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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a2e51e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53598 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53598) diff --git a/old/53598-8.txt b/old/53598-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7a5394d..0000000 --- a/old/53598-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7615 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shield of Love, by B. L. Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Shield of Love - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: November 25, 2016 [EBook #53598] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHIELD OF LOVE *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (the New York Public Library) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - 1. Page scan source: Google Books - https://books.google.com/books?id=PAAoAAAAMAAJ - (the New York Public Library) - - - - - - -LEISURE HOURS SERIES. ---------------------- -THE SHIELD OF LOVE - - - -BY -B. L. FARJEON - - - -NEW YORK -HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY -1891 - - - - - - -COPYRIGHT, 1891, -BY -HENRY HOLT & CO. - - - -THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, -RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - -CHAPTER - I. In which some particulars are given of the Fox-Cordery - family. - II. Poor Cinderella. - III. A family discussion. - IV. Wherein Cinderella asserts herself. - V. In which John Dixon informs Mr. Fox-Cordery - that he has seen a ghost. - VI. In which we make the acquaintance of Rathbeal. - VII. Billy turns the corner. - VIII. The gambler's confession. - IX. Mr. Fox-Cordery is not easy in his mind. - X. In which Mr. Fox-Cordery meets with a repulse. - XI. Little Prue. - XII. "DRIP--DRIP--DRIP!" - XIII. In which Rathbeal makes a winning move. - XIV. Do you remember Billy's last prayer? - XV. Friends in Council. - XVI. Mr. Fox-Cordery's master-stroke. - XVII. Retribution. - - - - - - -THE SHIELD OF LOVE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. -In which some particulars are given of the Fox-Cordery Family. - - -This is not exactly a story of Cinderella, although a modern -Cinderella--of whom there are a great many more in our social life -than people wot of--plays her modest part therein; and the allusion to -one of the world's prettiest fairy-tales is apposite enough because -her Prince, an ordinary English gentleman prosaically named John -Dixon, was first drawn to her by the pity which stirs every honest -heart when innocence and helplessness are imposed upon. Pity became -presently sweetened by affection, and subsequently glorified by love, -which, at the opening of our story, awaited its little plot of -fresh-smelling earth to put forth its leaves, the healthy flourishing -of which has raised to the dignity of a heavenly poem that most -beautiful of all words, Home. - -Her Christian name was Charlotte, her surname Fox-Cordery, and she had -a mother and a brother. These, from the time her likeness to -Cinderella commenced, comprised the household. - -Had it occurred to a stranger who gazed for the first time upon Mr. -and Miss Fox-Cordery, as they sat in the living-room of the -Fox-Cordery establishment, that for some private reason the brother -and sister had dressed in each other's clothes, he might well have -been excused the fancy. It was not that the lady was so much like a -gentleman, but that the gentleman was so much like a lady; and a -closer inspection would certainly have caused the stranger to do -justice at least to Miss Fox-Cordery. She was the taller and stouter -of the twain, and yet not too tall or stout for grace and beauty of an -attractive kind. There was some color in her face, his was perfectly -pallid, bearing the peculiar hue observable in waxwork figures; her -eyes were black, his blue; her hair was brown, his sandy; and the -waxwork suggestion was strengthened by his whiskers and mustache, -which had a ludicrous air of having been stuck on. There was a -cheerful energy in her movements which was conspicuously absent in -his, and her voice had a musical ring in it, while his was languid and -deliberate. She was his junior by a good ten years, her age being -twenty-eight, but had he proclaimed himself no more than thirty, only -those who were better informed would have disputed the statement. When -men and women reach middle age the desire to appear younger than they -are is a pardonable weakness, and it was to the advantage of Mr. -Fox-Cordery that it was less difficult for him than for most of us to -maintain the harmless fiction. - -This was not the only bubble which Mr. Fox-Cordery was ready to -encourage in order to deceive the world. His infantile face, his -appealing blue eyes, his smooth voice, were traps which brought many -unwary persons to grief. Nature plays numberless astonishing tricks, -but few more astonishing than that which rendered the contrast between -the outer and inner Mr. Fox-Cordery even more startling than that -which existed in the physical characteristics of this brother and -sister. - -There were other contrasts which it may be as well to mention. As -brother and sister they were of equal social rank, but the equality -was not exhibited in their attire. Mr. Fox-Cordery would have been -judged to be a man of wealth, rich enough to afford himself all the -luxuries of life; Charlotte would have been judged a young woman who -had to struggle hard for a living, which, indeed, was not far from the -truth, for she was made to earn her bread and butter, if ever woman -was. Her clothing was common and coarse, and barely sufficient, the -length of her frock being more suitable to a girl of fifteen than to a -woman of twenty-eight. This was not altogether a drawback, for -Charlotte had shapely feet and ankles, but they would have been seen -to better advantage in neat boots or shoes than in the worn-out, -down-at-heels slippers she wore. Depend upon it she did not wear them -from choice, for every right-minded woman takes a proper pride in her -boots and shoes, and in her stockings, gloves, and hats. The slippers -worn at the present moment by Charlotte were the only available -coverings for her feet she had. True, there was a pair of boots in the -house which would fit no other feet than hers, but they were locked up -in her mother's wardrobe. Then her stockings. Those she had on were of -an exceedingly rusty black, and had been darned and darned till -scarcely a vestige of their original self remained. Another and a -better pair she ought to have had the right to call her own, and these -were in the house, keeping company with her boots. In her poorly -furnished bedroom you would have searched in vain for hat or gloves; -these were likewise under lock and key, with a decent frock and mantle -she was allowed to wear on special occasions, at the will of her -taskmasters. So that she was considerably worse off in these respects -than many a poor woman who lives with her husband and children in a -garret. - -But for all this Charlotte was a pleasant picture to gaze upon, albeit -just now her features wore rather a grave expression. She had not an -ornament on her person, not a brooch or a ring, but her hair was -luxuriant and abundant, and was carefully brushed and coiled; her neck -was white, and her figure graceful; and though in a couple of years -she would be in her thirties, there was a youthfulness in her -appearance which can only be accounted for by her fortunate -inheritance of a cheerful spirit, of which, drudge as she was, her -mother and her brother could not rob her. - -This precious inheritance she derived from her father, who had -transmitted to her all that was spiritually best in his nature: and -nothing else. It was not because he did not love his daughter that she -was left unendowed, but because of a fatal delay in the disposition of -his world's goods. Procrastination may be likened to an air-gun -carrying a deadly bullet. Mr. Fox-Cordery, the younger, "took" after -his mother. Occasionally in life these discrepant characteristics are -found grouped together in one family, the founders of which, by some -strange chance, have become united, instead of flying from each other, -as do certain violently antagonistic chemicals when an attempt is made -to unite them in a friendly partnership. The human repulsion occurs -afterward, when it is too late to repair the evil. If marriages are -made in heaven, as some foolish people are in the habit of asserting, -heaven owes poor mortality a debt it can never repay. - -Far different from Charlotte's was Mr. Fox-Cordery's appearance. As to -attire it was resplendent and magnificent, if these terms may be -applied to a mortal of such small proportions. He was excruciatingly -careful in the combing and brushing of his hair, but in the effect -produced he could not reach her point of excellence, and this drawback -he inwardly construed into a wrong inflicted upon him by her. He often -struck a mental balance after this fashion, and brought unsuspecting -persons in his debt. Moreover, he would have liked to change skins -with her, and give her his waxy hue for her pearly whiteness. Could -the exchange have been effected by force he would have had it done. At -an early stage of manhood he had been at great pains to impart an -upward curly twist to his little mustache, in the hope of acquiring a -military air, but the attempt was not successful, and his barber, -after long travail, had given it up in despair, and had advised him to -train his mustache in the way it was inclined to go. - -"Let it droop, sir," said the barber, "it will look beautiful so. -There's a sentiment in a drooping mustache that always attracts the -sex." - -The argument was irresistible, and Mr. Fox-Cordery's little mustache -was allowed to droop and to grow long; and it certainly did impart to -his countenance a dreaminess of expression which its wearer regarded -as a partial compensation for the disappointment of his young -ambition. No man in the world ever bestowed more attention upon his -person, or took greater pains to make himself pleasing in the sight of -his fellow-creatures, than did Mr. Fox-Cordery; and this labor of love -was undertaken partly from vanity, partly from cunning. A good -appearance deceived the world; it put people off their guard; if you -wished to gain a point it was half the battle. He spent hours every -week with his tailor, the best in London, discussing fits and -fashions, trying on coats, vests, and trousers, ripping and unripping -to conquer a crease, and suggesting a little more padding here, and a -trifle less there. His hats and boots were marvels of polish, his -shirts and handkerchiefs of the finest texture, his neckties marvels, -his silk socks and underwear dainty and elegant, and his pins and, -rings would have passed muster with the most censorious of fashion's -votaries. He was spick and span from the crown of his head to the -soles of his feet. As he walked along the streets, picking his way -carefully, or sat in his chair with his small legs crossed, he was a -perfect little model of a man, in animated pallid waxwork. He -preferred to sit instead of stand; being long-waisted it gave -beholders a false impression of his height. - -From his cradle he had been his mother's idol and his father's terror. -Mrs. Fox-Cordery ruled the roost, and her husband, preferring peace to -constant warfare, gave the reins into her hands, and allowed her to do -exactly as she pleased. This meant doing everything that would give -pleasure to the Fox-Cordery heir, who soon discovered his power and -made use of it to his own advantage. What a tyrant in the domestic -circle was the little mannikin! The choicest tidbits at meals, the -food he liked best, the coolest place in summer, and warmest in -winter, all were conceded to him. He tortured birds and cats openly, -and pinched servants on the sly. The good-tempered, cheerful-hearted -father used to gaze in wonder at his son, and speculate ruefully upon -the kind of man he was likely to grow into. - -When young Fox-Cordery was near his eleventh birthday Charlotte was -born, and as the mother held the son to her heart, so did the father -hold the daughter to his. They became comrades, father and daughter on -one side, mother and son on the other, with no sympathies in common. -Mr. Fox-Cordery took his little daughter for long rides and walks, -told her fairy stories, and gave her country feasts; and it is hard to -say who enjoyed them most. - -The introduction of Charlotte into young Fox-Cordery's life afforded -him new sources of delight. He pinched her on the sly as he pinched -the servants, he pulled her ears, he slapped her face, and the wonder -of it was that Charlotte never complained. Her patience and submission -did not soften him; he tyrannized over her the more. Hearing his -father say that Charlotte ought to have a doll, he said that he would -buy her one, and the father was pleased at this prompting of -affection. Obtaining a sum of money from his mother, young Fox-Cordery -put half of it into his pocket, and expended the other half in the -purchase of a doll with a woebegone visage, dressed in deep mourning. -Presenting it to his sister he explained that the doll had lost -everybody belonging to her, and was the most wretched and miserable -doll in existence. - -"She will die soon," he said, "and then I will give you a coffin." - -But the young villain's purpose was foiled by Charlotte's sweet -disposition. The poor doll, being alone in the world, needed sympathy -and consolation, and Charlotte wept over her, and kissed and fondled -her, and did everything in her power to make her forget her sorrows. -Eventually Charlotte's father suggested that the doll had been in -mourning long enough and he had her dressed like a bride, and restored -to joy and society; but this so enraged young Fox-Cordery that he got -up in the night and tore the bridal dress to shreds, and chopped the -doll into little pieces. - -The fond companionship between Mr. Fox-Cordery and his daughter did -not last very long. Before Charlotte was seven years old her father -died. On his deathbed the thought occurred to him that his daughter -was unprovided for. - -His will, made shortly after his marriage, when he was still in -ignorance of his wife's true character, left everything unreservedly -to her; and now, when he was passing into the valley of the Shadow of -Death, he trembled for his darling Charlotte's future. The illness by -which he was stricken down had been sudden and unexpected, and he had -not troubled to alter his will, being confident that many years of -life were before him. And now there was little time left. But he lived -still; he could repair the error; he yet could make provision for his -little girl. Lying helpless, almost speechless, on his bed, he -motioned to his wife, and made her understand that he wished to see -his lawyer. She understood more; she divined his purpose. She had read -the will, by which she would become the sole inheritor of his -fortune--she and her son, for all she had would be his. Should she -allow her beloved Fox to be robbed, and should she assist in -despoiling him? Her mind was quickly made up. - -"I will send for the lawyer," she said to her husband. - -"At once, at once!" - -"Yes, at once." - -A day passed. - -"Has the lawyer come?" whispered the dying man to his wife. - -"He was in the country when I wrote yesterday," she replied. "He -returns to-morrow morning, and will be here then." - -"There must be no delay," said he. - -His wife nodded, and bade him be easy in his mind. - -"Excitement is bad for you," she said. "The lawyer is sure to come." - -He knew that it would be dangerous for him to agitate himself, and he -fell asleep, holding the hand of his darling child. In the night he -awoke, and prayed for a few days of life, and that his senses would -not forsake him before the end came. His wife, awake in the adjoining -room, prayed also, but it will be charitable to draw a veil over her -during those silent hours. - -Another day passed, and again he asked for his lawyer. - -"He called," said his wife, "but you were asleep, and I would not have -you disturbed." - -It was false; she had not written to the lawyer. - -That night the dying man knew that his minutes were numbered, and that -he would not see another sunrise in this world. Speech had deserted -him; he was helpless, powerless. He looked piteously at his wife, who -would not admit any person into the room but herself, with the -exception of her children and the doctor. She answered his look with a -smile, and with false tenderness smoothed his pillow. The following -morning the doctor called again, and as he stood by the patient's -bedside observed him making some feeble signs which he could not -understand. Appealing to Mrs. Fox-Cordery, she interpreted the signs -to him. - -"He wishes to know the worse," she said. - -The doctor beckoned her out of the room, and told her she must prepare -for it. - -"Soon?" she inquired, with her handkerchief to her dry eyes. - -"Before midnight," he said gravely, and left her to her grief. - -She did not deprive her husband of his last sad comfort; she brought -their daughter to him, and placed her by his side. Mrs. Fox-Cordery -remained in the room, watching the clock. "Before midnight, before -midnight," she whispered to herself a score of times. - -The prince of the house, soon to be king, came to wish his father -farewell. There was not speck or spot upon the young man, who had been -from home all day, and had just returned. During this fatal illness he -had been very little with his father. - -"What is the use of my sitting mum chance by his bedside?" he said to -his mother. "I can't do him any good; and I don't think he cares for -me much. All he thinks of is that brat." - -Charlotte was the brat, and she gazed with large solemn eyes upon her -brother as he now entered the chamber of death. He was dressed in the -height of fashion, and he did not remove his gloves as he pressed his -father's clammy hand, and brushed with careless lips the forehead upon -which the dews of death were gathering. Then he wiped his mouth with -his perfumed handkerchief, and longed to get out of the room to smoke. -The father turned his dim eyes upon the fashionably attired young man, -standing there so neat and trim and fresh, as if newly turned out of a -bandbox, and from him to Charlotte in an old cotton dress, her hair in -disorder, and her face stained with tears. Maybe a premonition of his -little girl's future darkened his last moments, but he was too feeble -to express it. Needless to dwell upon the scene, pregnant and -suggestive as it was. The doctor's prediction was verified; when the -bells tolled the midnight hour Mr. Fox-Cordery had gone to his rest, -and Charlotte was friendless in her mother's house. - - - - -CHAPTER II. -Poor Cinderella. - - -Then commenced a new life for the girl; she became a drudge, and was -made to do servants' work, and to feel that there was no love for her -beneath the roof that sheltered her. She accepted the position -unmurmuringly, and slaved and toiled with a willing spirit. Early in -the morning, while her tyrants were snug abed, she was up and doing, -and though she never succeeded in pleasing them and was conscious that -she had done her best, she bore their scolding and fault-finding -without a word of remonstrance. They gave her no schooling, and yet -she learned to read and write, and to speak good English. There were -hidden forces in the girl which caused her to supply, by unwearying -industry, the deficiencies of her education. Hard as was her life she -had compensations, which sprang from the sweetness of her nature. - -Her early acquaintance with errand boys and tradesmen's apprentices -led her into the path strewn with lowly flowers. She became familiar -with the struggles of the poor, and, sympathizing with them, she -performed many acts of kindness which brought happiness to her young -heart; and though from those who should have shown her affection she -received constant rebuffs, she was not soured by them. - -The treatment she and her brother met with in the home in which they -each had an equal right, and should have had an equal share, was of a -painfully distinctive character. Nothing was good enough for him; -anything was good enough for her. Very well; she ministered to him -without repining. He and his mother took their pleasures together, and -Charlotte was never invited to join them, and never asked to be -invited. There was no interchange of confidences between them. They -had secrets which they kept from her; she had secrets which she kept -from them. Those shared by Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother savored of -meanness and trickery; Charlotte's were sweet and charitable. They did -not open their hearts to her because of the fear that she might rebel -against the injustice which was being inflicted upon her; she did not -open her heart to them because she felt that they would not sympathize -with her. They would have turned up their noses at the poor flowers -she cherished, and would have striven to pluck them from her--and, -indeed, the attempt was made, fortunately without success. - -Charlotte's practical acquaintance with kitchen work, and the -economical spirit in which she was enjoined by her mother to carry out -her duties, taught her the value of scraps of food, a proper -understanding of which would do a great many worthy people no harm. -Recognizing that the smallest morsels could be turned to good account, -she allowed nothing to be thrown away or wasted. Even the crumbs would -furnish meals for birds, and they were garnered with affectionate -care. She was well repaid in winter and early spring for her kindness -to the feathered creatures, some of which she believed really grew to -know her, and it is a fact that none were frightened of her. Many -pretty little episodes grew out of this association which was the -cause of genuine pleasure to Charlotte, and she discovered in these -lowly ways of life treasures which such lofty people as her mother and -brother never dreamed of. If she had authority nowhere else in her -home she had some in the kitchen, so every scrap of food was looked -after, collected, and given to pensioners who were truly grateful for -them. These pensioners were all small children, waifs of the gutters, -of whom there are shoals in every great city. Thus it will be seen -that the position assigned to Charlotte by her mother and brother -ennobled and enriched her spiritually; it brought into play her best -and sweetest qualities. - -Her charities were dispensed with forethought and wisdom, and Mr. -Fox-Cordery took no greater pains in the adornment of his person than -Charlotte