all. After the cessation of Ray's visits to the Ait for fully -sufficient reason, what he would have liked was his own absence from -the neighbourhood. The latter means of terminating the difficulty lay -in his own hands, but two considerations operated against his adopting -it. In the first place, he could use the precaution of not being in -the house, or even district, during the hours when Ray was likely to -be free from his office; and, in the second place, he could not bring -himself to abandon his pursuit of Hetty. He was willing to run a -moderate risk for her sake. - -"I think," he had said to himself that day on his way to Welford, -"that if Nellie were to die, and I found Hetty continued to bring me -luck, I should marry her." - -He had never asked himself whether it was likely Hetty would marry him -or not. He always considered that women should be allowed little or no -voice in such matters. - -From the shock of seeing the stage connecting the Ait and the Quay he -recovered quickly. He went back to the window and looked out again. - -There was not a cloud in the heavens. The noonday sun of mid-June -blazed in the sky. There was no beauty in the scene, but it was -looking its best and brightest. Under the broad intense light of day -the waters of the Bay and the Canal shone like burnished silver, all -their turbidity hidden from sight by the glare, as the darkness in the -heart of steel is masked by the polished surface. Now and then a stray -wayfarer passed along the tow-path. A barge, piled up high with yellow -deals, trailed with slackened rope after the leisurely horse. The -grass on the slope up from the tow-path was still green and fresh with -the rains of recent spring. Beyond the wall at the top of the bank -burned a huge vermilion show-van with golden letters naming in the -light. The tiles of Bramwell's cottage glowed a deep red under the -blue sky. Afar off factory chimneys, like prodigious columns of some -gigantic ruined fane, stood up against the transparent air with -diaphanous capitals of blue smoke uniting them to the blue vault -above. From Welford Bridge came the dull sound of heavy traffic, and -faintly caught from some deep distance came the faint napping beat of -heavy hammers driving metal bolts through the stubborn oak of lusty -ships. Sparrows skipped on the ground and twittered in the air. High -up in the blue measures of the sky a solitary crow sailed silently by -unheeding. All the world appeared dwelling in an eternal calm of vital -air and wholesome light. All abroad seemed at peace under the spell of -a Sabbath sky. - -Suddenly he became conscious of voices near and beneath him. He looked -out, but could see no one. - -"They seem to come from the island," he thought, "and to be children's -voices." - -"It's a 'bus," said one of the young voices, "and I'm the driver." - -"No," said another young voice, but a more resonant one than the -former; "it's a tramcar, and I'm the driver." - -"And I'm the conductor." - -"No; I'm the conductor too." - -"And what am I?" - -"O, you're the people in the car. Fares, please. Here, give me this -piece of slate. That's your fare. O, I say, there's a coal wagon on -the line before us!" - -The other boy uttered a shrill cry. - -"What's that?" - -"The whistle for the coal-van to get out of the way." - -"But I am the driver, and you are not to whistle." - -"Then I am the conductor, and the conductor rings the bell." - -"No, you're not. I am the driver and the conductor, and you are the -people in the tramcar, and all you have to do is to sit still and pay -your fare. Fares, please." - -"I am not to pay my fare twice. I don't like to be the people." - -"O, but you are to pay your fare again, for we are coming back now, -and you are different people." - -"I don't like this game. Let us play something else." - -"Very well. We'll play it's a boat, and that you fall into the river, -and I catch you and pull you out, and----" - -"Curse the brats, whoever they are!" cried Crawford fiercely, as he -put his hand on the sash and drove the window down violently. - -Freddie's words were purely accidental. For neither he nor any one -else had heard from Hetty about Crawford's accident at the Mercantile -Pier. She had said no more to her brother than that the landlord had -come about the gates for the ice-house, and the subsequent alarming -attempt at extortion by Red Jim had driven curiosity regarding -Crawford's visit out of Layard's mind. Now that the latter had made up -his mind to get out of this house as soon as possible, he cared little -or nothing about the doings of the owner, so long as the owner kept -his eccentricities within reasonable limits. The talk which Layard had -with Bramwell on the subject of leaving Crawford's house had