did to make her scraps of food palatable to the stomachs of -her little pensioners. With half an onion, nicely shredded, and the -end of a stray carrot, she produced of these scraps a stew which did -her infinite credit as a cook of odds and ends; and it was a sight -worth seeing to watch her preparing such a savory meal for the -bare-footed youngsters who came at nightfall to the kitchen entrance -of her home. - -When these proceedings were discovered by her mother she was ordered -to discontinue them, but in this one instance she showed a spirit of -rebellion, and maintained her right to give away the leavings instead -of throwing them into the dustbin. That she was allowed to have her -way was perhaps the only concession made to her in her servitude. - -For an offense of another kind, however, she was made to pay dearly. - -She obtained permission one evening to go out for a walk, an hour to -the minute being allowed her. On these occasions, which were rare, she -always chose the poorer thoroughfares for her rambles, and as she now -strolled through a narrow street she came upon a woman, with a baby in -her arms, sitting on a doorstep. Pity for the wan face, of which she -caught just one glance, caused Charlotte to stop and speak to the -woman. The poor creature was in the last stage of want and -destitution, and Charlotte's heart bled as she listened to the tale of -woe. The wail of the hungry babe sent a shiver through the -sympathizing girl. She could not bear to leave the sufferers, and yet -what good could be done by remaining? She had not a penny to give -them. Charlotte never had any money of her own, it being part of the -system by which her life was ruled to keep her absolutely penniless. -She learned from the poor woman that every article of clothing she -possessed that could with decency be dispensed with had found its way -to the pawn-shop. - -"See," said the wretched creature, raising her ragged frock. - -It was all there was on her body. - -The pitiful revelation inspired Charlotte. She had on a flannel and a -cotton petticoat. Stepping aside into the shadow of an open door she -loosened the strings of her petticoats, and they slipped to the -ground. - -"Take these," said the young girl, and ran home as fast as she could. - -She was a few minutes behind her time, and her mother was on the watch -for her. Upon Charlotte making her appearance she was informed that -she would never be allowed out again, and she stood quietly by without -uttering a word of expostulation. The scene ended by Charlotte being -ordered instantly to bed, and to secure obedience Mrs. Fox-Cordery -accompanied her daughter to her bedroom. There, on undressing, the -loss of the two petticoats was discovered. Mrs. Fox-Cordery demanded -an explanation and it was given to her, and the result was that every -article of Charlotte's clothing was taken from her room, and locked in -her mother's wardrobe. There was not so much as a lace or a piece of -tape left. But, stripped as she was of every possession, Charlotte, as -she lay in the darkness and silence of her dark room, was not sorry -for her charitable deed. She thought of the poor woman and her babe, -and was glad that they had something to eat; and she was sure, if the -same thing occurred again, that she would act as she had already done. - -The next morning early, Mrs. Fox-Cordery unlocked the door of her -daughter's bedroom, and entered with a bundle of clothes in her arms. -Though it was imperative that Charlotte should be punished for her bad -behavior, there was work in the kitchen to do, and the girl was not to -be allowed to dawdle all day in bed because she had misconducted -herself. That would be a reward, not a punishment. - -"Your brother and I have been talking about you," said Mrs. -Fox-Cordery. "He is shocked at your behavior. If you have the least -sense of what is right you will beg him to forgive you." - -"Why should I do that?" asked Charlotte, pondering a little upon the -problem presented to her. "I have not hurt him in any way." - -"Did you not hear me say," exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, frowning, "that -he is shocked at your behavior? Is that not hurting him?" - -"Not that I can see, mother," replied Charlotte. "I cannot help it if -he looks upon what I have done in a wrong light." - -"In a wrong light, Miss Impertinence!" cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery. "The -view your brother takes of a thing is always right." - -"If you will give me my clothes," said Charlotte, with pardonable -evasion, "I will get up." - -"You will get up when I order you, and not before. I am speaking to -you by your brother's instructions, and we will have this matter out, -once and for all." - -Charlotte lay silent. It did not appear to her that she had anything -to defend, and she instinctively felt that the most prudent course was -to say as little as possible. - -"Will you tell your brother that you are sorry for what you have done, -or shall I?" - -"I am not sorry, mother." - -Mrs. Fox-Cordery was rather staggered by this reply. - -"There is an absence of moral perception in you," she said severely, -"that will lead to bad results. If you were not my daughter I should -call in a policeman." - -Charlotte opened her eyes wide, and she shivered slightly. She was -neither a theorist nor a logician; she never debated with herself -whether a contemplated action was right or wrong; she simply did what -her nature guided her to do. A policeman in her eyes was a -blue-frocked, helmeted creature who held unknown terrors in his hand, -which he meted out to those who had been guilty of some dreadful -action. Of what dreadful action had she been guilty that her mother -should drag a policeman into the conversation? It was this reflection -that caused her to shiver. - -"You gave away last night," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, regarding the -symptom of fear with satisfaction, "what did not belong to you." - -"My clothes are my own," pleaded Charlotte. - -"They are not your own. They represent property, and every description -of property in this family belongs to me and to your brother. The -clothes you wear are lent to you for the time being, and by disposing -of them as you have done you have committed a theft. You are sharp -enough, I presume, to know what a theft is." - -"Yes," said Charlotte. Monstrous as was the proposition, she was -unable to advance any argument in confutation. - -"That we do not punish you as you deserve," pursued Mrs. Fox-Cordery, -"is entirely due to your brother's mercy. We will take care that you -do not repeat the offense. Such clothes as you are permitted to wear -will be given to you as occasion requires; and everything will be -marked in my name--you shall do the marking yourself--in proof that -nothing belongs to you. Dress yourself now, and go to your work." - -"Mother," said Charlotte, getting out of bed, opening her little chest -of drawers, and looking round the room, "you have taken everything -away from me." - -"Yes, everything." - -"But something is mine, mother." - -"Nothing is yours." - -"Father gave me his picture; let me have that back." - -"You will have nothing back. We will see how you behave in the future, -and you will be treated accordingly. Before you go downstairs pray for -a more thankful heart, and for sufficient sense to make you appreciate -our goodness. Have you any message to send to your brother?" - -"No, mother." - -"As I supposed. It is a mystery to me how I ever came to have such a -child." - -Charlotte said her prayers before she left her bedroom; her father had -taught her to do so, night and morning; but she did not pray for a -more thankful heart, nor for sense to make her appreciative of the -goodness of the family tyrants. Perhaps she was dull; perhaps she -failed to discover cause for gratitude; certain it is that she was -selfish enough to pray for her father's picture back, a prayer that -was never answered. And it is also certain that she had a wonderful -power of endurance, which enabled her to bear the heavy burden of -domestic tyranny, and even to be happy under it. - -From that morning she was practically a prisoner in her home, and the -course of her daily life was measured out to her, as it were, from -hour to hour. And still she preserved her cheerfulness and sweetness -and snatched some gleams of sunshine from her gloomy surroundings. - -A brighter gleam shone upon her when, a woman of twenty-five, she made -the acquaintance of John Dixon, who for twelve months or so came -regularly to the house on business of a confidential nature with Mr. -Fox-Cordery. This business connection was broken violently and -abruptly, but not before the star of love was shining in Charlotte's -heart; and when her lover was turned from the door she bade him -good-by with a smile, for she felt that he would be true to her -through weal or woe. - - - - -CHAPTER III. -A Family Discussion. - - -Charlotte sat at the window, darning stockings; Mr. Fox-Cordery sat at -the table killing flies. - -There are more ways than one of killing flies, and there is something -to be said about the pastime on the score of taste. The method adopted -by Mr. Fox-Cordery was peculiar and original. He had before him a -tumbler and a bottle, and he was smoking a cigar. The tumbler was -inverted, and into it the operator had inveigled a large number of -flies, which he stupefied with smoke. The cigar he was smoking was a -particularly fragrant one, and the flies could not therefore complain -that they were being shabbily treated. When they were rendered -completely helpless he transferred them to the bottle, taking the -greatest possible care to keep it corked after each fresh importation, -in order that the prisoners should not have the opportunity of -escaping in any chance moment of restored animation. By this means Mr. -Fox-Cordery had collected some hundreds of flies, whose dazed -flutterings and twitchings he watched with languorous interest, his -air being that of a man whose thoughts were running upon other matters -almost, if not quite, as important as this. He continued at his -occupation until the tumbler was empty and the bottle nearly full; and -then he threw the stump of his cigar out of window, and, with a smart -wrench at the cork, put the bottle on the mantelshelf. He rose, and -stood beside his sister. - -"Did Mr. Dixon give you no inkling of what he wanted to see me about?" -he asked, in his low, languid voice. - -"None whatever," replied Charlotte, drawing the stocking she was -darning from her left hand, and stretching it this way and that, to -assure herself that the work was well done. They were her own -stockings she was mending, and Heaven knows how many times they had -gone through the process. - -"And you did not inquire?" - -"I did not inquire." - -Some note in her voice struck Mr. Fox-Cordery as new and strange, and -he regarded her more attentively. - -"The old affair, I suppose," he said maliciously. - -"If you mean that Mr. Dixon has any intention of reopening the subject -with you," said Charlotte, laying aside the sorely-darned stocking and -taking up its fellow, "you are mistaken." - -Perhaps the act of stooping had brought the blood to her face, for -there was a flush upon it when she lifted her head. - -"It is not often that I am." - -"Yet it may happen." - -The flush in her face had died away, and she was now gravely attending -to her work. - -Mr. Fox-Cordery pulled down the ends of his little silky mustache. "Be -careful how you address me, Charlotte. It is a long time since you and -Mr. Dixon met." - -"No; we have seen each other several times this past year." - -"You made no mention to me of these meetings." - -"There was no reason why I should, Fox." - -"Did you inform mother?" - -"That is an unnecessary question. Had I informed her you would not -have remained in ignorance. Mother keeps nothing from you." - -"You have grown into a particularly intelligent young woman," he said, -and added spitefully, "Well, not exactly a young woman----" pausing to -note the effect of the shot. - -"I am twenty-eight," said Charlotte, in her usual tone, "and you, Fox, -will be forty soon." - -Her shot told better than his. "We will not continue the -conversation," he said shortly. - -"As you please, Fox." - -He stepped to the fireplace, gave the bottle of flies a violent shake, -looked at Charlotte as if he would have liked to serve her the same, -and then resumed his place by the window, and drummed upon a pane. - -"Mr. Dixon's visit here was a presumption. How dare he intrude himself -into this house?" - -"Settle it when he calls again," said Charlotte. "He came to see you -upon some business or other." - -"Which you insist upon concealing from me." - -"Indeed I do not. I cannot tell you what I do not know." - -"At three o'clock, you say?" - -"Yes, at three o'clock." - -"I will consider whether he shall be admitted. Don't move, Charlotte." - -There was a fly on her hair, which he caught with a lightning sweep of -his hand. As he thrust his unfortunate prisoner into the bottle he -chuckled at the expression of disgust on Charlotte's face. The fly -disposed of, he said: - -"Mother shall judge whether you are right or wrong." - -"Don't put yourself to unnecessary trouble," said Charlotte. "I can -tell you beforehand how she will decide." - -The entrance of Mrs. Fox-Cordery did not cause her to raise her head; -she proceeded with her darning, and awaited the attack of the combined -forces. A singular resemblance existed between mother and son. Her -face, like his, was of the hue of pallid wax, her eyes were blue, her -hair sandy, and she spoke in a low and languid voice. She held an open -letter in her hand. - -"Here is a house that will suit you, my love," she said, holding out -the letter to him. "It faces the river; there is a nice piece of -meadow-land, and a lawn, and a garden with flowers and fruit trees. It -stands alone in its own grounds, and there is a little arm of the -river you may almost call your own, with a rustic bridge stretching to -the opposite bank. The terms are rather high, twelve guineas a week -for not less than three months, paid in advance, but I think we must -go and see it. I should say it is exactly the place to suit your -purpose." - -Charlotte listened in wonder. This contemplated removal to a house -near the river was new to her--and what scheme was Fox engaged upon -that would be furthered by a proceeding so entirely novel? Mr. -Fox-Cordery put the letter in his pocket without reading it, and said -in a displeased tone: - -"We will speak of it by and by." - -Mrs. Fox-Cordery glanced sharply from her son to her daughter. - -"Charlotte, what have you been doing to annoy Fox?" - -"Nothing," replied Charlotte. - -"She can prevaricate, you know, mother," observed Mr. Fox-Cordery -quietly. - -"Of course she can prevaricate. Have we not had innumerable instances -of it?" - -"I will finish my work in my own room," said Charlotte rising. - -"Do not stir," commanded Mrs. Fox-Cordery, "till permission is given -you. Fox, my love, what has she done?" - -"Mr. Dixon has paid a visit to Charlotte in this house." - -"Impossible!" - -"Fox has stated what is not correct," said Charlotte, resuming her -seat and her work. "Mr. Dixon called to see Fox." - -"That is her version," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "She seeks to excuse -herself by throwing it upon me." - -"Your conduct is disgraceful," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery to her daughter, -"and I am ashamed of you." - -"I have done nothing disgraceful," retorted Charlotte, "and I am not -ashamed of myself." - -Mrs. Fox-Cordery stared at her in astonishment, and Mr. Fox-Cordery -nodded his head two or three times, and said: - -"You observe a change in Charlotte. There was a time when she would -not have dared to put her will in opposition to ours, but I think I -shall be found equal to my duty as master of this house. I do not say -I am perfect, but I know of what I am capable. I have had my crosses -and disappointments; I have had my sorrows. I have them still. Let us, -at least, have harmony in our home." - -"Amen!" intoned Mrs. Fox-Cordery, with a reproachful look at -Charlotte. - -"There is but one way," continued Mr. Fox-Cordery, "to secure this -harmony. By obedience to orders. I am the head of this house and -family, and I will not be thwarted or slighted." - -"I will support you, my love," said his mother, "in all ways." - -"I never for a moment doubted you, mother. We will not be uncharitable -to Charlotte; we will be, as we have ever been, tender and considerate -toward her. She inherits a family characteristic which she turns to a -wrong account. Tenacity is an excellent quality, but when it is in -alliance with intense selfishness, it is productive of great mischief. -I am not a hard man; my nature is tender and susceptible, and I am -easily led. Convince me that I am wrong in any impression I have -formed, and I yield instantly. I learn from Charlotte, mother, that -she has been in the habit of meeting Mr. Dixon during the last year in -a clandestine and secret manner." - -Before Mrs. Fox-Cordery could express her horror at this revelation, -Charlotte interposed: - -"Fox is misrepresenting me. What I told him was that Mr. Dixon and I -have seen each other several times. We have not met secretly or -clandestinely." - -"You met without our knowledge or sanction," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, -"and it comes to the same thing." - -"Quite the same thing," assented his mother. - -"_I_ never equivocate," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, in his most amiable -tone, "_I_ am never evasive. When Mr. Dixon was on friendly terms with -us, he was admitted freely into our family circle, and was made -welcome. For reasons which I need not enter into I was compelled to -sunder all association with him, and to forbid him the house. You, -mother, knowing my character, will know whether I was justified or -not." - -"Who should know you better than your mother?" said Mrs. Fox-Cordery -fondly. "I am not acquainted with your reasons, but I am satisfied -that they were just. Have you yet to learn, Charlotte, that your -brother is the soul of honor and justice?" - -Mr. Fox-Cordery waited for Charlotte's indorsement, but she was -obstinately silent, and he proceeded: - -"It would have been natural, in the attitude I was compelled to assume -toward Mr. Dixon, that every member of my family should have had -confidence in me, for I was working in their interest. Unfortunately, -it was not so; Charlotte stood aloof, probably because I had -discovered that a secret understanding existed between her and Mr. -Dixon." - -"There was none," said Charlotte indignantly. "What was known to Mr. -Dixon and myself was known to you and mother. I see no reason to be -ashamed of the avowal that we loved each other." - -"The avowal is coarse and indelicate," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, with a -frown. - -Mr. Fox-Cordery held out his hands, palms upward, as expressing, "What -can one expect of a person so wrong-headed as Charlotte?" - -"I trust," said Charlotte, with a bright blush on her face, "that the -confession of an honest attachment is not a disgrace. You used to -speak in the highest terms of Mr. Dixon." - -"We live to be deceived," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, sadly surveying the -ceiling, "to find our confidence abused. We create an ideal, and -discover, too late, that we have been worshiping a mask, the removal -of which sends a shudder through our"--he could not find the word he -wanted, so he added--"system." - -His mother's eyes were fixed admiringly upon him, but there was no -admiration in Charlotte's face as, with her hand to her heart, she -said boldly: - -"You are fond of using fine phrases, Fox, but I do not think you -believe in them." - -"I am not to be deterred by insults from doing my duty," he replied. -"Mr. Dixon asked permission to pay his addresses to you, and, as your -natural guardians and protectors, we refused. That should have put an -end to the affair." - -"I should be justified in asking you," said Charlotte, "whether you -think other persons have feelings as well as yourself. If I were to -interfere in your love matters I wonder what you would say." - -"The cases are different," said Mr. Fox-Cordery pathetically. "I am a -man; you are a woman." - -"Yes," said Charlotte, with bitterness, "I am a woman, and am -therefore expected to sacrifice myself. Have you finished, Fox?" - -"There is only this to say. It is your mother's command, and mine, -that the intimacy between you and Mr. Dixon shall cease. We will not -allow it to continue." - -He gave his mother a prompting glance. - -"Your brother has expressed it correctly," she said. "We will not -receive Mr. Dixon into our family. He is an utterly objectionable -person, and we will have nothing to do with him. If you have a grain -of decent feeling in you, you will obey. Now you can go to your room." - - - - -CHAPTER IV. -Wherein Cinderella Asserts Herself. - - -CHARLOTTE rose, work in hand, and went toward the door, they following -her with their eyes, desiring her obedience and approving of it, and -yet curious to ascertain what was passing in her mind. For that she -was unusually stirred was evident from her manner, which was that of -one who had been beaten down all her life, and in whom the seeds of -rebellion were struggling to force themselves into light. Suddenly she -turned and faced them, and they saw in her eyes the spirit of a brave -resolve. - -"You have spoken plainly to me," she said. "I must speak plainly to -you." - -"Go to your room this instant," sternly said her mother. - -That the hard cold voice should have given her fresh courage, was a -novel experience to them; generally it compelled obedience, but now it -had failed. It seemed, indeed, as if she had burst the bonds of -oppression which had held her fast for so many years. - -"Not till I have said what I have to say, mother. It is something you -ought to hear." She paused a moment before she continued. "It is three -years ago this very day since we had our last conversation about Mr. -Dixon." - -"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, and would have expressed herself -more violently had not her son restrained her with a warning look, -which meant, "Let her go on; she will be sure to commit herself." - -"Mr. Dixon was in the habit for some time of coming regularly to the -house, and his visits formed the pleasantest remembrances in my life, -with the exception of the happy years when my dear father was alive." - -"Your dear father, indeed!" was Mrs. Fox-Cordery's scornful comment. - -"From the date of my dear father's death," said Charlotte steadily; -she was speaking now calmly