made no -lasting impression on the brother. When he was by himself that night -he made up his mind finally on two points. First, he would have Mrs. -Grainger all day in the house; and, second, he would find a new home -as soon as he could get rid of the present one. - -The words of the child playing in the old timber-yard of the Ait had -an unpleasant effect on Crawford. He did not know who the child was, -nor could he bring himself to believe that this mishap at the -Mercantile Pier had anything to do with the words overheard, and yet -the coincidence vexed him. He told himself it was ridiculous to allow -the circumstance to disturb him, but he could not help himself. - -"I begin to think," he muttered, "that sitting up does not agree with -me. I must be growing nervous. I ought to have some sleep if I am to -try my luck again to-night--my luck and Hetty's," he added. "But if I -sleep I must take care not to overdo it. I don't want to be here when -that bearded ape of a brother of hers comes in to dinner." He went to -the head of the stairs and called out to Mrs. Grainger to knock at his -door and tell him when it was half-past two. Then he took off his -coat, waistcoat, and boots, and lay down on his bed. - -It was not quite as easy to go to sleep as he imagined it would be. -The words of the child kept ringing in his ears. If by any chance the -story of his fall into the water reached Hetty's ears, it would not -improve his position in her mind. It might, in fact, cover him with -ridicule. The bare thought of being laughed at made him writhe and -curse and swear. - -Well, if he wanted to get any sleep, he must put this nonsensical -trouble out of his head. He ought to be very sleepy, and yet he felt -strangely wakeful. - -Then he could not say seriously to himself that he had made much -progress with Hetty. Had he made any? He did not, of course, expect to -find her in love with him all at once, but he had hoped she would show -a little interest in him. If he must tell himself the truth, the only -interest she showed in him was a desire to get him away from herself -or to get away from him. In a week or so that would be all changed, -but it was not pleasant just now. - -"Confound it!" he muttered, turning over on his other side, "if I keep -going on this way I shall not get a wink of sleep." - -There was no more virtue in lying on one side than the other. He -successfully banished from his mind any reflections that might disturb -him. He thought of all the pleasant features of his present condition. -He had for ever cut himself adrift from Singleton Terrace and the -slavery to that infatuated old fool, his wife. He had now in his -pocket, even after his losses of last night, four times more money -than ever he had owned at one time in all his life before, and he had -a weapon to defend himself and his money. He had never possessed a -revolver or a pistol of any other kind until now. He was absolutely -secure against all danger. No harm could come to him or his money. He -was afraid of nothing in the world now, of no one----Curse that Philip -Ray! - -But he must remember that Philip Ray could have nothing more than a -revolver, and that he himself had one, and at close quarters such a -weapon was as effective in the hands of a man unaccustomed to its use -as in those of one who had practised shooting hours a day for years. - -No; sleep would not come. Perhaps if he put the revolver under his -head the sense of security its presence afforded would soothe him into -slumber. - -He got up and took the weapon out of the back pocket of his coat. He -poised it in his hand, and looked at it with mingled feelings of -timidity and admiration. He cocked it, and took aim at spots on the -wall paper a few inches above the level of his own eye. "If Ray were -there now, and I pulled this trigger, he would be a dead man in less -than a minute. I do not want to kill him. I should not fire except in -self-defence. But if I thought he meant any harm, I'd save my life and -put an end to his--the murderous-minded scoundrel!" - -With the utmost care he lowered the hammer and, thrusting the revolver -under his pillow, lay down again. - -No; he did not feel any inclination to sleep. He counted a thousand; -he watched a large flock of sheep go one by one through a gap; he -repeated all the poetry he knew by rote, and found himself as wakeful -as ever. - -He tumbled and tossed about, and poured out maledictions on his -miserable condition. He had not had experience of such a state before. -Until to-day he had possessed the power of going to sleep at will. He -had never lain awake an hour in his life. This was most tantalising, -most exasperating. He should not be fresh for the cards to-night. He -should be heavy and drowsy when he wanted to be clear and bright. How -could he be fresh enough to play if he did not get rest? - -Could it be the burden of this money was too great for him? Was he -really apprehensive of being robbed? Brereton had told him it was -dangerous to carry so large an amount in cash about with him. Had -Brereton's words sunken into his mind, and were they now working on -him unawares? No one could gainsay the wisdom of Brereton's caution. -It was a dangerous thing to go about the streets of London with three -thousand pounds in one's pocket. But there was nothing else for it. He -would not put the money in an English bank, for he could not get an -introduction without betraying himself, his presence in London, and -telling more of his affairs than he desired. Lodging it in the -Richmond bank was quite out of the question. - -It was maddening to feel he could not sleep. Could it really be he -was, unknown to himself, in dread of being plundered if he lost -consciousness? - -He opened his eyes and looked around him. Then, with an angry -exclamation, he sprang up. - -"What an idiot I have been," he cried, "to leave the door unlocked! My -reason must be going when I could be guilty of such folly." - -He turned the key in the lock. He looked around the room. He had shut -the window to keep out the voices of the children, but he had omitted -to fasten it down. He hasped it now. Then he went to the chair on -which his coat lay, took the bundle of notes out of his breast-pocket, -and thrust it under the pillow of the bed beside the revolver. He -looked at his watch. "One o'clock," he muttered. "Now for an hour and -a half's sleep. I shall wake fresh, and then be off to town." - -Now and then he thought his desire was about to be realised. Now and -then for a moment a confusion arose in his senses, and he lost the -sharp outlines of reality, only to return to intense wakefulness and -renewed despair. - -"I shall go mad!" he cried in his heart. "Something tells me I -shall go mad. Between Ray, and the Club, and Singleton Terrace, and -Hetty, and the money, and this want of sleep, I know I shall go mad. -Insomnia is one of the surest signs of coming insanity. O, it would be -cruel--cruel if anything happened to me now that I have just won all! -I am free of Nellie; I have the money; I have felt the influence of -Hetty's luck, and will feel it again to-night. If Hetty would only -come with me I should be out of the way of Kate's brother. Curse him a -thousand times! And now I feel my head is going, my brain is turning. -It isn't fair or just after all the trouble I have taken. It is -horrible to think of losing everything now that I have so much within -my grasp. I think that fall into the river and the meeting with Kate -afterwards must have hurt my brain. And this sleeplessness, this -wearing sleeplessness, will finish the work! O, it is too bad, too -cruel! It is not fair!" - -With a cry of despair he rose and began pacing up and down the room, -frantically waving his hands over his head, and moaning in his misery. - -Mrs. Grainger knocked at the door. - -"It's half-past two, sir." - -"All right." - -The voice of the woman acted like a charm. - -"What on earth," he asked himself, pausing in his walk, "have I been -fooling about? I daresay that ducking and the fright of it, and the -meeting with Kate, and the long repression at Singleton Terrace, and -the cards, and finding myself so near Ray, and this bridge from the -island to the Quay, and having the anxiety of the money on my mind, -have all helped to put me a little out of sorts, and therefore, like -the fool that I am, I must think I am going mad. The only sign of -madness there is about me is that I should fancy such a thing. Why, -the mere lying down has made me all right. I feel quite refreshed and -young again. And now I must off. I don't want to meet that grinning -bearded oaf." - -Crawford put on his coat, waistcoat, and boots, replaced the money and -the revolver in his pockets, and went downstairs. He could see Hetty -through the open door of the sitting-room, arranging the table for -dinner. - -"I perceive," he called out to her in a blithe voice, "that you have -opened up communications with your Robinson Crusoe. You have got a -plank, or a stage, or something, from the Quay to the Ait." - -"O," said Hetty, "Robinson Crusoe has a little boy the same age as our -Freddie, and Freddie goes over every day to play with young Crusoe, -and that's why the stage is there." - -"I heard children's voices from my room. I suppose they belonged to -Freddie and his young friend?" - -"Yes. You couldn't be within a mile of the place without hearing -Freddie's voice." - -"Good-day." - -"Good-day." Crawford went to the door and opened it. Suddenly a -thought struck