and resolutely, "Mr. Dixon is the only -gentleman who has shown me any consideration, and who has made me feel -that I have some claim to a higher position in this house than that of -a menial. I am ignorant of the nature of his business with Fox----" - -"I will enlighten you," interposed Mr. Fox-Cordery; "he was in my -employ, a paid servant." - -"He served you faithfully, I am sure; it is not in his nature to be -otherwise than faithful in all that he undertakes. He was received -here as an equal, and he treated me as such. Neither you nor my mother -ever did. I have no memory of one kind look I have received from -either of you; and it is hardly to be wondered at that I should have -felt grateful to the gentleman who spoke to me in a kind and gentle -voice, and who showed in his manner toward me that he regarded me as a -lady. He awoke within me a sense of self-respect which might have -slept till I was an old woman, whose life, since the death of my -father, had never been brightened by a ray of love. He awoke within -me, also, a sense of shame; and I saw how humiliating it was that I -should be dressed as I am dressed now, in clothes which a common -servant would be ashamed to wear. But I had no choice. You gave me -food, and you gave me nothing else, not even thanks. You pay your -servants wages; you might have paid me something so that I could have -bought clothes in which I should not feel degraded. I have not a -shilling I can call my own----" - -"Don't stop me, Fox," cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery, thoroughly enraged; "I -must speak! You shameless creature, how dare you utter these -falsehoods? You have a beautiful gown, and a hat, and boots, and -everything a woman can wish for; and you stand there, and deny it to -my face!" - -"I do deny it, mother. Are these things really mine? If they are, why -do you keep them locked up in your wardrobe, and why do you allow me -to wear them only when I go out with you, or when any particular -visitor comes to the house?" - -"Because you are not fit to be trusted, you ungrateful child!" - -"No, mother, it is not that. You allow me to put them on sometimes -because you cannot with decency allow me to be seen as I am. You -forget, mother; you have told me over and over again that the clothes -I wear--even those I have on now--are not my own, and are only lent to -me." - -"And so they are. It was not your money that paid for them." - -"It could not well have been, seeing I never had any. Will you give -them to me to-day, so that I may put them on, and not feel ashamed -when I look in the glass?" - -"To enable you to go flaunting about, and disgracing yourself and us? -No, I will not." - -"You are at your shifty tricks again, Charlotte," said Mr. -Fox-Cordery. "Finish with your Mr. Dixon." - -"Yes, I will do so if you will let me. All the time he was visiting -here you said nothing to me to show you did not wish me to be intimate -with him." - -"We were not aware of what was going on," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery. - -"We concealed nothing from you. Three years ago he asked me to be his -wife. I answered gladly, yes, and wondered what he could see in me to -stoop so low." - -"Upon my word!" ejaculated her mother. "And this from a Fox-Cordery!" - -"He explained that he was not in good circumstances, and that I would -have to wait till he could furnish a home. I said that I would wait -for him all my life, and so we were engaged. Then he went from me to -you, Fox, and to mother, and asked for your consent." - -"And it so happened," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "that it was the very day -on which I discovered that he was not fit to be trusted." - -"He is above doing a dishonorable action," said Charlotte, with -generous warmth, "and whatever it was you discovered it was not to his -discredit." - -"That is as good as saying," cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery, advancing a step -toward Charlotte, and would have advanced farther if her son had not -laid his hand upon her arm, "that the discovery your brother speaks of -was to _his_ discredit, and that it was _he_ who was guilty of a -dishonorable action. You shall be punished for making these -comparisons between your brother and such a creature as Mr. Dixon. My -dear Fox, have we not heard enough?" - -"No," replied Mr. Fox-Cordery, smiling blandly upon his sister. "We -must not give Charlotte the opportunity of saying that she is unfairly -treated. Speak freely, Charlotte; you are unbosoming yourself to your -best friends. Do not be afraid. We will protect and take care of you. -Charlotte harbors none but the most affectionate feelings for us, -mother. If in a moment of excitement she says something that is not -exactly loving and dutiful, we will excuse her. She will be sorry for -it afterward, and that shall be her punishment. Go on, my dear." - -"It is scarcely possible," said Charlotte, with a look of repugnance -at her brother, "that we can be always right, not even the best of us; -sometimes we are mistaken in our judgment, and Fox is when he speaks -harshly of Mr. Dixon." - -"Convince me of it, my dear," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, nodding genially -at her, "and I will make the handsomest apology to him. I will have it -written out and illuminated, and he shall hang it, framed, in his -room. You cannot complain that I am unfair, after that." - -"I was not present when Mr. Dixon spoke to you about our engagement, -but I heard high words pass between you." - -"Listening at keyholes!" exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery scornfully. "What -next?" - -"No, no, mother," expostulated Mr. Fox-Cordery; "be just. It was quite -natural that Charlotte should listen. Everybody would not have done -so, but then Charlotte is not everybody." - -"My happiness was at stake," said Charlotte, "and I was anxious." - -"You hear, mother. Charlotte was anxious." - -"I was not eavesdropping," said Charlotte. "I was downstairs, and your -voices forced themselves upon me. Shortly afterward Mr. Dixon came -down and told me that there had been a disagreeable scene between you, -and that you would not listen to what he had to say about our -engagement. 'But I will not give you up,' he said, 'unless you turn -away from me.' I answered that it depended upon him, and that I should -be very unhappy if our engagement were broken. He said it should not -be broken, and that if I would remain true to him he would remain true -to me." - -"It has a pastoral sound," observed Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Such charming -simplicity!" - -"He suggested that, before he left the house, we should speak to you -together of an agreement we had entered into, and we came up to you. -You cannot have forgotten what passed at that interview." - -"You were informed that we would not sanction the engagement." - -"And Mr. Dixon, speaking for himself and for me, told you that we held -to it, and that we had agreed not to think seriously of marriage for -three years, during which time he hoped to so improve his position -that he would be able to make a home for me. We bound ourselves to -this in your presence, and Mr. Dixon said that he would not visit the -house without some strong inducement. He has not done so. When he -calls this afternoon you will learn why he has come now. During these -three years we have corresponded, and have met occasionally in the -streets, and have spoken together." - -"I believe," remarked Mr. Fox-Cordery, "that servants and their young -men are in the habit of meeting in this way." - -"I have been no better than a servant," retorted Charlotte, "and many -a poor girl has left service to enter into a happy marriage." - -"As you are going to do?" - -"I do not know. What I wish you and mother to understand is that the -three years have expired, and that we do not consider ourselves bound -to you any longer." - -"Never in the whole course of my life," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, "did I -listen to anything so unladylike and indelicate." - -"What it is necessary for you to understand," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, -"is that Mr. Dixon will not be permitted to visit you here." - -"He will not come to see me here." - -"Where, then?" - -"I prefer not to tell you." - -"You have some idea of a place of meeting?" - -"I have something better than an idea, Fox; I have almost a hope." - -He repeated her words thoughtfully, "almost a hope," and fixed his -eyes upon her face; but he could not read there what he desired to -read. - -"Have you given any consideration," he asked, "to your circumstances? -Do you think that any man would receive you--as you are?" - -It was a cruel taunt, and she felt it. - -"Yes, I have thought of it," she answered sadly, "and it is a deep -trouble to me. If I dared to make an appeal to you----" - -"Make it," he said, during the pause that ensued. - -"I am your sister, Fox. I have done nothing to disgrace you--nothing -of which I should be ashamed. If Mr. Dixon tells me he has a home -ready for me, how can I go to him--as I am?" - -She looked down at her feet, she spread out her hands piteously, and -the tears started to her eyes. - -"Well?" - -"I think," she said, in an imploring tone, "if father could have seen -the future he would have made some provision for me, ever so little, -that would enable me to enter a home of my own in a creditable -manner." - -"What is it, dear Charlotte, that you wish me to do for you?" - -"Give me a little money, Fox, to buy a few decent clothes for myself." - -"In other words," he said, "furnish you with the means to act in -direct opposition to our wishes, to what we are convinced is best for -your welfare." - -"It is a hard way of expressing it, Fox." - -"It is the correct way, Charlotte. I perceive that you are speaking -more humbly now. You are not so defiant. You recognize, after all, -that you cannot exactly do without us." - -"You are my brother. Mother has only you and me." - -"Your brother," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, in a tone of relentless -severity, "has been a blessing to me. It is more than I can say of -you." - -"I have worked hard, mother; I have had few pleasures; I have not cost -you much." - -"You have cost us too much. We have been overindulgent to you, and in -return you insult your brother and set yourself in direct opposition -to us. When your father died he left his property wisely. He knew you -were not to be trusted; he knew that your ungrateful, willful nature -would bring irreparable mischief upon us if it were left uncontrolled. -He said as much to me. 'Charlotte will need a strong hand over her,' -he said, 'to prevent her bringing shame to your door.'" - -"No, no, mother!" - -"His very words. I have never repeated them to you because I wished to -spare your feelings. 'To prevent her bringing shame to your door. Keep -a strict watch over her for all your sakes.' We have done so in -fulfillment of our duty, and now it has come to this." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery knew that these words had never been uttered by his -father, and that there was not a grain of truth in them, but he -thoroughly approved of the unworthy device. When he was working to -gain a point, there was no trick that was not justifiable in his eyes; -and although upon the present occasion he did not exhibit any -consciousness of his mother's duplicity, neither of them was deceived -by it or ashamed of it. - -Charlotte was dismayed by this pretended voice from the grave. Was it -possible that it could be true? Had the words really been spoken by -the kind father who had left with her a cherished memory of kindness -and love? But her experience of her mother was of such a nature that -the doubt did not remain long to torture her. She swept it away; and -except for the brief period of pain it caused her, it passed, and left -no sting behind. She turned to her brother for a response to her -appeal. - -"Is the hope you referred to," he asked, "the hope of getting money -out of me?" - -"No," she replied. - -"Oblige me by informing me what it is." - -"Not till you answer me," she said firmly. - -"Take your answer, then. You shall not have a farthing, not one -farthing. Now for your hope, please." - -"Will nothing move you, Fox?" - -"Nothing." - -"You leave me no alternative; I must appeal elsewhere. I think I know -someone who will extend a helping hand to me. On the few occasions she -has been here, and on which you have allowed me to see her, she has -spoken to me with such unvarying kindness that I feel confident she -will assist me. She has a tender heart, I am sure, and she will feel -for me. I hope you will be happy with her; I hope it from my -heart----" - -She was not allowed to finish. Her brother, striding forward, seized -her by the wrist so fiercely that she gave utterance to a cry of pain. -The next moment she released herself--not a difficult matter, for, -woman as she was, her strength exceeded his. Mr. Fox-Cordery had so -effectually schooled himself that he had an almost perfect command -over his features, and it was seldom that he was so forgetful as to -show the fury of his soul. Even now, when a tempest was raging within -him, there was little indication of it in his face, and but for the -glittering of his blue eyes there was no evidence of his agitation. In -a cold voice he said: - -"No further subterfuge. Name the lady." - -"Mrs. Grantham." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother exchanged glances. - -"Do you mean," he asked, "that you would go to her and beg?" - -"I would go to her," replied Charlotte, "and relate the story of my -life--of my outward and inward life, Fox--from beginning to end. If I -do, it will be you who drive me to it." - -"We now fully realize, my dear mother," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, seating -himself and crossing his legs, "Charlotte's character. At length she -has revealed her true nature." - -"I have nourished a serpent in my bosom," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery. - -"She would destroy the hope of my life," continued Mr. Fox-Cordery; -"she would blight my happiness forever. Knowing that I love the lady -she has named, and that it is the one wish of my heart to make her my -wife, she would deliberately blacken my character with her lies, and, -under the pretense of a womanly appeal to that lady's feelings, would -do her best to wreck my future." - -"If my cause is not a just one," said Charlotte, "no appeal of mine -will avail with Mrs. Grantham. God forbid that I should step between -you and her; but I have my future to look to, as you have yours, and I -am weary of the life I have led. A happier life is offered to me, and -I cannot relinquish it at your bidding without an effort. If I tamely -submitted to your will I should be unworthy of the gentleman who has -honored me with his love." - -"We will leave that gentleman, as you call him, out of the question. -The contention lies between you and me, and I am free to confess that -you have the advantage of me. I am no match for you, Charlotte. You -are far too clever and cunning for me, and the feelings I entertain -for the lady whose name has been dragged into this unhappy discussion -place me at your mercy. I have made no secret of these feelings; I -have foolishly bared my breast to you and you tread upon it. I yield; -I hold out a flag of truce. You will give me time to consider your -proposition? It comes upon me as a surprise, you know. I was not -prepared for it." - -"Yes, Fox, I will give you time," said Charlotte, somewhat bewildered -at finding herself master of the situation. She had not expected so -sudden a victory. "But there is one thing I wish you would ask mother -to do at once." - -"What is it, Charlotte?" - -"Let me have my clothes that are in her wardrobe. I am wretched and -miserable in these." - -"You will give them to her, mother," said Mr. Fox-Cordery; and his -mother, taking the cue, replied: - -"She can have them; I have only kept them in my room to take proper -care of them." - -"There, Charlotte, you have nothing now to complain of." - -"But you have not answered me yet, Fox," said Charlotte, resolved not -to lose sight of the main point. - -"About the money you ask for? May I inquire if you are in a great -hurry to get married?" - -"I am not in a great hurry, Fox," said Charlotte rather awkwardly. "It -rests with Mr. Dixon." - -"What does he say about it?" - -"He thinks we might get married in two or three months." - -"There is no particular hurry, then; we have time before us to conquer -the repugnance we feel toward him. After all, it will make you happier -if you marry with our sanction." - -"Much happier, Fox." - -"Mother and I will talk over the matter together dispassionately, and -if we can bring ourselves to look upon him with friendly eyes we will -do so. That is fair speaking, is it not?" - -"Yes," said Charlotte, hesitating a little, "I think so." - -She was drifting from the advantageous position she had gained, and -she was weakly sensible of it; but her brother's manner was so -conciliatory, and her own desire for peace so strong, that she could -scarcely help herself. - -"The money you require is not required immediately, and just now I am -rather embarrassed with calls upon me. You would not wish to injure me -financially, Charlotte?" - -"No, Fox; indeed I would not." - -"Everything will come right," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "In a month or two -I hope to set myself straight. Meanwhile, as we have agreed, we will -enter into a truce. There shall be no more unpleasantnesses between -us. We have had a family disagreement, that is all; I blow it away." -He made a motion with his lips, as though he were blowing away a -cloud. "So, for two months, we will say nothing more concerning the -affair. If you have had something to complain of in the past, it is -perhaps due to the anxieties by which I have been overwhelmed. You do -not know what a man's troubles are, fighting with the world and with -people who are trying to get the advantage of him. Be thankful that -you are a woman, and are spared these trials. You shall have nothing -to complain of in the future." - -"Thank you, Fox." - -"I have your promise, Charlotte, that the matter shall rest for two -months, when, no doubt, you will have everything you wish for." - -"Yes, I promise," said Charlotte, feeling rather helpless. - -"And you will say nothing to Mrs. Grantham about our little -disagreement till that time has expired, when there will be no -occasion whatever to humiliate yourself and us? That, of course, is -agreed." - -"Yes, Fox." - -"It is a sacred promise, mind." - -"I have given it, and I will keep to it." - -"Very well; we are good friends again, and always shall be. By the -way, Charlotte, I am going to take a house on the Thames for the -summer months." - -"I heard mother mention it." - -"Partly to give you some pleasure and relaxation. We will have -pleasant times there." - -"I hope so, Fox." - -"Mother," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, as if the idea had just occurred to -him, instead of having been in his mind for several weeks, "you might -invite Mrs. Grantham to pay us a visit there, and to remain with us a -little while. It will be company for Charlotte." - -"I will write to-day if you wish, my love," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, -responding to his suggestion immediately, as she always did. These two -perfectly understood each other. - -"Not to-day, mother; we must wait till I have taken the house. The one -you spoke of will do capitally, if it answers to the description in -the letter. And, Charlotte, when mother writes to Mrs. Grantham, you -might write also, saying how glad you will be if she comes to us--a -nice letter, Charlotte, with as many pretty things in it as you can -think of. You see the confidence I place in you, my dear." - -"I will write when you tell me, Fox. It will be a great pleasure to me -if she comes." - -"That is what I want--to give you as much pleasure as possible. Now, -my dear, go to your room. I am very glad our little misunderstanding -has ended so amicably." - -He smiled affection upon Charlotte, and she left mother and son -together. For a few moments there was silence--he chewing the cud of -savage reflection, she throbbing with affection for him and with anger -at her daughter's presumption. - -"What made you so smooth with her, Fox?" asked Mrs. Fox-Cordery. - -"It was the only way to muzzle her," he replied. "If she had done what -she threatened it would have ruined all." - -"She would never have dared," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery. - -"She would have dared, egged on by that scoundrel Dixon, and by her -love for him." - -"Love!" muttered Mrs. Fox-Cordery, contemptuously. - -"Or what she fancies is love; but I think she really loves the man, -and I know what love will dare." - -"For Heaven's sake," exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, "don't institute -comparisons between you and her! She is not fit to black your shoes." - -"She has polished them often enough," he remarked grimly; "but that is -coming to an end now. A good job; I'm sick of the sight of her; I'm -sick of myself; I'm sick of everything, and everybody." - -"Not everybody, my love," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder -fondly. - -He shook her off, and she did not murmur. They resembled each other -most wonderfully, but there was a marked difference in the quality of -their affection. She--cold, hard, and ungenerous to all but him--was -nobler than he, for she was ready and willing to sacrifice herself for -him. It had been so from his birth, and her love had grown into a -passion which nothing could affect, not even ingratitude and -indifference from the son she adored. In her eyes he was a paragon; -his vices were virtues, his meanness commendable, his trickery the -proof of an ingenious mind. He could do no wrong. Quick to discover -the least sign of turpitude in others, she discerned none in him; she -was morally blind to his defects, and the last thing she would have -believed him capable of was the Judas kiss. - -Far different was it with him. He was conscious of all his mother's -faults, and he excused her for none. His absorbing vanity so clouded -his mind that it was only the baser qualities of those with whom he -was associated that forced themselves upon his attention, and these -being immediately accepted the door was closed upon the least -attribute which rendered them worthy of respect and esteem. His -chronic suspicion of his fellow-creatures did not spring from his -intellect, but from those lower conditions of the affections in which -the basest qualities of mankind occupy the prominent places. -Theophrastus says that the suspicious man imputes a fraudulent -intention to everyone with whom he has to do, and this was the case -with Mr. Fox-Cordery, who viewed his mother--the one being in the -world who, though he stood universally condemned and execrated, -would have shed the last drop of her blood in his defense and -vindication--in the same light as he viewed those who were as ready to -spurn him in the day of his prosperity as in the day of his downfall, -should such a day ever dawn upon him. - -"Follow my lead," he said to his mother, "in your treatment of -Charlotte. She has declared war, and war it shall be, though she shall -not see it till the proper time. Just now she is necessary to me. -Strange as it may sound, her good word will be of assistance to me -with Mrs. Grantham. I cannot account for it, and I am not going to -trouble myself about it; the only thing that troubles me is that the -lady I have loved for so many years should still hold off, should -still refuse to speak the word that will make me happy. What am I -taking a country house for except to further the dearest wish of my -heart? I think of no one but her; I dream of no one but her. She was -snatched from me once, and I had to bear it; and then fortune declared -itself in my favor, and still I could not obtain the prize I have been -so long working for." - -"You are a model of constancy, my love," said his mother, -affectionately and admiringly. "No woman in the world is good enough -for my dear son." - -"Perhaps not, perhaps not," he muttered; "but I will die before I am -thwarted. When did I give up an object upon which I set my heart? -Never, and I will not give up this. Mark the hour that makes Mrs. -Grantham my wife, and you will see me a changed man. She shall be my -slave then, as I am hers now. During her visit to us I will conquer -her irresolution, her obstinacy. Let Charlotte understand that her -happiness depends upon mine; that will win her completely to my side. -I will be the most affectionate of brothers; you shall be the most -affectionate of mothers. Charlotte will say to herself, 'I have been -mistaken in them; it is I who have been at fault all these years.' -This will tell in my favor when she and Mrs. Grantham are talking -together confidentially. We rob her, you see, of her power of -detraction. You, I know, will do your best, and Charlotte shall do her -best instead of her worst. She has defied me; she shall be made to pay -for it. I have her promise for two months, and she is at my mercy. Do -you understand now why I was so smooth with her?" - -"Yes, my love. Depend upon me to do everything in my power." - -"Before those two months have gone Mrs. Grantham and I shall be man -and wife; and then, mother, Charlotte may go to the----" - -"Exactly so, my love," said his mother. - - - - -CHAPTER V. -In which John Dixon informs Mr. Fox-Cordery -that he has seen a Ghost. - - -It is an article of belief that every Englishman's private residence -must include an apartment which, by a polite fiction, is denominated a -study. This apartment, which generally smells of musty bones, is, as a -rule, extremely small, extremely dark, and extremely useless. Dust -lies thick upon the shabby furniture, by reason of the housemaid never -being allowed to enter it with duster and broom; and the few volumes -on the shelves of the parody of a bookcase lean against each other at -a drunken angle, with a dissipated air of books that have lost all -respect for themselves. To add to the conspicuous cheerlessness of the -room, its one insufficient window looks out upon a dreary back wall, a -constant contemplation of which would be likely to drive a man's -thoughts in the direction of suicide. Provided with the necessary -cupboard, no more suitable hiding-place could be found for the -proverbial family skeleton, without which no well-regulated -establishment can be said to be complete. - -Into such an apartment was John Dixon shown when he was informed that -Mr. Fox-Cordery would receive him. - -This cold welcome was a sufficient indication that the master of the -house did not regard his visitor in the light of a friend; but, clear -as was the fact to John Dixon, it did not disturb him. With his -rubicund face, his bright eyes, and his genial manners, he presented -the appearance of a man not easily disturbed, of a man who accepted -the rubs of life with equanimity, and made the best of them. He was in -his prime, a well-built gentleman, with nothing particularly serious -on his conscience, and when Mr. Fox-Cordery entered the room the -advantage was on John Dixon's side, physically and morally. - -They glanced at each other inquiringly, and with a certain curiosity, -for it was long since they had met face to face. Mr. Fox-Cordery was -disappointed; he had hoped to see signs of wear and tear in his old -friend, in the shape of crows'-feet, wrinkles, and gray hairs, but -none were visible. On the contrary, there was an assertion of robust -youth and good health about John Dixon which gave positive pain to Mr. -Fox-Cordery. - -"Good-day, Fox," said John Dixon cordially. - -Mr. Fox-Cordery did not respond to the salutation. Stiffening his -little body--an action which brought a broad smile to John Dixon's -lips--he said in his iciest tone: - -"To what may I ascribe the----" - -"The honor of this visit," broke in John Dixon heartily. "I'll come to -it soon. You don't seem comfortable, Fox." - -"Whether I am comfortable or not," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, who would -have administered a dose of poison to his visitor with the greatest -pleasure in life, "cannot possibly concern or interest you." - -"Oh! but I beg your pardon. Everything appertaining to Charlotte's -brother must concern and interest me. It stands to reason. We shall -one day be brothers-in-law. Brothers-in-law! Good Lord! Don't shift -your legs so, Fox. Keep still and straight, as you were a moment ago. -To a little man like you repose is invaluable." - -"Your familiarity, Mr. Dixon----" - -"Come, come," interrupted John Dixon, with a genial shake of his head; -"why not John? I shall not take offense at it." - -"Have you paid me an unwelcome visit to force a quarrel upon me?" - -"By no means. I know that my visit is an unwelcome one. You don't like -my company, Fox." - -"Your room would be preferable." - -"It is a treat to hear something honest from you. There, there, man, -don't fume! You can't alter me any more than I can alter you. What is -bred in the bone, you know. And let me tell you, Fox, you can't expect -to have everything your own way. Who plays at bowls must be prepared -for rubbers." - -"Let me tell _you_, Mr. Dixon," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, becoming -suddenly calm, "that I will submit to none of your impertinence." - -He was about to continue in this strain when he suddenly recollected -that he had assumed a new attitude toward Charlotte, and that, if her -lover represented to her that he had been insulted by him, it might -interfere with his plans. It was advisable, therefore, that not a word -that passed at the present interview should reach Charlotte's ears, -and he saw a way to compass this. Changing front instantly, he said -slyly: - -"I should like to know if we are speaking in confidence?" - -"In strict confidence," said John Dixon readily. "For your sake, Fox, -not for mine." - -"Never mind for whose sake. You have your opinions, I have mine. I -take your word, and shall be outspoken with you. You had the -presumption to pay a visit to my sister this morning----" - -"No, no, Fox, to you; though I must confess I was delighted to see -her, and have a chat with her." - -"It was for that purpose you came. As we have met in perfect -confidence, and as nothing that we say to each other will be repeated -by either of us outside this room--that is a perfectly honorable -engagement, is it not?" - -"It is on my side," said John Dixon gravely. - -"I have bound myself, Mr. Dixon, and am therefore free to warn you -that you must cease from persecuting Charlotte with your addresses. I -speak in her name." - -"Not true, Fox; you speak in your own. Why, if she herself uttered -those words to me I should not believe they came from her heart; I -should know that you forced her to speak them. But there is no fear of -anything of that sort occurring. Charlotte and I understand each -other; and, oppressed and ground down as she has been in your house, -she has a higher courage than you give her credit for. I am proud of -having won her love, and I will make her a happy woman, as truly as I -stand here. However, it is not to tell you what you already know that -I have come to see you; it is for a different reason altogether." - -"You speak defiantly, Mr. Dixon. It is not the way to conciliate me." - -"Conciliate you! I am not such an ass as to try. I will try my own -way. If I can manage it, you shall fear me." - -"If you can manage it!" said Mr. Fox-Cordery, a little uneasy at his -visitor's confident tone. "Yes, if you can manage it. I should imagine -you will find it a difficult task. If you think you can frighten me by -your bullying you are mistaken." - -"Oh! I don't want to frighten you. I am going to play my cards openly, -knowing perfectly well that you will not expose one of yours. Shall we -proceed to business?" - -"Say what you have to say," exclaimed Mr. Fox-Cordery blandly, "and -the devil take you!" - -John Dixon laughed. - -"When you speak softly, Fox, you are most deadly. It was just the same -when you, I, and Robert Grantham were at school together in the -country. Poor Bob! What a careless, reckless, generous fellow he was! -What a tool he was in your hands, and how you worked him and played -upon him!" - -"You lie," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, in a passionless voice. - -Few persons acquainted with him would have suspected how deeply he was -agitated by this reference to his old schoolmate. - -"The scapegoat of the school," proceeded John Dixon, as if Mr. -Fox-Cordery had not spoken. "As easily led as a fly in harness. We -three were differently circumstanced. My people were poor, and could -allow me very little pocket-money; Bob Grantham's people were rich, -and he had a liberal supply. What your people allowed you no one knew. -You kept your affairs very secret, Fox; you were always a sly, vain, -cautious customer. Poor Bob was the soul of frankness; he made no -secret of anything, not even of his weaknesses, which he laughed at as -freely as some others did. Regularly every fourth Monday his foolish -people sent him ten pounds, and quite as regularly on the very next -day he had not a penny of his ten pounds left. Where did his money go -to? Who, in the course of a few short hours, had got hold of it? Some -said he gave it away to any poor man or woman he happened to meet. -Some said he chucked it into the pond out of dare-devilry. When he was -questioned, he turned it off with a laugh. You used to be asked about -it, and you used to answer, 'How should I know?' It was a mystery, and -Bob never blabbed--nor did you, Fox!" - -"How could I supply information," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "upon a matter -so mysterious; and what is the meaning of all this rhodomontade?" - -"I suppose," continued John Dixon, still as if Mr. Fox-Cordery had not -spoken, "that most boys set up for themselves a code of honor which -they stick to, more or less, according to their idea of things. I -remember I did; I am quite sure poor Bob Grantham did; I don't know -whether you did, because you were so secretive, so very secretive. I -leave you out, Fox, for a cogent reason. I guess, as our American -cousins say, you are not in it when I speak of honor; and in making -this observation you will perceive that I have no desire to conciliate -you or to win your favor. Now, old fellow, there were only three boys -in the whole of that school--and there were thirty-five of us--who -knew what became of Bob Grantham's money." - -"Three persons!" - -"Just three persons, and no more. The first was poor Bob himself, the -second was Fox-Cordery, the third was John Dixon." - -"Indeed! You?" - -"I, on the honor of a gentleman." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery's lips curled in derision as he remarked: - -"No man in the world would give you the credit of being one. And pray, -where did Mr. Grantham's money go to?" - -"Into your pockets, Fox, as regularly as a clockwork machine." - -"A precious secret, truly," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, flicking a speck of -dust off his sleeve, "and a most valuable one for you to have -preserved all these years. I presume if a man, or a schoolboy, is weak -enough to lend his money he has a right to receive it back." - -"An indubitable right; but in this case there is no question of -borrowing and paying back. Would you like to hear how I came into a -knowledge of this mystery?" - -"I have no desire; it is quite immaterial to me." - -"It was an accidental discovery. You and Bob Grantham were bosom -friends. It was touching to observe how deeply attached you were to -him; and, in these circumstances, any friendship he formed being on -his part sincere, it was natural that you should be much in each -other's society. Now, it was noticeable that every fourth Monday -evening you and he disappeared for an hour or two, and it was for this -reason that you used to be asked what Bob Grantham did with the ten -pounds he received regularly on that day. On one of these Monday -evenings I happened to be taking a lonely walk in a pretty bit of -forest about two miles from the schoolhouse. There was a nook in the -forest which was very secluded, and one had to go out of one's way to -get to it. I went out of my way on that particular Monday evening, not -because I wanted to reach this secluded nook, because I did not know -of it, but aimlessly and without any special purpose. I heard voices, -and peeping through a cluster of trees, I saw you and Bob sitting on -the grass, playing cards. A white handkerchief was spread between you, -and on this handkerchief were the stakes you were playing for--Bob's -money and your own. I waited, and observed. Sovereign after sovereign -went into your pocket. You were quiet, and cool, and bland, as you are -now, though I dare say something is passing inside of you. What a rare -power you have of concealing your feelings, Fox! Some people might -envy you; I don't. Bob Grantham, all the time he was losing, laughed -and joked, and bore his losses like a man; and he kept on losing till -he was cleaned out. Then he rose, and laughingly said: 'You will give -me my revenge, Fox?' 'When you like, old fellow,' you answered; 'what -bad luck you have.' 'Oh, it will turn,' he said; 'all you've got to do -is to stick to it.' That is how I discovered where poor Bob's money -went to, Fox." - -"Well, and what of it?" said Mr. Fox-Cordery, with a sneer. "He was -fond of a game of cards, and he played and lost. That there was -nothing wrong in it was proved by your silence. And that is what you -have come here to-day to tell me! You are a fool for your pains, John -Dixon." - -"I was silent," said John Dixon, "because Bob pledged me to secrecy. -My intention was to expose you to the whole school, and so put an end -to--what shall we call it? Robbery?" - -"You would not dare to make that charge against me in public. There -are no witnesses present, and you, therefore, know you are protected -against an action for libel." - -"You are losing sight of your compact of silence, Fox. Tiled in as we -are, we can call each other what names we please, and there is no -obligation upon us to be choice in our language. Pull yourself -together, my little man; I have no desire to take you at a -disadvantage. What do you say, now, to our agreeing that this meeting -shall not be confidential, and that when we part we shall each of us -be free to reveal what passes?" - -"My word once given," replied Mr. Fox-Cordery, putting on his loftiest -air, "I never depart from it." - -"For all that," said John Dixon, "I will give you the opportunity of -challenging me in public, and of seeing whether I will not give you -the chance of bringing an action for libel against me. Having made up -my mind what to do I considered it right to tell Bob of my intention. -He turned white with anger; he called me a treacherous dog; he said -that I had sneaked my way into a secret which had nothing whatever to -do with me, and that I should be playing a base part by revealing it. -We had some warm words about you, Fox, and he defended you tooth and -nail. Upon my word, after our quarrel I had a greater admiration for -poor Bob than ever. The end of it was that he bound me down, upon -honor, to keep the secret from any but our three selves, and that is -why it never leaked out." - -"Mr. Grantham had his good points," observed Mr. Fox-Cordery; "there -was something of the gentleman in him; that is why I chummed with him. -May I inquire how it was that, entertaining such an opinion of me, -you, a good many years after we all left school, accepted the offer of -employment I made you--which never would have been made, I need hardly -say, if I had known you then as I know you now?" - -"I was down in the world; things had gone badly with me, and it was -necessary for me to get something to do without delay. You are aware -that I have an old mother to support: and when needs must--I need not -finish the old saying. When, meeting by chance, as we did, you made me -the offer, I did not tell you I was in low water, or you would have -screwed me down without mercy. I intended to remain with you only long -enough to save a few pounds, but getting to know Charlotte, and -growing fond of her, I could not tear myself away from her. I will -continue the story of poor Bob. The discovery I made did not alter -things in the least; it rather improved them for you. Bob and you -became more and more attached to each other, and you left school firm -friends. I never could understand what he saw in you, but you have the -faculty of inspiring confidence in some people--worse luck for them in -the long run." - -"I am waiting for your insults to come to an end," said Mr. -Fox-Cordery, "and to have the pleasure of hearing the street door -close on you." - -"All in good time, Fox; I told you I should not try conciliatory -methods. Our school-days over, we lost sight of each other, that is to -say, I lost sight of you and Bob, and what I have now to speak of has -come to my knowledge in various ways. After leaving school a series of -family adventures befell Robert Grantham. His parents died, his elder -brother died, a rich uncle died, and to Bob's share fell a larger -fortune than he expected to inherit. His good luck must have -bewildered him, for he appointed you his agent. The next point of -interest to touch upon is the introduction of a lady in your lives. -Her maiden name, Lucy Sutherland. Correct me if I am making any -misstatement." - -"I decline to make myself responsible for any statement of yours, -whether it be correct or otherwise. Your introduction of this lady's -name is a gross impertinence." - -"Not at all; it belongs to the story, which, without it, is -incomplete. I have not the pleasure of this lady's acquaintance, and, -to my knowledge, have never seen her, but I have heard of her, through -you and Charlotte." - -"Through me!" - -"To be sure," continued John Dixon, "you never mentioned her to me by -that name, but by the name she now bears, Mrs. Grantham. Probably you -would never have mentioned her to me at all had it not been that she -was concerned in the business you set me to do during my service with -you. You had the management of her financial affairs, as you had the -management of her husband's. But I am running ahead of my story. As a -maiden lady she had many suitors, which is not to be wondered at, for -though she had terrible anxieties and trials she is still, as I learn -from Charlotte, very beautiful, and as good as she is beautiful. I -trust Charlotte's judgment in this as in all things. Only two of these -suitors for her hand did Miss Sutherland smile upon. One was poor Bob -Grantham, the other yourself. But you did not hold an equal place in -her regard. She smiled upon poor Bob because she loved him, she smiled -upon you because you were the bosom friend of the gentleman she loved. -Into the sincerity of your feelings for her I do not inquire; I pass -over what does not concern me, and I come to the commencement of an -important chapter in this lady's life, which opens with her marriage -with Robert Grantham." - -"You pass over what does not concern you," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. -"What, then, is your object in dragging the lady's name into the -conversation?" - -"You will learn presently. The chapter opens brightly, but we have -only to turn a leaf and we see clouds gathering. Mark you; from all I -can gather these two loved each other with a very perfect love; but -poor Bob had one besetting vice which darkened his life and hers, and -which eventually ruined both. He was an inveterate gamester. The seeds -of this vice, which you helped to nourish in our school days, were -firmly implanted in him when he grew to manhood. He was, as I have -already said, weak, and easily led, and no doubt the harpies who are -always on the watch for such as he encouraged him and fattened upon -him. He had not the strength to withstand temptation, and he fell -lower and lower. Observe, Fox, that in the narration of the story I am -merely giving you a plain recital of facts." - -"Or what you suppose to be facts," interrupted Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"A plain recital of facts," repeated John Dixon, "the truth of which -can be substantiated. I do not ask you whether you took a hand in poor -Bob's ruin, and profited by it. That some harpies did is not to be -doubted, because in the end poor Bob lost every penny of his fortune, -which all found its way into their pockets, as the weak schoolboy's -ten pounds found their way regularly every month into yours. I do not -seek to excuse poor Bob; there is a thin line which separates weakness -and folly from sin, and Bob was one of the many who stepped over this -line. I have reflected deeply upon his wretched history. Knowing the -goodness of his heart and the sweetness of his disposition, I have -wondered how he could have been so blind as not to see that he was -breaking the heart of the woman he loved and had sworn to protect; her -nature must also have been one of rare goodness that she did not force -it upon him, that she did not take the strongest means to show him the -miserable pit he was digging for them. I have wondered, too, how, -through another influence than that of his wife, he himself should