him, and he closed the door and ran upstairs. When he -found himself in his own room he shut the door, and said to himself in -a tone of reproach, "How stupid of me not to think of that before. Why -need I carry all this money about with me when I can leave the bulk of -it here?" - -He counted out twenty-five one hundred-pound notes and locked them in -a drawer. He turned the key in the lock of the door on the outside, -and dropped it into his pocket. Then he slipped down the stairs -noiselessly and gained the street without seeing either Hetty or Mrs. -Grainger. - -"I feel a new man now," he said to himself. "There is about as much -chance of my going mad as of my being made Archbishop of Canterbury. -And now we shall see if there is anything in my notion about Hetty's -luck. Tonight will be the test." - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - - CRAWFORD SLEEPS. - - -William Crawford was in a hurry away from Welford, not in a hurry to -the Counter Club. His design was more to escape a meeting with Layard, -than to pick up any of his gambling associates. "A walk," he thought, -"will do me good." So, instead of taking the steamboat or any wheeled -conveyance, he crossed Welford Bridge at a quick pace and kept on, -heading west. - -He felt that this day made an epoch in his life. He had bidden -good-bye to his wife for ever. He had realised the fortune for which -he had schemed. He had put himself under the tutelage of Hetty's luck. -He would shortly cut the past adrift. If Nellie died soon--a thing -almost certain--he would marry Hetty, leave the country and settle -down. Of course, whether his wife died or not, Hetty must be his. That -was settled, both because he admired her more than any other woman he -had ever met and because she had brought him luck, and would bring him -more. He knew, he felt as sure he should win that night as he did that -the sun was shining above him. If he did not win that night he should -be more astonished than if the sky now grew dark and night came on -before sunset. O, how delightful and fresh would life be in the new -world with Hetty and good luck present, and all the dangers and -troubles and annoyances of the old world left behind here, and -banished from his mind for ever! - -He had not felt so light and buoyant for many a long day. What an -absurd creature he had been half-an-hour ago, with his fears of going -mad just because he had been a little upset and deprived of sleep for -twenty-four hours! - -He crossed the river by London Bridge and loitered about the City for -a couple of hours. He felt that sensation of drowsiness coming on him -again. He knew he could sleep no more now than when at Welford. Again -his mind became troubled, and, shaking himself up, he exclaimed, "I -will not suffer this again. There is nothing to rouse one up like the -cards. Now to test my theory of Hetty's luck." He hailed a hansom and -drove to the Counter Club. - -The dinner at the club was excellent, but he had little or no -appetite. As a rule he drank nothing but water. This evening he -felt so dull and out of sorts he had a pint of champagne. It roused -and cheered him at first, and after a cup of coffee he felt much -better than he had all day. Not giving himself time to fall back -into his former dull and depressed condition, he went straight to the -card-room, where he found more men than usual, and the play already -running high. - -That night remains immemorable in the annals of the Counter Club. Play -had been going on from early in the afternoon. Three brothers named -Staples, members of the club, had lately come into equal shares of a -large fortune left by a penurious old uncle. This was the first -evening they had been at the Counter since they had got their -legacies, and they had agreed among themselves to make a sensation. Up -to this night they had been obliged to shirk high play, as their means -were very limited and no credit was given at the card-tables. They -were flush now, and had made up their minds to play as long as they -could find any one to sit opposite them. When they came into the -card-room an hour before Crawford they told a few friends their -intention. The news spread, and the room filled to see the sport. -Owing to the high stakes there were fewer players and a much greater -number of spectators than usual. - -"Now," thought Crawford, when he had heard the news, "this will be a -good test. I am in no hurry, and I will give my luck, Hetty's luck, a -fair trial. I have about five hundred pounds, and I'll play as long as -they play if my money holds out." - -There were six tables in the room, and at each of three one of the -brothers sat. Crawford took his place at the table where the eldest -was playing. - -At midnight Crawford was ten pounds better off than at the beginning. -This was worse than to have lost fifty. It was stupefying. It was more -like earning money at a small rate an hour than winning money at -cards. - -As the men at Crawford's table had resolved to make a night of it, -they adjourned for half-an-hour at one o'clock for supper. Crawford -was still further disgusted to find that now he had eight pounds more -than at starting. Eight pounds after five hours! Why, verily, the game -did not pay for the candle. And worse than the paltriness of his -winnings was this feeling of drowsiness which had come on him again. -He now blamed the champagne for it. He drank water this time. - -At half-past one play was resumed. The dull heavy feeling continued, -and at times Crawford hardly knew what he was doing. The night flew -by. By four o'clock all the lookers-on had left, and the room -contained only players. All the tables but one were now deserted. At -this one six men sat, Crawford, the three Staples, and two other -members of the club. - -By some extraordinary combination of luck no money worth speaking of -had changed hands. All the players declared they had never seen -anything so level in their lives. At this time there was a pause in -the play for light refreshment. Five of the men had brandies and -sodas, Crawford had coffee. He looked at the counters before him, and -counted them with his eye. He had been making money at something like -the rate of a day labourer. He had won two or three sovereigns! This -wasn't play, but slavery. - -The other men had nothing sensational to say; they all declared they -were pretty much as they had started. No one had gained much, and no -one was much hurt. - -"Never saw such a thing in my life!" said the eldest Staples in -amazement. - -"Nor I," said Crawford. - -"Shall we say seven for breakfast, and then, if there is no change, -we'll chuck it?" - -"All right," chorussed the others. - -At seven, however, there was a very marked change: Crawford had won a -hundred and fifty pounds. - -"That's better," said the eldest Staples. "I vote we go on." - -He was two hundred and fifty to the bad. - -"Agreed," said the others. - -"Is any one sleepy?" - -"I'm not, at all events," said Crawford. - -He could hardly keep his eyes open, and his head and limbs felt like -lead. - -At eight o'clock play was resumed, and Crawford's good luck continued. -But he went on like a man in a dream. Now and then he lost all -consciousness of his surroundings for a moment, and even when aroused -he seemed only half awake; but though he was playing automatically, -his good fortune kept steadily increasing the heap of counters at his -left elbow. - -At noon a few of the men who had been spectators the evening before -came in to learn how the sitting had ended. They were overwhelmed with -astonishment and envy when they heard that play had been continued all -through the night and was still going on. They dropped into the -card-room to see how the company bore the wear and tear of the night, -and to gather how matters stood. - -At one o'clock another halt was called for luncheon. The position of -the players was then ascertained approximately. Two of the Staples and -one of the other men had lost heavily, the youngest Staples had won a -trifle, the other man was fifty pounds to the good, and William -Crawford found himself in possession of sixteen hundred pounds, or -eleven hundred more than when he sat down. - -"Have we not had enough of it?" he asked of the eldest Staples; "I -feel very tired." - -"O," cried Staples, "let us go on till one of us gives in. If luck -keeps on as it has been running I shall be dished soon. Then we can -stop." - -"All right," said Crawford. To himself he said, "If the play leaves -off before midnight I know I shall increase my winnings, for Hetty's -luck will be with me till then." - -At seven o'clock young Staples said, "What about dinner?" - -"O, hang dinner!" cried his brother. "Let us play until I'm cleaned -out. I mean to stop at another hundred." - -Crawford felt himself nod more than once between that and nine -o'clock. He could no longer readily distinguish hearts from diamonds -or spades from clubs. He heard noises in his ears, and every now and -then he had to shake himself up sharply to make himself realise where -he was. - -"Crawford, you're falling asleep," said the eldest of the brothers, -"and I've got beyond that hundred. Shall we stop? We've been at it -twenty-four hours." - -"I've been at it nearly thirty-six," said Crawford, rising. "I have -had no sleep for forty-eight hours. I cannot see the cards." - -"Shall we all dine together?" asked Staples. "This is an occasion -which we ought to mark in some way or other." - -"For my part," said Crawford, "I could eat