not -have awakened from his fatal infatuation. They had a child, a little -girl, and his instinctive tenderness for children should have stepped -in to save him. I am not myself a gambler, and I cannot realize the -complete power which the vice obtains over a man's moral perception, -sapping all that is noble and worthy in him, and destroying all the -finer instincts of his nature. Happily Mrs. Grantham had a fortune in -her own right over which her husband had no control; some portion of -it went, I believe, to save him from disgrace--and then the end came. -I have related the story in its broad outlines; there must have been -scenes of agony between husband and wife of which I know nothing, but -it is not difficult to imagine them. During the whole of these -miserable years, Fox, you remained the close friend and associate of -this unhappy couple, and you know what the end of it was." - -"What I know I know," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and I do not propose to -enlist you in my confidence." - -"I do not ask you to do so. It was probably during these years that -Mrs. Grantham learned to rely upon you and to trust to your counsel -and judgment. You have maintained your position to this day." - -"Well?" - -"In the course of the business I transacted for you I became somewhat -familiar with Mrs. Grantham's pecuniary affairs. You are, in a certain -sense, her trustee and guardian; you have the management of her little -fortune; it was partly with respect to the investments you made for -her that we severed our connection." - -"That I dismissed you from my service," corrected Mr. Fox-Cordery. -"You had the presumption to suppose that you had the right to -interfere in my management. I opened your eyes to your position, and -sent you packing." - -"As it suited me to accept employment when you offered it to me, so it -suited me to leave your service at the time I did. A better situation -was open to me, with the prospect of a future partnership. On the day -I left you I went to my new situation, and have been in it ever since. -In a short time I shall become a partner in the firm of Paxton and -Freshfield, solicitors, Bedford Row." - -"It is not of the slightest interest to me, Mr. Dixon, whether you -become a partner in this firm or go to the dogs. I can forecast which -of the two is the more likely." - -"Had you the disposition of my future I know pretty well what it would -be; but I promise you disappointment. Although you take no interest in -the circumstances of my becoming a partner in Paxton and Freshfield I -will leave our address with you, in case you may wish to consult me." - -He laid a card upon the table, of which Mr. Fox-Cordery took no -notice. - -"This, then," he said, "is the reason of your intrusion. To solicit my -patronage? You would have made a good commercial traveler." - -"You are miles from the truth. I do not think we would undertake your -business. I leave my card for private, not for professional reasons. -What I have stated to you leads directly to the object of my visit. I -have hitherto asked you no questions; perhaps you will not object to -my asking you one or two now?" - -"Say what you please. I can answer or not, at my discretion." - -"Entirely so; and pray take it from me that I am not here in a -professional capacity, but solely as a private individual who will -certainly at no distant date be a member of your family, whether you -like it or not; or," he added, with a slight laugh, "whether I like it -or not. In conveying to you my regret that I shall have a relationship -thrust upon me which I would very gladly dispense with, my reference -is not to Charlotte. A relationship to you, apart from other -considerations, is no credit; but, so far as Charlotte and I are -concerned, I would prefer it without the additional drawback of a -public scandal. Many singular pieces of business fall into the hands -of Paxton and Freshfield. One of such a nature came into the office a -short time since, but it was not brought before my notice till to-day. -Have you seen the _Times_ this morning?" - -"I decline to answer idle questions." - -"Whether you have seen it or not, an advertisement in its personal -columns has certainly escaped your attention, or you would not have -met this particular question so calmly. The advertisement, as you will -see--I have brought the paper with me--was inserted by my firm. It -will interest you to read it." - -He took the _Times_ from his pocket, and offered it to Mr. -Fox-Cordery, pointing to the advertisement of which he spoke; Mr. -Fox-Cordery hesitated a moment, and then, paper in hand, stepped to -the dusty window, and read the advertisement, which ran as follows: - - -If Mr. Robert Grantham, born in Leamington, Warwickshire, will call -upon Messrs. Paxton and Freshfield, solicitors, Bedford Row, London, -he will hear of something to his advantage. - - -To read so short an advertisement would occupy a man scarcely half a -minute, but Mr. Fox-Cordery stood for several minutes at the window, -with his back turned to John Dixon. Perhaps there was something in the -prospect of the dreary back wall that interested him, for he stood -quite still, and did not speak. His contemplation at an end, he faced -his visitor, and handed back the paper. - -"Have you anything to remark?" inquired John Dixon. - -"Nothing." - -"Close as wax, Fox, as usual. When I read the advertisement this -morning it gave me a strange turn, and I came direct to your house to -speak to you about it. Before I did so, I made myself acquainted with -the nature of the business concerning which our firm desires to see -Mr. Robert Grantham. It is a simple matter enough. An old lady has -died in Leamington; she was aunt to poor Bob, and she has left him a -small legacy of two hundred pounds. Not a fortune, but a useful sum to -a man in low water." - -"You are talking rubbish," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "You know perfectly -well that it is throwing money away to put such an advertisement in -the papers. Is it in other papers as well as the _Times?_" - -"Ah, ha, friend Fox!" said John Dixon. "Caught tripping for once. -Actually betraying interest in the object of my visit, when -indifference was your proper cue! No, it is not in other papers; the -whole of the small legacy must not be eaten up in expenses. Had I been -informed of this business before the insertion of the advertisement -even in one paper, I should have suggested to Paxton and Freshfield -the advisability of a little delay until I had made certain inquiries. -Lawyers are practical people, and they would have recognized the -absurdity of inviting by public proclamation a visit from a ghost. -There is no mistake, I suppose, about poor Bob being dead?" - -"You know he is dead." - -"Softly, Fox, softly. I know nothing of poor Bob except what I have -gathered from you. If Mrs. Grantham is a widow, why of course Robert -Grantham is a dead man; if she is not a widow, why of course Robert -Grantham is alive, and you stand small chance of stepping into his -shoes, which I believe you are eager to do. It is hardly likely that -she has seen the advertisement, but it must be brought to her notice -very soon." - -"By whom?" - -"Naturally, in the first place, by you, as her business agent, -because, in the event of Bob being dead, the legacy will fall to his -heirs. Failing you, naturally by Paxton and Freshfield, who have this -inconsiderable business in hand, and whose duty it is to attend to it. -Probably we shall await some communication from you or Mrs. Grantham -upon the matter. It may be that Paxton and Freshfield will expect -something from you in the shape of a document, such, for instance, as -proof of poor Bob's death; and they might consider it advisable to ask -for certain particulars, such as the place and date of his death, -where buried, etcetera. All of which you will be able to supply, being -positive that Mrs. Grantham is a widow. Now, Fox, I have still a word -or two to say to you in private. Call it an adventure, an impression, -what you will; it occurred to me, and it would be unfair to keep it -from Charlotte's brother. Until to-day I have not mentioned it to a -soul. We have passed through a hard winter, as you know, and have -established a record in fogs. I do not remember a year in which we -have had so many foggy days and nights, and the month of March usurped -the especial privilege of the month of November. I cannot recall the -precise date, but it was about the middle of March when I walked from -the Strand into Regent Street by way of the Seven Dials. It was one of -the foggiest nights we had, and I had to be careful how I picked my -steps. Men walked a yard or two ahead of you, and you could not see -their faces, could scarcely distinguish their forms; but quite close, -elbow to elbow, as it were, you might by chance catch a momentary -glance of a face. A flash, and it was gone, swallowed up in Egyptian -darkness. Two men passed me arm-in-arm, and, looking up, I could have -sworn that I saw the face of Robert Grantham's ghost. I turned to -follow it, but it was gone. That is all, Fox; I thought you would like -to know." - -If a face of the pallid hue of Mr. Fox-Cordery's could be said to grow -white, it may be said of his at this revelation; otherwise he betrayed -no sign of agitation. He made no comment upon it, and asked no -questions; but the indefinite change of color did not escape John -Dixon's observation. - -"It is a pleasure to know that you have emptied your budget," he said. -"Good-morning, Mr. Dixon." - -"Good-morning, Fox," said John Dixon. "You will probably acknowledge -that I had a sufficient reason for paying you this visit." - -He did not wait for the acknowledgment, but took his departure without -another word. - -Mr. Fox-Cordery stood motionless by the window. There was writing on -the dreary back wall, invisible to all eyes but his. - -"If he has betrayed me!" he muttered; "if he has betrayed me!" and -pursued his thought no further in spoken words. - -A quarter of an hour afterward he went to his mother. - -"Have you given Charlotte her clothes?" he asked. - -"Not yet, Fox," she replied. "What did that man want with you?" - -"That man is my enemy!" he said, with fury in his voice and face; "my -bitter enemy. Go, and give Charlotte her clothes immediately. And, -mother, take her out and buy her one or two nicknacks--a silver brooch -for a few shillings, a bit of ribbon. Be sweet to her. Curse her and -him! Be sweet to her, and say I gave you the money to buy the -presents. We need her on our side more than ever. Don't stop to argue -with me; do as I bid you!" - -"I will obey you in everything, my love," she said, gazing at him -solicitously. - -He motioned her away, and she stole from the room, wishing she -possessed the malignant power to strike his enemy dead at her feet. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. -In which we make the acquaintance of Rathbeal. - - -That same night, as Big Ben was striking the hour of nine, Mr. -Fox-Cordery, spick and span as usual, and with not a visible crease -upon him, crossed Westminster Bridge, Kennington way, bent on an -errand of importance, and plunged into the melancholy thoroughfares -which beset, but cannot be said to adorn, that sad-colored -neighborhood. In some quarters of London the houses have a peculiarly -forlorn appearance, as though life at its best were a poor thing, and -not worth troubling about. If general cheerlessness and despondency -had been the aim of the builders and speculators responsible for their -distinguishing characteristics, they may be complimented upon their -success, but certainly not upon their taste. It is as easy to make -houses pretty as to make them ugly, and curves are no more difficult -to compass than angles; facts which have not established themselves in -the consciousness of the average Englishman, who remains stupidly -content with dull, leaden-looking surfaces, and a pernicious -uniformity of front--which may account for the dejection of visage to -be met with in such streets as Mr. Fox-Cordery was traversing. - -He paid no attention to the typical signs, animate or inanimate, he -met with on his road, but walked straight on till he arrived at a -three-storied house, in the windows of which not a glimmer of light -was to be seen. Striking a match, he held it up to the knocker of the -street door, beneath which the number of the house was painted in -fast-fading figures; and convincing himself with some difficulty that -he had reached his destination, he put his hand to the knocker to -summon the inmates. But the knocker had seen its best days, and was -almost past knocking. Rust and age had so stiffened its joints that it -required a determined effort to move it from its cushion; and being -moved, there it stuck in mid-air, obstinately declining to perform its -office. - -Failing to produce a sound that would have any effect upon human ears, -Mr. Fox-Cordery turned his attention to the bells, of which there were -six or seven. As there was no indication of the particular bell which -would serve him, he pulled them all, one after the other. Some were -mute, some gave forth the faintest tinkle, and one remained in his -hand, refusing to come farther forward or to go back; the result of -his pulling being that not the slightest attention was paid to the -summons by anyone in the house. The appearance of a hobbledehoy -promised to be of assistance to him. This hobbledehoy was a stripling -of same thirteen summers; his shirt-sleeves turned(?) up, and he -carried in his hand a pewter pot of beer which he occasionally put his -lips, not daring to go deeper than the froth, from fear of -consequences from the lawful owner. - -"Mr. Rathbeal lives here, doesn't he?" inquired Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -The hobbledehoy surveyed the gentleman, and became instantly lost in -admiration. Such a vision of perfect dressing had probably never -presented itself to him before. Open-mouthed he gazed and worshiped. -Mr. Fox-Cordery aroused him from his dream by repeating the question. - -"Lots o' people lives 'ere," he replied. "Who's Mr. What's-his-name, -when he's at 'ome, and does 'is mother know he's out when he ain't?" - -Mr. Fox-Cordery spelt the name, letter by letter--"R-a-t-h-b-e-a-l." - -"Don't know the gent," said the hobbledehoy. "Is he a sport?" - -No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say he was a sport. - -"Is he a coster?" - -No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say he was a coster. - -"Is it sweeps?" - -No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say it was sweeps. - -"Give it up," said the hobbledehoy. "Arsk me another." - -Another did not readily present itself to Mr. Fox-Cordery's usually -fertile mind, and he stood irresolute. - -"I tell yer wot," suggested the hobbledehoy. "Give me tuppence, and -I'll go through the lot." - -With a wry face, Mr. Fox-Cordery produced the coppers, which the -hobbledehoy spun in the air, and pocketed. Then he conscientiously -went through the list of the inmates of the house from basement to -attic, Mr. Fox-Cordery shaking his head at each introduction. - -"There's the gent with the 'air on," he said, in conclusion; "and that -finishes it." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery's face lighted up. - -"Long gray hair?" he asked. - -"Yes," replied the hobbledehoy. "Could make a pair of wigs out of it." - -"Down to here?" asked Mr. Fox-Cordery, with his hand at his breast. - -"That's the wery identical. Looks like the Wizard of the North. Long -legs and arms, face like a lion." - -"That is the person I want," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"Third floor back," said the hobbledehoy; and, with the virtuous -feeling of a boy who has earned his pennies, he walked into the house, -with his head up; whereby Mr. Fox-Cordery learned that knockers and -bells were superfluities, and that anyone was free of the street door, -and could obtain entrance by a simple push. Following the instruction, -he mounted the stairs slowly, lighting matches as he ascended to save -himself from falling into a chance trap; a necessary precaution, for -the passages were pitch dark, and the balustrades and staircases -generally in a tumbledown, rickety condition. The third floor was the -top of the house, and comprised one front and one back room. He -knocked at the latter without eliciting a response, and knocked again -with the same result. Then he turned the handle, which yielded to his -pressure, and entered. - -The room was as dark as the passages, and Mr. Fox-Cordery, after -calling in vain, "Here, you, Rathbeal, you!" had recourse to his -matchbox again; and seeing the end of a candle in a tall candlestick -of curious shape upon the table, he lighted it and looked around. From -the moment of his entering the room he had been conscious of a faint -odor, rather disturbing to his senses, and now, as he looked around, -he satisfied himself as to the cause. On a quaintly carved bracket -were a bottle and a small box. The bottle was empty, but there was a -little opium in the box. - -"At his old game," he muttered. "Why doesn't it kill him? But I -wouldn't have him die yet. I must first screw the truth out of him." - -By "him" he meant the tenant of the room, who lay on a narrow bed -asleep. Before disturbing him, Mr. Fox-Cordery devoted attention to -the articles by which he was surrounded. The furniture of this humble -attic was extraordinary of its kind, and had probably been picked up -at odd times, in one auction-room and another. On the floor was an old -Oriental rug, worn quite threadbare; the two chairs were antiques; the -carved legs of the table represented the legs of fabulous animals; -even the fire-irons were old-fashioned. There were several brackets on -the walls, carved by the sleeping man, showing a quaint turn of fancy; -and on each bracket rested an article of taste, here a small Eastern -vase, here a twisted bottle, here the model of a serpent standing -upright on two human legs. A dealer in old curiosities would not have -given more than a sovereign or two for all the furniture and ornaments -in the room, for none of them were of any particular value. But the -collection was a remarkable one to be found in an attic in such a -neighborhood; and, if it denoted nothing else, was an indication that -the proprietor was not of the common order of English workingmen, such -as one would have expected to occupy the apartment; if, indeed, he was -an Englishman at all. - -Mr. Fox-Cordery was not a gentleman of artistic taste, and he turned -up his nose and shrugged his shoulders contemptuously at these -belongings. Then he devoted a few moments more to an examination of -the room, opening drawers without hesitation, and running his eyes -over some manuscripts on the table. The written characters of these -manuscripts were exquisite, albeit somewhat needlessly fantastic here -and there: and the manuscripts themselves furnished a clew to the -occupation of the tenant, which was that of a copyist. There were no -paintings or engravings on the walls, which, however, were not -entirely devoid of pictorial embellishment. Four neatly cut pieces -of drawing-paper were tacked thereon--north, south, east, and -west--bearing each a couplet beautifully written within an illuminated -scroll. The colors of the scrolls were green and gold, and the verses -were written in shining Indian ink. - -On the tablet on the north wall the lines ran: - - -He whose soul by love is quickened, never can to death be hurled; -Written is my life immortal in the records of the world. - - -On the south wall: - - -Oh, heart! thy springtime has gone by, and at life's flowers has - failed thy aim. -Gray-headed man, seek virtue now; gain honor and a spotless name. - - -On the west wall: - - -Now on the rose's palm the cup with limpid wine is brimming, -And with a hundred thousand tongues the bird her praise is hymning. - - -On the east wall: - - -If all upon the earth arise to injure myself or my friend, -The Lord, who redresses wrong, shall avenge us all in the end. - - -Mr. Fox-Cordery's judgment upon these couplets was that the writer's -brain was softening; and considering that he had wasted sufficient -time in making discoveries of no value, he stepped to the narrow bed, -and contemplated the sleeper. The contrast between the two men was -noteworthy, but it was the good or bad fortune of Mr. Fox-Cordery -always to furnish a contrast of more or less interest when he stood -side by side with his fellow-men. At this moment his clean, pallid -face, with its carefully arranged hair and drooping mustache, wore an -ugly expression singularly at odds with his diminutive stature. - -It is not pleasant for a man with a thorough belief in his own -supremacy to suspect that he has been tricked by one whom he gauges to -be of meaner capacity than himself; but this had been Mr. -Fox-Cordery's suspicion since his interview with John Dixon, and he -had come hither either to verify or falsify it. The sleeper's age -could not have been less than sixty years; he was a large-limbed man, -six feet in height, and proportionately broad and massive. His -full-fleshed eyelids with their shaggy eyebrows, his abundant tangled -hair, and the noble gray beard descending to his breast, denoted a -being of power and sensibility; and though he lay full length and -unconscious beneath the little man who was gazing wrathfully upon him, -he seemed to tower majestically above the pygmy form. Mr. Fox-Cordery -shook the sleeper violently, and called: - -"Rathbeal, you scoundrel; just you wake up! Do you hear? No shamming! -Wake up!" - -Rathbeal slowly opened his eyes, which like his hair were gray, and -fixed them upon Mr. Fox-Cordery. Recognition of his unexpected visitor -did not immediately come to him, and he continued to gaze in silence -upon the intruder. Half asleep and half awake as he was, there was a -magnetic quality in his eyes which did not tend to put Mr. Fox-Cordery -at his ease; and in order to make a proper assertion of himself, he -said, in a bullying tone: - -"When you have had your stare out, perhaps you'll let me know." - -The voice assisted Rathbeal, who, closing his eyes and with a subtle -smile on his lips, murmured, in perfect English: - - - "The enemy thy secret sought to gain: - A hand unseen repelled the beast profane." - - -"Beast yourself!" retorted Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Here, no going off to -sleep again! You're wanted, particularly wanted; and I don't intend to -stand any of your infernal nonsense!" - -But these lordly words, peremptorily uttered, did not seem to produce -their intended effect, for Rathbeal, still with closed eyes, murmured: - - - "Be my deeds or good or evil, look thou to thyself alone; - All