nothing. I could not -swallow a morsel until I sleep. I shall take a hansom and drive home." - -As he stumbled stupidly into the cab that evening he carried away from -the Counter Club two hundred pounds in gold, four hundred in notes, -and sixteen hundred in cheques, making in all twenty-two hundred -pounds, or seventeen hundred pounds more than he had brought into it -the evening before. He directed the man to drive to Welford Bridge, -and then settled himself comfortably in a corner to sleep on the way. - -Before falling asleep he put his hand into his back pocket to -ascertain if the revolver was there. "It's all right," he muttered. -"After all, it's a great comfort to have it and to know I can defend -myself and protect my money. But in reality, it isn't my money, but -Hetty's. She brought me the luck. That's as plain as--" He started and -stopped for a moment. A vivid flash of lightning had roused and -stopped him for a second. "That's as plain as the lightning I have -just seen." Before the long roll of the distant thunder died in the -east he was asleep. - -In little over an hour the cab reached the South London Canal. The -driver raised the trap in the roof, and shouted down: - -"Welford Bridge, sir." - -"O, ay," said Crawford, half awake. "What is it?" - -"This is Welford Bridge, sir." - -"Very good; I'll walk the rest of the way." - -He got out and paid the man. Rain was now falling in perpendicular -torrents. Every minute the sky was filled with dazzling pulses of -swift blue flame. The crash and tear and roar of thunder was almost -continuous. - -Crawford was conscious of flashes and clash and crash overhead, and -rain descending like a confluence of waterspouts, but he did not feel -quite certain whether all was the work of his imagination in dreams or -of the material elements. - -Dazed for want of sleep, and half-stunned by the clamour of the sky, -and rendered slow and torpid by the clinging warm wetness of his -clothes, he staggered along Welford Road and down Crawford Street. - -"I shall sleep well to-night," he thought, grinning grimly at his -present uncomfortable plight. - -Arrived at the door, he opened it with his latch-key. He stumbled -along into the back hall with the intention of shaking the rain off -his clothes before going up to his room. - -The door on the quay from the back hall was wide open. He stood at it -and looked out. The light from the kitchen pierced the gloom, and the -rain streamed across the wet and glittering floating-stage. - -At that moment three pulses of fierce blue light beat from sky to -earth, illumining vividly everything which distance or the rain did -not hide. - -William Crawford saw by the swift blue light from heaven the form of a -woman advancing towards him across the stage. He saw that she held and -umbrella open above her head. He saw that she had red spots on her -thin and worn face. He knew that this woman was Kate Mellor of three -years back, the woman who had rescued him from death a few days ago. - -It was plain she did not recognise him, he standing between her and -the light in the hall. She said, shaking the umbrella: - -"I brought this for you, Philip." - -Philip! Her brother! Philip Ray, her brother, who had sworn to kill -him, must therefore be absolutely in the house under whose roof he now -stood. Monstrous! - -He turned swiftly round with a view to gaining the foot of the stairs -and dashing up before he could be recognised. - -Under the light of the hall-lamp, and advancing towards him, was -Philip Ray, Kate's brother. For a moment Philip stood stock still, -regarding the other fixedly. Then with a yell the brother sprang -forward, crying: - -"By ----, 'tis he at last! 'Tis Ainsworth!" - -With a shriek of terror and despair Crawford bounded through the open -door out on the narrow quay, and turned sharply to the left. In a -second Ray sprang out on the quay in pursuit. The darkness was so -intense he could not see which way Crawford had taken. For a moment he -stood in the light coming through the doorway. - -It was at this instant Kate Bramwell stepped ashore off the stage. As -she did so two flashes in quick succession burst from the heavens. By -this light she perceived Crawford standing half-a-dozen paces to the -left of the back-door. She recognised him instantly. She saw that he -had his right arm raised and extended on a line with his shoulder in -the direction of her brother. She saw in his hand something metallic -gleam in the lightning. With one bound she clasped her brother and -strove with all her power to drag him down to the ground out of the -line of the weapon. There was a snap, a loud report, and with a pang -of burning pain in her shoulder, she fell insensible to the ground. - -The thunder burst forth in a