men, when their work is ended, reap the harvest they have - sown." - - -The couplet, being of the order of those affixed to the walls, -conveyed no definite idea, and certainly no satisfaction, to Mr. -Fox-Cordery's mind. He cried masterfully: - -"Are you going to get up or not? I've something to say to you; and -you've got to hear it, if I stay all night." - -Then Rathbeal opened his eyes again, and there was recognition in -them, as he said courteously: - -"Ah, Mr. Fox-Cordery, your pardon; I was scarcely awake. You have -taken me from the land of dreams. It is the first time you have -honored me in this apartment. To see you here is a surprise." - -"I dare say," chuckled Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and not an agreeable one -either. Eh, old man?" - -"If it were not agreeable," said Rathbeal, spreading out his hands, -which were large and shapely, and in keeping with his general -appearance, "I should not confess it. You are my guest." - -"Guest be hanged!" exclaimed Mr. Fox-Cordery, resenting the suggestion -as claiming equality with him. "Do you think I have come to partake of -your hospitality? Not by a long way. Are you awake yet?" - -"Wide, very wide," replied Rathbeal, rising calmly from his bed. "I -have been in the spirit"--he consulted a silver watch--"nine hours. If -you had not aroused me I should have been by this time conscious. -Excuse me; I have no other apartment." There was a small shut-up -washstand in a corner, and he opened it, and pouring out water, laved -his hands. When he had dried them he combed out his noble beard with -his fingers, and said, "I am now ready for work." - -"People, as a rule, leave off at this hour," remarked Mr. Fox-Cordery, -who for reasons of his own, which had suggested themselves since he -entered the room, did not intend to rush into his grievance. Under any -circumstances he might not have done so, absorbing as it was, for it -was his method to lead up to a subject artfully in the endeavor to -gain some advantage beforehand. - -"I commence at this hour," said Rathbeal, "and work through the night. -You have something to say to me?" - -"A good deal, and you'll need all your wits. I say, you, Rathbeal, -what are you?" His eyes wandered about the room, and gave point to his -inquiry. "I have known you a pretty long time, but I have never been -able to make up my mind about you. Not that I have troubled myself -particularly; but since I have been here I have grown curious. That's -frank, isn't it?" - -"Very. What am I? You open up a vast field. What is man? Who has been -sufficiently wise to answer the question? What is man? What is life? -Some say a dream, and that it commences with death. Some say that the -soul of man exists long before the man is born, and that it is -enshrined in a human body for the purpose of overcoming the -temptations and debasing influences of the material life. Successful, -it earns its place in celestial abodes, Unsuccessful, it is forever -damned." - -"You think yourself precious clever," sneered Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"No, I am an enigma to myself, as all reflective men must be." - -"Reflective men!" exclaimed Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Hear him!" - -"One thing I know," said Rathbeal, ignoring the taunt. "You, I, and -all lesser and greater mortals, are part of a system." - -"Hang your system, and your palaver with it! I'll tell you in a minute -or two what I came here for, but I shall be obliged if you will first -tell me something of yourself. I have the right to know your history." - -"I have no objection. You wish to learn my personal history. It is -soon told." - -"None of your lies, you know; I shall spot them if you try to deceive -me. I am as wide awake as you are." - -"Wider, far wider. You have the wisdom of the serpent." - -"Here, I say," cried Mr. Fox-Cordery, "none of your abuse. What do you -mean by that?" - -"You should receive it as a compliment." He pointed to the figure of a -serpent on human legs standing on a bracket. "I compare you to the -serpent in admiration. Shall I commence at the beginning of my life?" - -"Commence where you like, only cut it short." - -"My father was a Persian; my mother also. They came to England to save -their lives. One week longer in Persia, and they would have been -slain." - -"A pity." - -"That they did not remain in their native land? That they were not -slain? Perhaps. Who shall say? But there is a fate. Who shall resist -it? Safe in England, where I was born a week after their arrival, my -parents lived till I was a youth. They imbued me with their spirit. As -you see." He waved his hand around. "I live by the art of my pen. That -is all." - -"Quite enough; it is plain there is no getting anything out of you. -Now, listen to me. You accepted a commission from me, which you led me -to believe you fulfilled. If it is not fulfilled you practiced a fraud -upon me for which the law can punish you." - -"I am acquainted with the English law. I have a perception of a -higher--the divine law. We will proceed fairly, for you have spoken of -a serious business. Many years ago you desired some parchments copied, -and, hearing I had some skill with the pen, you sought me out. I -performed the work you intrusted to me, and from time to time you -favored me with further orders. The engagement ended; you needed my -pen no more. But you deemed me worthy to undertake a commission of -another nature. You had a friend, or a foe, who was suffering, and -whose presence in England was inconvenient to you." - -"Lie number one," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"It is a true interpretation. You came to me and said, 'This man is -dying; I wish his last hours to be peaceful. There are memories here -that torture him. Make friends with him. Opium will relieve him; -ardent spirits will assuage his pain; travel will beguile his senses. -His constitution is broken. Go with him to Paris; I will allow you a -small monthly stipend, and, when his pain is over, you shall have a -certain sum for your labor.'" - -"Lies, and lies, and yet more lies," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, watching -Rathbeal's face warily. "You have a fine stock of them, and of all -colors and shapes. Why, you would come out first in a competition." - -"You compliment me," said Rathbeal, with a gentle smile. "Did those -words exist only in my imagination? Yet, as you unfolded your wishes -to me, halting and hesitating with a coward's reserve, I thought I -heard them spoken. 'Do I know the unfortunate man?' I inquired, 'of -whom you are so considerate, toward whom you are so mercifully -inclined.' You replied that it was hardly likely, and you mentioned -him by name. No, I had never heard of the gentleman. 'I must see him -first,' I said, 'before giving you an answer.' You instructed me how -to find him, and I sought him out, and made the acquaintance of a -being racked with a mortal sorrow. You came to me the following day -for an answer; I informed you that you had come too soon, and that I -had not decided. 'Be speedy,' you urged. 'I am anxious to get the man -out of my sight.'" - -"Still another lie," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Not a word you have quoted -was ever spoken by me." - -"My imagination again," said Rathbeal, with the same gentle smile; -"and yet they are in my mind. Perhaps I translated your thoughts as -you went on. After a fortnight had passed I consented to your wishes, -and your friend, or your foe, left England for the Continent in my -company. It was expressly stipulated by you that no mention should be -made by me of your goodness, and that if he asked for the name of the -friend who was befriending him I was to answer guardedly that you -wished to preserve it secret. Only once did he refer to you, and then -not by name; but I understood him to say that he knew to whom he was -indebted, and that there was only one man in the world who had not -deserted him in his downfall." - -"May I inquire," asked Mr. Fox-Cordery, "whether your companion let -you into the secrets of his life--for we all have secrets, you know." - -"Yes, every man, high and low. He did not; he preserved absolute -silence respecting his history. We remained on the Continent a -considerable time, supporting ourselves partly by your benefactions, -partly by copying manuscripts, an art I taught him. I learned to love -the gentleman to whom you had introduced me for some evil purpose of -your own----" - -"For an evil purpose! You are raving!" - -"For some evil purpose of your own, which I could no more fathom than -I could the nature of the sorrow that was consuming him. 'Try opium,' -I said to him, 'it will help you to forget.' He refused. 'I will allow -myself no indulgence.' And this, indeed, was true to the letter. He -lived upon water and a bare crust. So did the monks of old, but their -lives were less holy than his, for it was only of themselves and their -own souls they thought, while he, with no concern for his own welfare, -temporal or spiritual, thought only of others, and applied every -leisure hour and every spare coin to their relief and consolation. He -was a singular mixture of qualities----" - -"Spare me your moralizings," interrupted Mr. Fox-Cordery. "I knew what -he was, long before you set eyes on him. Keep to the main road." - -"In the life of every man," said Rathbeal, "though he be evil and -corrupt, there are byways wherein flowers may be found, and it was of -such byways I was about to speak in the life of this man of sorrow, -who was neither evil nor corrupt; but I perceive you do not care to -hear what I can say to his credit, so I will keep to the main road, as -you bid me. There dwelt in my mind during all the time we spent in -foreign lands the words you addressed to me: 'When you tell me that I -shall be troubled with him no more, you will lighten my heart.'" - -"How many more versions are you going to give," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, -"of what I never said to you? You are a liar, self-confessed." - -"Is that so? And yet, shrewd sir, I insist that the words are not of -my sole coining. At length I was in a position to inform you that your -desire was accomplished, and that your friend, or your foe, would -trouble you no more; and so, upon my return to England--with the -payment of a smaller sum than I expected from you, for you made -deductions--all business between us came to an end. Upon your entrance -into this room to-night I remarked that your presence was a surprise -to me. I did not expect you, and I am puzzled to know how you -discovered where I lodge." - -"When I weave a web, Rathbeal," chuckled Mr. Fox-Cordery, "nothing -ever escapes from it." - -"An unfortunate figure of speech," said Rathbeal impressively, "for -you liken yourself to a human spider. But there are other webs than -those that mortals weave. Fate is ever at work; it is at work now, -weaving a mesh for you, in spots invisible to you, in men and women -who are strangers to you, and you shall no more escape from it than -you shall escape from death when your allotted hour comes." - -"Oh, I daresay. Go and frighten babies with your balderdash. What I -have come to know is, whether you have obtained money from me under -false pretenses. It is an offense for which the law provides----" - -A movement on the part of his companion prevented him from finishing -the sentence. Rathbeal had risen from his chair, and was standing by -the door in the act of listening, and Mr. Fox-Cordery did not observe -that he had slipped the key out of the lock. He was about to rise and -throw open the door, in the hope of making a discovery which would -bring confusion upon Rathbeal, when the latter, by a sudden and rapid -movement, quitted the room. Mr. Fox-Cordery turned the handle of the -door, with the intention of following him. - -"Hanged if the beggar hasn't locked me in!" he cried, in -consternation. "Here, you, Rathbeal, you! Play me any of your tricks, -and I'll have the law of you! If you don't open the door this instant -I'll call the police!" - -No answer was made to the threat, and Mr. Fox-Cordery, seriously -alarmed that he had fallen into a trap, and unable to open the door, -though he shook it furiously, lifted the window-sash to call for help, -but the room was at the back of the house, and when he put his head -out of the window he could not pierce the dense darkness into which he -peered. He screamed out nevertheless, and was answered by a touch upon -his shoulder which caused him to tremble in every limb and to give -utterance to a cry of fear. Turning, he saw Rathbeal smiling upon him. - -"My shrewd sir," said Rathbeal, "what alarms you?" - -Mr. Fox-Cordery recovered his courage instantly. - -"Confound you!" he blustered. "What do you mean by locking me in?" - -"Locking you in!" exclaimed Rathbeal, pointing to the key in the lock. -"You are dreaming. I thought I heard a visitor ascending the stairs, -and as I was sure you did not wish for the presence of a third party -till our interview was over I went out to dismiss him." - -"Or her," suggested Mr. Fox-Cordery, with malicious emphasis. - -"Or her, if you will. Sit down and compose yourself. You were saying -when I left the room that I had obtained money from you on false -pretenses, and that it is an offense for which the law provides. It is -doubtless the case--not that I have obtained your money falsely, but -that the law could punish me if I had. Explain yourself. You came -hither to speak to me, and yet it is I who have chiefly spoken. You -have heard me; let me hear you." - -"What I want to know," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and what I will know, is -whether you have given me false information." - -"Upon what subject, shrewd sir?" - -"Upon the subject you have been speaking of." - -"You must be more explicit. If I choose not to admit that I understand -you when you speak in vague terms it is because of the attitude you -have assumed toward me, which you will excuse me for remarking is -deficient in politeness. Speak clearly, shrewd sir, and you shall have -like for like. I will not be behindhand with you in frankness." - -"All right. I wished to serve a friend who was in a bad way. He was -broken down, and needed change of air and scene; I provided the means, -and sent you with him as a companion who might have a beneficial -effect upon him. I did not expect him to recover; he was too far gone, -his health being completely shattered. As a matter of course I did not -wish the thing to go on forever, and I desired to be kept posted how -it progressed, and, if it came to the worst, to be informed at the -earliest moment. You informed me that all was over, that my poor -friend was dead, and I paid you handsomely for your personal attention -to the matter. Am I to understand that the information you gave me was -true?" - -"I pin you to greater clearness, shrewd sir, or you will obtain no -answer from me." - -"The devil seize you! Is it true that the man I speak of is dead?" - -"Did I so inform you?" - -"You did." - -"I have no recollection of it. You have my letter. Produce it. The -written words are--I can recall them--'Rest content. Your desire is -compassed; you will be troubled no more.' Pay a little attention now -to me, shrewd sir. You have spoken to me in unmannerly fashion; you -have threatened me with the law. I despise your threats; I despise -you. Profit by a lesson it will be well for you to learn in this -humble room. Never make an enemy of a man, not even of the meanest -man. You never know when he may help to strike you down. When I worked -for you as a copyist you formed an estimate of my character upon -grounds shaped by yourself for your own private purposes--purposes -into which, up to the present moment, I have made no active inquiry, -though I have pondered upon them. I do not engage myself to be in the -future so practically incurious and retiring." - -"Bully away," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, inwardly boiling over with rage. -"I have nothing to fear from you." - -"You said to yourself, 'Here is a man of foreign origin who will do -anything for money,' and this opinion emboldened you to proceed with a -scheme which needed an unscrupulous agent, such as you supposed me to -be, to insure success. Unsolicited you introduced your scheme to me, -not in plain words, for which you could be made directly accountable, -but in veiled allusions and metaphors which needed intellectual power -to comprehend. Intellect is required for the success of base as well -as of worthy ends. Your mock compassion amazed me, and I made a mental -study of you, as of something new--a confession which perhaps will -surprise you. Not I the dupe, shrewd sir, but you. Men of my nation -have a habit of expressing themselves in metaphor, and are taught to -grasp a meaning, not from what is said, but from what is not said; and -I, though I have never been in my parents' native land, acquired this -habit from them. I divined your wish, but saw not, and see not now, -the springs which prompted it. Plainly, it was a crime you proposed to -me, and left the means at my discretion; and after making the -acquaintance of the gentleman whose end you hired me to compass, I -accepted the commission, nothing being farther from my mind than to -assist in its accomplishment. Not I, but fortune, favored you. You -were troubled by a mortal's existence; you were released from your -trouble, and your end was attained. Thus much I tell you, and will -tell you no more. Be content, and go." - -"Come now," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, drawing a long breath of relief, -"you have talked a lot of infernal bosh, and told any number of lies; -but I will excuse you for everything if you will inform me where it -took place." - -"Not one word will I add to those I have already spoken." - -"Hang it! I have a right to know. You could be forced to tell!" - -"Make the attempt. For the second time, I bid you go." - -He threw open the door, and stood aside to give his visitor -unobstructed passage. Recognizing the uselessness of remaining any -longer, Mr. Fox-Cordery laughed insolently in Rathbeal's face, and, -feeling his way down the dark stairs, reached the lower landing in -safety, and passed into the street. - -Although he was not in the most amiable of humors, his mind was -greatly relieved. Robert Grantham was dead. Of that he had been -assured by Rathbeal; not, certainly, in such plain words as he would -have preferred to hear, but in terms that left no doubt in his mind. - -"I put his back up," he muttered, as he walked along, "and that is why -he wouldn't speak out. Besides, he wasn't going to criminate himself. -I was an idiot to take the trouble I did over the affair. Grantham was -quite broken down at the time, and couldn't have lasted long under any -circumstances. There isn't an office in England that would have taken -a year's insurance on his life. He was done for; death was in his -face. They have all played into my hands, every one of them." - -But notwithstanding the relief he experienced, the events of the day -were not of a nature to afford him pleasant reflection. He had been -three times defied. First by Charlotte, then by John Dixon, then by -Rathbeal. Charlotte he did not fear as an enemy; despite her outbreak, -he had been too long accustomed to dominate her to be apprehensive of -her. She was in his power, and had pledged herself to silence for two -months. John Dixon and Rathbeal stood on a different platform; but -even from them he had little if anything to fear. As to John Dixon's -account of having seen Robert Grantham's face in a fog, he snapped his -fingers at it. It was, at best, a clumsy invention; had he been in -Dixon's place, he would have done better. His enemies had put him on -his guard--that was all the good they had done for themselves. - -When he reached the middle of Westminster Bridge, he paused and looked -down into the water. The darkness had lifted a little, and a few stars -had come out and were reflected in the river. The lamps upon the banks -formed a long line of restless, shifting light, converging to a point -in the far distance. An imaginative mind could have woven rare fancies -out of the glimmering sheen in the river's heart, which seemed to -pulse with spiritual life. Cathedral aisles, with dusky processions -winding between, descending into the depths to make room for those -that crowded behind. Lights upon a distant battlefield, a confused -tangle of horses and fighting men, the wounded and dying crawling into -the deep shades. A wash of the waves, and a wild _mèlée_ of dancers -was created, lasting but a moment--as, indeed, did all the -pictures,--and separating into peaceable units with the broadening out -of the water. A ripple, almost musical in its poetic silence, bearing -bride and bridegroom to love and joy. A band of rioters, upheaving, -with waving limbs inextricably mingled, replaced by an orderly line of -hooded monks, gliding on with folded arms. - -None of these pictures presented themselves to Mr. Fox-Cordery's -imagination. He saw only two figures in the water: one of a dead man -floating onward to oblivion; the other of a woman with peaceful, -shining face, inviting him, with smiling eyes, to come to her embrace. -The wish was father to the thought, and the figures were there as he -had conjured them up. The face of the dead man brought no remorse to -his soul; he was susceptible only of those affections in which his own -personal safety and his own personal desires were concerned. It was -for the death of this man and the possession of this woman that he had -schemed and toiled. The man he hated, and had pursued to his ruin; the -woman he loved and would have bartered his soul for. His passion for -her had grown to such a pitch as to make him reckless of consequences; -or, more properly speaking, blind to them. Had she yielded to his -wooing in years gone by, he would have made a slave of her, and have -tyrannized over her as he did over all with whom he had dealings. But -she had not favored him, except in the way of friendship, and had -given herself to the man he hated and despised. It can scarcely be -said that a nature so mean and cruel as his was capable of pure and -honest love; but passion and baffled desire took the place of love, -and had obtained such complete possession of his senses that he was -not master of himself where she was concerned. At his age the fever of -the blood should have been cooled, but opposition and disappointment -had produced a kind of frenzy in him; and, in addition, he had always -been a law unto himself, ready to put his foot upon the neck of any -living creature who ventured to obstruct his lightest wish. - -A black cloud blotted out the stars; the beautiful face disappeared. -Awaking from his reverie, Mr. Fox-Cordery proceeded to cross the -bridge. Staggering toward him in the opposite direction was a lad in -the last stage of want and destitution; a large-eyed, white-faced lad -literally clothed in rags. His trousers were held up by a piece of -knotted string, crossing his breast and back; he had no cap on his -matted hair; his naked toes peeped out of his boots. That he was faint -and ill was evident from his staggering gait, and indeed he hardly -knew where he was going, so genuinely desperate was his forlorn -condition. It chanced that he stumbled against the dapper form of Mr. -Fox-Cordery, who, crying, "What's your game, you young ruffian?" gave -him a brutal push, and sent him reeling into the road. The lad had no -strength to save himself from falling. Gasping for breath, he clutched -at the air, and fell, spinning, upon the stones. Passing callously on, -Mr. Fox-Cordery did not observe, and was not observed by a man who, -seeing the lad fall, ran forward to assist him. Stooping and raising -the lad's head, the man looked into his face. - -"Why, Billy!" cried the man compassionately. - -The lad opened his eyes, smiled faintly, and answered, "Yes, it's me, -Mr. Gran "; and then the dark clouds seemed to fall upon him, and he -lay limp and insensible in the man's arms. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. -Billy turns the Corner. - - -Robert Grantham for a moment was undecided what to do. No one was near -them; he and Billy were just then alone on the bridge. Resolving upon -his course of action, he raised Billy in his arms and walked with his -burden toward Rathbeal's lodging. Billy was nothing of a weight for a -man to carry, being but skin and bone, and Grantham experienced no -difficulty in the execution of the merciful task he had taken upon -himself. He was not troubled by inquiries from the few persons he -encountered. A policeman looked after them, but as Grantham made no -appeal to him, and there was no evidence of the law being broken, he -turned and resumed his beat. Robert Grantham was a quarter of an hour -walking to the house in which Rathbeal lodged. Without hesitating, he -pushed the street door open, and ascended the stairs. Rathbeal heard -him coming up, and waited for him on the landing. - -"What have you got there?" he asked. - -"A lump of misery," replied Grantham. - -Rathbeal made way for his friend, who entered the room and laid Billy -on the bed. Then he examined the lad to see if any bones were broken, -Rathbeal, better skilled than he, assisting him. - -"Where did you find him, Robert?" - -"On Westminster Bridge. He must have stumbled against someone who -pushed him off into the road, where he fell fainting. I have known the -poor little fellow for months, but I have not seen him for the last -three or four weeks. I wondered what had become of him." - -"Where do his people live?" - -"Heaven knows! He has none, I believe; or at all events, none who care -to look after him. He is a waif of the streets, not an uncommon growth -in London." - -"You have been good to him?" - -"I have given him bread sometimes, when I had it to give; and the last -time I met him I took him home with me, and made up a bed on the floor -for him. He remained with me a week, and then he unaccountably -disappeared. What is to be done? He does not recover. He is not dead, -thank God! There is a faint beat of the heart." - -Rathbeal produced a bottle in which there was some brandy. He -moistened the lad's lips with the spirit, and poured a few drops, -diluted with water, down his throat. Still the lad did not open his -eyes. - -"Have you anything to eat in the cupboard?" asked Robert Grantham. - -"There is a little bread and meat," said Rathbeal. - -"He looks scarcely strong enough to be able to masticate hard food. -Make some water hot, Rathbeal. I will go and get a packet of oatmeal; -a basin of gruel will be the best thing for him." - -"Wait a minute, Robert." Rathbeal devoted a few moments to the lad, -and added gravely: "On the opposite side of the road, half a dozen -doors down, there is a poor man's doctor. Ask him to come up at once -and see the boy." - -"I will;" and meeting Rathbeal's eyes, he said, "Do you fear there is -any danger?" - -"Yes. I have some medical skill, as you know; but I do not hold a -diploma. It will be advisable that a doctor should see the poor boy." - -Robert Grantham nodded, and took from his pocket all the money it -contained--one sixpence and a few coppers. Rathbeal handed him five -shillings. - -"Thank you, Rathbeal," said Grantham, and ran down the stairs. In less -than ten minutes he was back, with a packet of oatmeal, and -accompanied by the doctor. While the doctor examined the lad, Rathbeal -busied himself in the preparation of the gruel, the kettle, already -nearly boiling, standing on a little gas-stove. - -"Yes," said the doctor, noticing the preparation; "it will be the -proper food to give him when he comes to his senses. Put a teaspoonful -of brandy in it. A son of yours?" - -"No," answered Grantham; "my friend, Mr. Rathbeal, has never seen him -before. I found him in this condition in the street." - -"Where are his parents?" - -"I do not know, nor whether he has any." - -"But you must have had some previous knowledge of him," said the -doctor, looking with curiosity at Grantham. - -"Oh, yes. I met him by chance some months since, when he was in want -of food, and we struck up an acquaintance. Is he in danger?" - -"He may not live through the night." He put up his hand; Billy was -coughing, and a little pink foam gathered about his lips, which the -doctor wiped away. "Exposure and want have reduced him to this state. -He has been suffering a long time, and his strength is completely -wasted. Had he been attended to months ago, there would have been a -chance for him. Listen!" Billy was coughing again, a faint, wasting -cough, painful to hear. "I can do very little. I will send you a -bottle of medicine, which may give him temporary relief; and I will -come again about midnight, if you wish." - -"I shall feel obliged to you. We shall be here all night. Should he -have brandy after he has taken the gruel?" - -"A few drops now and then will do him no harm. He needs all the -strength you can put into him. Endeavor to get from him some -information about his relatives, and go for them." - -"Would it be best to take him to a hospital?" - -"He should not be removed; he will not trouble you long." - -"It is more a grief than a trouble." - -"I understand. See, he is coming to. How do you feel now, my little -man?" - -"_I_ don' know," murmured Billy. "There's somethink 'ere." He moved -his hand feebly to his chest. "Is that you, Mr. Gran? Where am I?" - -"With good friends, Billy." - -"You've allus been that to me, sir." - -"Now try and eat a little of this," said Grantham, raising the lad -gently in his arms. - -Billy, with a grateful smile, managed to get two or three spoonfuls -down, and then sank back on the bed. - -"Do not force him," said the doctor. "Where do you live, Billy?" - -"I don't know--anywhere." - -"But try and remember." - -"I can't remember nothink--only Mr. Gran. It ain't likely I'll forgit -'im. Thank yer kindly, sir, for wot you've done for me; there ain't -many like yer." - -He closed his eyes, and appeared to sleep. - -"I will see him again at midnight," said the doctor, and stepped -softly from the room. - -Rathbeal cleared the table, and arranged some manuscripts. - -"We may as well work while we watch, Robert. These must be copied by -the morning." - -He spoke in a whisper, and, sitting down, commenced to write. Grantham -lingered awhile by the bedside, and as Billy did not stir, presently -joined his friend, and proceeded with his copying. He did not observe -that Billy, when he left his side, slyly opened his eyes, and gazed -upon him with a look of grateful, pathetic love. Every time Grantham -turned to him he closed his eyes, in order that it should be supposed -he was sleeping. The writing proceeded almost in silence, the friends -only exchanging brief, necessary words relating to their work. Now and -then Grantham rose and went to the bedside, and when the bottle of -medicine arrived he laid his hand gently on Billy's shoulder. - -"Yes, Mr. Gran," said the lad, "I'm awake." - -"Take this, Billy; it will do you good." - -"Nothink'll do me good, sir; but I'll take it. I _did_ want to see -you before I went where I'm going to." - -"There, there, my dear boy," said Robert Grantham, "you must not -exhaust yourself by talking too much. You have taken the medicine -bravely. Now try and swallow a spoonful of gruel." - -He had kept it hot for the lad on the gas-stove. - -"Thank you, Mr. Gran, I'll try; but I _should_ like to know where I'm -going to." - -"If you do not get well, Billy, you will be in a better place than -this." - -"Glad to 'ear it, sir; though luck's agin me. Yer didn't think it bad -o' me to cut away from yer so sly, did yer?" - -"No, my lad, no; but what made you go?" - -"I'll tell yer 'ow it was, sir. I didn't want to take the bread out of -yer mouth, and I found out I was doing it, without yer ever saying a -word about it. There was the last day I was with yer, Mr. Gran; you -'ad dry bread, I 'ad treacle on mine; yer give me a cup 'o broth, and -water was good enough for you. At supper you didn't take a bite of -anythink, while I was tucking away like one o'clock. 'It's time for -you to cut yer lucky, Billy,' I sed; and I did." - -"Foolish lad! foolish lad!" said Robert Grantham, smoothing Billy's -hair. "Where did you go to?" - -"I don' know, Mr. Gran--into the country somewhere; but I didn't 'ave -better luck there than 'ere, sir. I was took bad, and I was told I was -dying; but I got better, Mr. Gran, and strong enough to walk back to -London. I only come to-night, sir. When I was bad in the country, an -old woman sed I was done for, and that if I didn't pray for salvation -I should go to--you know where, sir. She give me a ha'penny, and sed, -'Now, you go away and pray as 'ard as yer can.' But I didn't think -that'd do me any good, and ses I to myself, 'I'll toss up for it. -Heads, salwation; tails, t'other.' I sent the ha'penny spinning, and -down it come--tails, t'other. Jest like my luck, wasn't it, Mr. Gran?" - -"Billy," said Robert Grantham earnestly, "you must drive that notion -out of your head. We are all equal in the sight of God----" - -"Oh, are we, Mr. Gran? That's a 'ard notion, as yer call it, to drive -out o' my head, and I don't think I've got time for it. Beggin' yer -pardon, sir." - -Rathbeal, pen in hand, stopped in his work, and listened to the -conversation. - -"I tell you we are all equal in the eyes of God--rich and poor, high -and low. The prayers of a poor boy reach God's ears as readily as the -prayers of a rich man." - -"If _you_ prayed, Mr. Gran," said Billy, "Gawd'd listen to yer. -Per'aps yer wouldn't mind praying for me a bit." - -Robert Grantham covered his eyes with his hand. - -"'Ave I 'urt yer, sir?" moaned Billy. "Don't say I've 'urt yer!" - -"No, my boy, no. If I had as little to answer for as you----" He -paused awhile. "Your state is not of your own creating, Billy." - -"No, sir; I don't know as it is. I couldn't 'elp bein' wot I am." - -"There are many who could not say as much, who walk into sin with -their eyes wide open--Billy!" - -The lad was seized with a sudden paroxysm of coughing, which lasted -several minutes. The fit over, he lay back exhausted, the red foam -issuing from his mouth. It was no time for exhortation. Robert -Grantham cleared the fatal sign from the sufferer's mouth, and patted -Billy's hand and stroked his face pitifully. Billy's lips touched the -consoling hand. - -"Thank yer, sir. Let me lay still a bit." - -The men resumed their work, and the boy was quiet. At midnight the -doctor called again. - -"As I feared," he said, apart to Robert Grantham; "he will last but a -few hours." - -Robert Grantham asked him what his fee was. The doctor shook his head, -and said: - -"I have done nothing; I could do nothing. Permit me to play my humble -part in your kind charity. Good-night." - -He shook hands with them, put Billy in an easy position, and left -them. - -"It isn't altogether a bad world, Robert," observed Rathbeal. - -"It is what we make it," replied Robert Grantham, with a heavy sigh. - -"That will not apply to the poor outcast lying there," said Rathbeal, -looking at Billy. - -"True, true," rejoined Grantham. "I was thinking of my own life." - -Rathbeal had the intention, when Mr. Fox-Cordery left him, of saying -something about his visit, but this sad adventure had put it out of -his head. He thought of his intention now, when Robert Grantham said -the world was what we made it; and he resolved that before many days -had passed he would invite his friend's confidence in a direct way. In -the presence of death he could not do so, and he set the matter aside -for the present. - -Their copying was finished at three o'clock, and Rathbeal gathered the -pages, and put them in order. There had been no apparent change in the -lad, but the solemnity of the scene impressed the men deeply. The -house was very quiet, and no sound came to them from the street. They -had endeavored, without success, to obtain from Billy some information -of his relations. Either he did not or would not understand them, for -he gave them no intelligible replies to their questions. They decided -to make another effort during the next interval of consciousness, and, -sitting by his bedside, they watched their opportunity. It came as -Rathbeal's watch pointed to the hour of four. Billy raised his lids; -his hands moved feebly. The men inclined their ears. Rathbeal left it -to Robert Grantham to speak. - -"Billy!" - -"Yes, Mr. Gran; yes, sir." - -"I want you, for my sake, to try and remember. You had a father and -mother?" - -"Yes, Mr. Gran, a long time ago." - -"Where are they?" - -"I don' know, sir." - -"Is it very long since you saw them?" - -"Oh, ever so long!" - -"But there must be someone--an aunt or uncle." - -"Nobody, nobody!" - -"Try, Billy; try to recollect--for my sake, remember." - -"Yes, sir; yes, Mr. Gran, I'll try." - -But he seemed to forget it immediately, for he said nothing more. - -It must have been half-an-hour after this that Rathbeal touched Robert -Grantham's arm impressively. The dews of death were on Billy's -forehead, and his lips were moving. - -"Prue, little Prue!" he murmured. - -"A girl's pet name, probably," whispered Rathbeal in Robert Grantham's -ear. - -"Yes, Billy, yes," prompted Grantham; "who is little Prue?" - -"Sweethearts we wos. Little Prue! little Prue!" - -At this dying boy's mouth Fate was weaving its web; and some miles -away Mr. Fox-Cordery was dreaming of the woman he loved and the friend -he had ruined. - -"Where does she live, Billy?" - -"We wos sweethearts. I liked little Prue." - -"Try and remember where she lives, Billy." - -"Is that you speaking, Mr. Gran?" - -"Yes, my boy. Do you understand what I say?" - -"I don' know. 'Now you go away and pray as 'ard as ever yer can,' the -old woman ses, and I goes away and tosses up for it. 'Eads, salwation; -tails, t'other. And down it comes--tails. Just like my luck. But -there's something I _do_ want to pray for! It's all I can do for 'im, -and he ses Gawd'll 'ear a pore boy. So 'ere goes. Where's my ha'penny -to toss with? No, I don't mean that. I mean Gawd, are yer listenin'?" - -"Say your prayer, Billy," whispered Grantham, seeing that the lad's -last moments had come; "God is listening to you." - -"O Lawd Gawd!" prayed Billy, pausing painfully between each word; -"give Mr. Gran all he wants, and a bit over. Look out! I am going to -turn the corner." - -A few moments afterward Billy had turned the corner, and was traveling -on the road of Eternity, with angels smiling on him. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. -The Gambler's Confession. - - -"You have asked me two or three times lately, my dear Rathbeal," wrote -Robert Grantham, "to relate to you the story of my life, and you have -mysteriously hinted that it might be in your power to render me a -valuable service, and perhaps to restore the happiness which it was -evident to you I had lost. I did not respond to your friendly -advances, in which there was a note of affection which touched me -deeply; but it seems to me now churlish to refuse the confidence you -ask for. It was not because I doubt you that I remained silent. I have -long known that I possess in you a friend whose feelings for me are -truly sincere, and who would be only too willing to make any personal -sacrifice in his power to console and comfort me in my misery. That, -indeed, you have already done; and although I can never repay the debt -of gratitude I owe you, rest assured, dear friend, that I am deeply -sensible of your sympathetic offices. But you can go no farther than -this. All your wisdom and goodness would not avail to fulfill the -hopes you entertain for my future. So far as I am personally and -selfishly concerned I have no earthly future. I shaped my course, and -marched straight on--deaf to the dictates of conscience, blind to -virtue and suffering--so steeped in the vice that enslaved me, that it -was only when the fell destroyer Death took from me the treasures -which should have been my redemption, that the consciousness of my -wrong-doing rushed upon me, and stabbed me to the heart. It was then -too late for repentance, too late to fall upon my knees and pray for -mercy and forgiveness. I deserved my punishment, and I bowed my head -to it, not with meekness and resignation, but with a bitterness and -scorn for myself which words are powerless to portray. - -"I cannot recall when it was that I first became a gamester, but it -was during my school-days that my evil genius obtained a mastery over -me that I did not shake off until it had compassed my ruin and the -ruin of innocent beings I should have cherished and protected. In the -school I went to I had a friend and comrade, a lad of amiable parts -and qualities, with whom I chiefly associated; and somehow it happened -that he and I fell into the habit of playing cards for our -pocket-money. I was not even then a fortunate player, but the loss of -my few shillings was amply repaid by the delight I took in these games -of chance. There were occasions when my friend reproved me for my -infatuation, but I would not listen to him, and I made it a point of -honor with him that he should give me opportunities of regaining the -money I had lost. Not that I had any great desire to win my money -back; it was play I craved for. He was much more concerned at my -losses than myself; and I remember once that he offered to return all -he had won, which, of course, I would not listen to. - -"When, school-days over, I commenced to live the life of a man, I -sought places and opportunities for pursuing my favorite pastime. I -became a member of private clubs established for the gratification of -enthusiasts like myself, and there I lost my money and enjoyed myself -to my heart's content. I never questioned myself as to the morality of -my passion, and whether I won or lost was almost a matter of -indifference to me, so far as the actual value of the money I left -behind me, or took away with me, was concerned. I had ample means, for -more than one fortune was bequeathed to me; and I continued on the -fatal road I had entered with so much zeal, and never once thought of -turning back. At this period of my life the vice harmed no one but -myself. If it had, I might have reflected; but how dare I make this -lame excuse for my sinful conduct when I know that in after times it -did affect others, and that even then I did not turn back? - -"My friendship and intimacy with my schoolmate continued, and he often -accompanied me to my favorite haunts, and gambled a little, but not to -the same extent as I did, and with better luck. He accompanied me to -France and Italy, where I found ample scope for indulgence in my -besetting vice. By this time my schoolmate and I were bosom friends -and inseparable; and when he remonstrated with me on my last night's -losses, I used to laugh at him, and to challenge him there and then to -sit down with me to a game of chance, saying, 'Someone must win my -money, why not you?' And our intimacy was of such a nature that he -could not refuse, though his compliance was not too readily given. At -the Continental gaming-tables he would be my banker when I was cleaned -out, and one day he suggested that he should act as a kind of steward -of my fortune, which was still considerable. I consented gladly -enough, for I had no head for figures, and he saved me a world of -trouble. Then something took place which ought to have saved me, had -not my besetting vice taken such absolute possession of me as to -deprive me completely of moral control. I met a young and beautiful -girl, and fell in love with her. My love was returned, and in a few -months afterward she became my wife. - -"Surely that should have opened my eyes to my folly, if anything -could. A sweet and pure influence was by my side; and it is true that -for a little while my mad course was checked. I was happy in my wife's -society, as no man could fail to be who enjoyed the heaven of her -love. A sweeter, nobler lady never drew breath. I tremble with shame -as I write of her; I shudder with remorse as I think of the fate to -which I brought her. For we had not been married many months before my -evil genius began to haunt and tempt me. Understand that I should not -then have spoken of my vice as an evil genius. I saw no evil in it, -and I thought I had a right to pursue my pleasure; and so I began -gradually to neglect my home, and to resume my old pursuit. - -"My angel wife did not complain; she bore my neglect with sweetness -and patience--smiling upon me when I left her side, smiling upon me -when I returned. She had no knowledge of my secret; she did not see -her fatal rival at my elbow wooing me away from her pure -companionship. Some unrecognized feeling of shame kept me from -exposing my degrading weakness to her. She devoted herself to her -child, and by a thousand innocent arts--they make my heart bleed as I -think of them--strove to win me more constantly to her side. - -"Yes, Rathbeal, we had a child, a sweet flower from heaven, whose -grace and beauty should have opened my eyes to my sin. Do not think -that I did not love them. When I was with them, when I held my sweet -little girl on my lap and felt her little hands upon my face, I -thanked God for giving me a treasure so lovely and fair. Then my wife -would timidly ask me whether I would not remain at home that night, -and my evil genius would tempt me so sorely that I had not the -strength to resist. It is a shameful confession, but having commenced -I will go through with it to the bitter end; and if it lose me your -friendship, if you turn from me in scorn for my folly and weakness, I -must accept it as a part of my punishment. - -"My angel wife suffered, and her sufferings increased as time went on. -I did not see it then; I do now. She grew thin and pale, believing -that I no longer loved her, believing that I repented my union with -her. What else could she believe as she saw the ties of home weakening -day by day? There are women who, in such a strait, would have -challenged the man boldly, but she was not one of these. Her nature -was too pliant and gentle, and terrible must have been her grief as -she felt the rock she depended upon for protection and support -crumbling away at her touch. - -"My luck never varied. Occasionally, it is true, I won small sums, but -these were invariably counterbalanced shortly afterward by heavier -losses. The consequence was that the inroads upon my fortune became -too serious to be overlooked. I asked my friend and steward for a -large sum of money to pay a gambling debt; he looked grave. I inquired -why he was so serious, and he invited me to look over the accounts. I -did so; and though I could not understand the array of figures he -placed before me, I saw clearly that my large fortune was almost -entirely gone. - -"'I have warned you,' said my friend, 'time after time; I could do no -more.' - -"'Spare me your reproaches,' I said. 