deafening roar. - -The man who had fired the shot turned and fled headlong, he knew not, -cared not, whither. - -Suddenly he tripped over something and shot forward. He thrust out his -hands to break his fall. They touched nothing. His whole body seemed -to hang suspended in air for an instant. Then his hands and arms shot -into water. His face was dashed against the smooth cold surface, and a -boisterous tumult of water was in his ears, and his breathing ceased. - -"The ice-house! No gates! Why do I not rise? If I do he will kill me. -I cannot get out of this without help, and he is the only one near who -could help, and he would kill me, would with pleasure see me drown a -thousand times. When I rise I shall shout, come what may. I wonder is -he dead? Why do I not rise? Yes, now I know why I do not rise. The -gold, the two hundred pounds in gold; and my clothes are already -soaked through. I shall never rise. I need struggle no more. I am -going, going red-handed before the face of God." - -That night William Crawford slept under ten feet of water, on the bed -of ooze and slime, at the bottom of the flooded ice-house on -Crawford's Bay. - -The wounded woman never spoke again, never recovered consciousness. -She passed peacefully away in the fresh clear light of early day. - -It was not until the evening after the fatal night that, at the -suggestion of Bayliss, the water of the flooded ice-house was dragged, -and the body of William Crawford discovered. In the case of Kate -Bramwell, a verdict of wilful murder was brought in by the coroner's -jury against William Crawford. In his own case the jury said that he -was found drowned in the flooded ice-house, but how he happened, to -get into the water there was no evidence to show. - -Mrs. Farraday, who came at once to Richmond on receiving Crawford's -letter, was careful to let no newspaper containing any account of the -Welford tragedy near Mrs. Crawford. The patient and gentle invalid was -gradually sinking. She never complained to any one of his desertion. -She never told a soul of the money she had given him. Whatever she -thought of his letter to her she kept to herself. Her evidence, no -doubt, would have been required at the inquest if her health had been -ordinary. But Dr. Loftus certified that the mere mention of his death -would in all likelihood prove fatal to her. - -About a month after his death she said one evening to Mrs. Farraday: - -"I should like to get one letter from my husband, announcing his safe -arrival, before I go on my long journey. But it is not to be. I shall -not be here when the letter comes. Let no one open it. Let it be burnt -unopened. The letters between a husband and wife ought to be sacred." - -She was afraid something in it might militate against the good opinion -in which those who had met Crawford in Richmond had held him. - -One morning, about six weeks after the inquest, Mrs. Farraday thought -the stricken woman was sleeping longer than usual as she had not rung -her bell by half-past nine o'clock. Mrs. Farraday went to the bed and -found the poor sufferer had glided from the troubled sleep of life -into the peaceful sleep of eternity. - -"It is a mercy," said the good and kind-hearted woman, "that she never -knew the truth." - -It is now two years since that awful night. Once more Boland's Ait is -uninhabited; once more no one dwells on the shore of Crawford's Bay. -But in a very small but comfortable and pretty house in one of the -leafy roads of the south-east district, and not far from the great -Welford Gasworks, live in amity and cheerful concord two small -families consisting of Alfred Layard and his little son Freddie, and -Philip Ray, his wife Hetty, and their tiny baby girl, who is called -after the mother, but always spoken of as Hesper by the mother, -because of the great seriousness with which young mothers ever regard -their first little babes. Hetty declares Hesper to be the wisest child -in all the realms of the empire, for she never by any chance utters a -sound during the two hours each evening that Philip is busy with his -pupils. - -Bramwell lives with his boy in a cottage at Barnet, where he is -preparing for the press a selection from articles written by him in -magazines during the past two years. - - - - - THE END. - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of An Isle of Surrey, by Richard Dowling - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ISLE OF SURREY *** - -***** This file should be named 42756-8.txt or 42756-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/7/5/42756/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the -Web Archive (Emory University) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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