'You have been a good friend, and -I have paid no heed to your warnings. Wind up my affairs, and tell me -how much I have left.' - -"The following day he informed me that I still had three thousand -pounds I could call my own. - -"'Would you like a check for it?' he asked. - -"I answered, 'Yes,' and he gave it to me. - -"'And here,' he said, 'my stewardship ends. You must give me a full -quittance of all accounts between us.' - -"I drew up the paper at his dictation. He preferred, he said, that the -quittance should be in my own handwriting; and when he had done I -added words of thanks for the services he had rendered me, and signed -the document. - -"That night he accompanied me to a club, and watched my play. I won -five hundred pounds, and we walked away together, late in the morning, -in the highest spirits. He parted from me at the door of my house. - -"'Will you play to-morrow night?' he asked. - -"'Of course I shall play to-morrow night," I replied, 'and every night -after that. I will get back every shilling I have lost. Look at what I -have done already; I have won five hundred pounds.' - -"'It is your only chance of saving your wife and child from beggary,' -he said. - -"I thought of his words as I stepped softly into the house: 'My only -chance of saving my wife and child from beggary.' It was true. It was -a duty I owed to them to continue to play and win back the fortune I -had lost. It was not my money; it was theirs. I was their only -dependence. Yes, they should not say in the future that I had ruined -their lives. Luck must change; it had commenced to smile upon me. -There entered into my soul that night, Rathbeal, the spirit of greed. -I had been too careless hitherto, too unmindful as to whether I won or -lost. Hereafter I would be more careful; I would be cunning, as the -men I played with were. I would invent a system which would break them -and every man I played with. Tired as I was, I sat down and began to -calculate chances. A newspaper was on the table, and when I had jotted -down some columns of figures, and, aided by my recollection of certain -bets I had made a night or two before, proved that had I played wisely -I ought to have won instead of lost, I took up the newspaper, and -carelessly ran my eyes down its columns. They stopped at an account of -an Englishman's marvelous winnings at Monte Carlo--forty thousand -pounds in three days. I pondered over it. If he, why not I? I would go -and get my money back there. Sometimes in the haunts I frequented -money ran short; men, winning, would leave with their gains, and there -was no one left to play with except the losers, and I knew from -experience how desperate that chance was. At Monte Carlo there was -unlimited money. You could continue playing as long as you liked, and -go away with your winnings in your pockets in hard cash. Witness this -Englishman with his forty thousand pounds in three days. But it would -be as well to take a large sum of money with me. I had over three -thousand pounds; I would make it into ten here, and then would go to -Monte Carlo to wrest back my fortune. My mind made up, I crept to my -bedroom. My wife was there, sleeping as I thought. In an adjoining -room slept my little girl, Clair. Standing at the bedside of my wife I -observed--shame upon me! for the first time with any consciousness -that I was the cause of the change--how white and thin she had become. -The sight of her wan face, and of her lovely lashes still moist with -the tears she had shed, cut me like a knife. I did not dare to kiss -her; I feared that she would awake and see my face, for I had looked -at it in the glass, and was shocked at my haggard appearance. I -stepped softly into the adjoining room where our little Clair was -sleeping. She was rosy with health and young life, her red lips -parted, showing her pearly teeth, her hair in clustering curls about -her brow. Her I did not fear that I should awake, her slumbers were so -profound, and I stooped and kissed her. - -"'Robert!' said my wife. - -"She had been awake when I entered her room, but had not opened her -eyes lest she should offend me. Hearing me go into our child's -bedroom, she had risen quietly and followed me. - -"'Lucy!' I replied, my hands upon her shoulders. - -"She fell into my arms, weeping, but no sound escaped her. Clair slept -and must not be disturbed. - -"I drew her into our bedroom, and closed the door upon Clair. - -"'What is the matter, Lucy?' I asked. 'Are you not well?' - -"She lifted her wet eyes with a sad wonder in them. - -"'Did you not know, Robert?' - -"'Know! What?' - -"'That the doctor has been attending me lately,' she answered. 'Do not -let it trouble you, dear. You also are not well. How changed you are! -how changed! There is something on your mind, my dear." - -"She did not say this in reproach, but in loving entreaty and pity; -and though she did not directly ask me to confide in her, I understood -her appeal. But I did not dare to confess my folly and my shame. I had -kept my secret well, and she did not suspect it. No, I would not -expose my degradation to her and my child. Perhaps, when I had won -back the fortune I had lost, when I could say, 'I have not completely -ruined your future,' then I might find courage to tell her all. But -now, when I was nearly beggared and fortune was in my grasp, I must be -silent; my secret must be kept from her. - -"'It is nothing, Lucy,' I said; 'nothing. What does the doctor say?' - -"She withdrew from my embrace, and said, coldly I thought: - -"'I am not very well; that is all, Robert.' - -"Nothing more passed between us that night. I believed--because I -wished to believe--that there was nothing serious the matter with her; -and if I was right in my conjecture that she was cold to me, it sprang -probably because I would not confess what was weighing on my mind. - -"How shall I describe the events of the next few weeks? Night after -night I went from my home and kept out, often till daylight, -endeavoring to wrest my losses from my fellow-gamesters. My wife did -not ask me now to remain with her; she did not complain, and no -further reference was made to the doctor. This was a comfort to me. If -there had been anything to be really alarmed at I should not have been -kept in ignorance of it. So I went blindly on, greedy now for money, -chafing at my losses, suspecting all around me, and yet continuing to -play till I had completely beggared myself. My companions did not -know. It was not likely I was going to confess to them that if I lost -I had not the means of paying. They continued to play with me, and I -got in their debt, inventing excuses for being short of money. It was -only temporary, I said; I should be in funds very soon. Do you see, -Rathbeal, how low I had fallen? - -"A sharper experience was to be mine. I lost a large sum and my paper -was out for two thousand pounds. It was a debt of honor and must be -paid. The misery of it was that I had perfected a system at roulette, -which, with money at my command, could not possibly fail; and I had no -means at my disposal to go to Monte Carlo, where unlimited wealth was -awaiting me. It would be necessary to break up my home, but even that -would not supply me with sufficient funds to pay my debts of honor and -go to Monte Carlo. There was but one course open to me. My wife had a -small private fortune of her own; I would ask her to advance me a -portion of it as a loan which I would soon repay. I broached the -subject to her. - -"'It is only temporary,' I said, annoyed with myself that they should -be the same words I had used to the men who held my paper. - -"'You know how much I have, Robert,' she said, averting her eyes from -me. 'It is Clair's more than mine. She must not be left penniless. I -do not think you ought to ask me for so large a sum.' - -"I mentioned a lower sum, and she said: - -"'Yes, Robert, you can have that. Do not ask me for more.' - -"I felt humiliated at this bargaining, and angry with her for her -coldness and want of sympathy with me. I summoned up a false courage, -and said it was likely that I should have to break up our home. She -expressed no surprise. - -"'In a little while, Lucy,' I said,' I will provide you with a -better.' - -"She did not wish for a better, she said; she could be happy in the -humblest cottage, if---- And then she paused and sighed, and I saw the -tears in her eyes. I took her hand; she gently withdrew it. - -"'I intended to tell you something to-day,' she said. 'My health has -broken down. The doctor says I must leave England as soon as possible -if I wish to live. I do wish to live, for my dear Clair's sake.' - -"'Not for mine, Lucy?' - -"I saw a struggle going on within her, but she sighed heavily again, -and did not reply. - -"'I am grieved to hear the doctor's report,' I said. 'May he not be -mistaken?' - -"'He is not mistaken. If I remain here I shall die.' - -"'Where does he tell you to go to?' - -"'To some village in the south of France, near the sea, where there is -perfect quiet, where there are few people and no excitement.' - -"Such a place, I thought, would be death to me, with the plan I had in -my head of my projected venture at Monte Carlo. - -"'Very well, Lucy,' I said; 'if it must be, it must be. I will join -you there.' - -"'You cannot go with us?' - -"'Not immediately. I have something of the utmost importance to attend -to elsewhere. It will not occupy me long, and then I will come to -you.' - -"'I did not expect you would accompany us,' she said. - -"Not once had she looked at me or turned toward me. The impression her -conduct made upon me was not so strong then as afterward, when I awoke -from my dream of wealth, and when Fate dealt me the fatal stroke. - -"We parted. I received the money I asked her to lend me from her -little fortune, and we parted. I stood on the platform with her and -our Clair; my faithful friend and once steward stood a little apart -from us. He had offered to go with them to Dover, and his services had -been accepted. It was impossible for me to go even so far. My -creditors were clamoring, and I had arranged to meet a broker at my -house, to sell him everything in it, and to get the money immediately -from him. If my debts of honor were not paid that evening, I was -threatened with public exposure. Therefore it was imperative that I -should stay in London. It was then my intention to proceed immediately -to Monte Carlo, to commence operations; and, my fortune restored to -me, to join my dear wife, and commence a new life. - -"Of all this she, of course, knew nothing. Ignorant of the real cause -of my downfall, how could she have divined the truth? Had there been -that confidence between us which should exist between man and wife, I -might at this moment be different from what I am. I should not be, as -I am, bowed down with a sense of guilt from which my soul can never be -cleansed. It was not she who was at fault, but I. Had I confided to -her, had she been really aware where and in what company I spent my -nights, she would have been spared the agony of a belief which, out of -charity to me, she would not shame me and herself by revealing. So we -two stood on the platform bidding a cold farewell to each other, each -tortured by a secret we dared not confess. I kissed her, and kissed my -sweet Clair. - -"'Do come with us, papa!' said Clair, nestling in my arms. - -"My wife looked up into my face appealingly. In that one moment, had I -seized the opportunity, there was still a chance of redemption. - -"'Robert!' she said, involuntarily raising her hands and clasping -them. - -"Ah, if I had met her appeal! If I had said: 'Do not go by this train; -I will confess everything to you!' But the prompting did not come to -me; if it had, I should have disregarded it. - -"'I cannot come with you, Clair,' I said; 'I have such a deal to do -before I leave London.' - -"'Poor papa!' she said. 'That is why you keep out so late at night. -Poor papa!' - -"My wife turned her head from us, but I saw the scarlet blush on her -face, which I attributed to her displeasure at my refusal. Or was it -that she suspected my secret? - -"'You have not betrayed me?' I said apart to my friend. 'She does not -know how I have lost my fortune, and what has brought me to this?' - -"'On my honor, no,' he answered. 'She has not the least suspicion of -your stupid infatuation.' - -"'You will not call it stupid in three or four weeks,' I said. - -"'It is not possible for your system to fail?' he questioned. - -"'There isn't the remotest possibility of it,' I replied. 'Clever -people think that everything has been found out about figures and -chances. I am going to show them something new.' - -"The whistle sounded; the guard bade the passengers take their places. -I walked along the platform as the train moved away. Clair waved her -handkerchief to me; my friend nodded good-by; my wife did not raise -her head to look at me. - -"I hastened back to my house, and found the broker there. He was a -wealthy dealer, and was going through the rooms when I entered, -appraising everything and putting down figures. I accompanied him from -one room to another, and we smoked as he made his calculations. I was -impatient and unhappy, but he would not be hurried. He opened the door -of my wife's morning-room; I pulled him back. - -"'Not this room?' he asked. - -"'Pshaw!' I said. 'Everything must go.' - -"There were some small things in the room which seemed to me to have -so close a personal relation to my wife that I was angry to see him -handle them. Why had she not taken these things away with her? She -might have spared me the reproach. I walked out of the room while he -valued them. - -"At length his catalogue was ended. - -"'You want the money immediately?' he asked. - -"'Immediately,' I replied. - -"'A check will do, of course.' - -"'No, I must have cash.' - -"'That will make a slight difference,' he said, and he named the -amount he was willing to give me. It was less than I anticipated, but -the business worried me, and I agreed. Saying he would return in an -hour and complete the bargain, he left me. - -"I was alone in the house to which I had brought my wife, a bride. All -the servants had been paid off, and had left. I had arranged this -because I could not endure that they should see the sacrifice I was -making. Memories of the past rushed upon me--of my young wife's -delight as I took her through the rooms, of the fond endearments at my -cleverness and forethought, of the happy evening we passed, sitting in -the gloaming and talking of the future. Alas, the future! How fearful -the contrast between my young bride's fond imaginings and the reality! -In solitary communing I strolled through the rooms and marked each -spot and each article hallowed by some cherished recollection. The -piano at which she used to sit and sing in the early days of our -marriage, the window from which we used to watch the sunset, the small -articles on her dressing-table--there seemed to be a living spirit in -them that greeted me reproachfully, and asked, 'Why have you done -this? Why have you blighted that fair young life?' Our Clair was born -in the house. The cot in which she slept was there, her favorite -child-pictures hung upon the wall. What pangs went through me as I -surveyed the wreck of bright hopes! 'But I will atone for it,' I said -inwardly. 'When fortune is mine once more I will confess all, and ask -my dear wife's forgiveness. Then, then for the happy future!' No -warning whispers reached me. No voice cried,' Sinner and fool! You -have done what can never be undone. Not only fortune, but love, is -lost forever!' - -"If I dwell upon these small matters, Rathbeal, it is because the -impressions of that lonely hour are as strong within me now as then, -and because they are pregnant with an awful lesson. - -"The hour over, the broker returned with wagons and men. As he paid me -the money his workmen commenced to remove the furniture. I left the -house to their mercies, and went to meet the men to whom I was -indebted. I paid them to the last shilling, and, honor satisfied, was -master of a sum sufficiently large, I thought, to carry on my -operations at Monte Carlo. I played at the club that night, and lost a -few pounds. It did not affect me; I was rather glad, indeed, for it -pointed to the road where wealth awaited me. I had taken a bed in a -hotel, but an impulse seized me to visit my house once more. It was -two in the morning when I turned the key and lit the hall gas. My -footsteps resounded on the dusky passages. The broker had been -expeditious; everything in the house was removed, and I seemed to be -walking through a hollow grave--but it was a grave, haunted by ghostly -shadows, eloquent with accusing voices. I shut my eyes, I put my hands -to my ears, but I still saw the ghostly shadows and heard the accusing -voices. I rushed from the house, conscience-stricken and appalled. - -"The next morning my courage returned; the sun shone brightly, and I -had money, and my system, in my pocket. Away, then, to Monte Carlo, to -redeem the past! - -"I did not commence immediately; I studied the tables, the croupiers, -the players, and I spent several hours in going over the figures and -combinations I had prepared. Then I took the plunge. - -"As is frequently the case, I was successful at first; in four days I -doubled my capital. My friend came to see me, as I had requested him -to do, to give me news of my wife. She had not written to me, and I -asked him the reason; he said he was not acquainted with the reason, -and he asked me how I was progressing. I showed him, exultingly, what -I had done; he expressed surprise and satisfaction. - -"'How long will it take you to accomplish your aim?' he asked. - -"'If I play as I am playing now," I replied, 'some two or three weeks. -If I play more boldly, a week may accomplish it.' - -"'Why not play boldly?' he suggested. - -"I had half intended to do so, and his words encouraged me. We went to -the tables together, and I began to plunge. Before I left the rooms I -had lost all I had won, and some part of the money I had brought with -me. I pretended to make light of it. - -"'These adverse combinations occasionally occur," I said, 'but they -right themselves infallibly if you hold on. It is only a temporary -repulse.' - -"But though I spoke confidently my heart was fainting within me. -Theory is one thing, practice another. We can be very bold on paper, -but when we are fighting with the enemy we feel his blows. - -"The next day my friend accompanied me again to the tables, With all -my boasting I had not the daring to risk my capital in half-a-dozen -bold coups; I put on much smaller sums, and I had the mortification of -learning that my want of courage prevented me from winning what I -ought to have done. - -"'You see,' I said to my friend. 'Faint heart never succeeded yet. But -it is only a little time lost, and it proves the certainty of my -calculations.' - -"He had to leave me that evening, and he made me promise that I would -write to him daily of my progress. As he was going to see my wife, I -gave him a letter to her, in which I begged her to write to me at -Monte Carlo. He said he would deliver the letter, and it was not until -some time afterward that I recalled his manner as being somewhat -strained. - -"The story of the next few days is soon told. Hope, despair; hope -again, followed by despair. I came down to my last hundred pounds. -Over and over again, in the solitude of my room, I proved to myself -how weak I had been in not doing this or that at the right moment; -over and over again I proved to my own misery that it was due to my -own lack of courage that I had not won back my fortune. I conned the -numbers I had written down as they were called out. 'Fool, fool, -fool!' I cried, striking my forehead. 'Wretched, contemptible coward!' -I rose in the morning haggard and weary; I had not slept a moment all -the night. There was still a chance left: I had a hundred pounds; I -would play on a lower martingale, and as I won I would increase it. I -did so. That day I remained at the tables ten hours without rising -from the seat I had secured. I won, I lost, I won again, I lost again. -A few minutes before the rooms closed I had followed my system to a -point whereat, after a series of losses, it needed but a large amount -to be staked to get all back again. I had this amount before me. On -previous occasions I had drawn back at such a critical juncture, and -had suffered for it by hearing the number called which, in its various -winning chances, would have recouped, with large profit, all that had -been lost in the series. I would not be guilty of this cowardice -again. With a trembling hand I put every franc I had on the various -chances which were certain this time to win. The number was called. -Great God! I was beggared! Without a word I rose and went to my hotel. - -"Can you imagine the torments of hell, Rathbeal? I suffered them then. -But there was worse in store for me. - -"Figures, figures, figures, red and black, living figures that moved, -that spoke, that glared and mocked me--the voices of the croupiers, -the exclamations of the gamesters, the rattle of the money--curses and -benedictions--now surrounded by a blaze of light, now plunged into -black darkness--painted women, men with hideous faces, lips that -smiled and derided--these were the images that haunted me in the -night. I had drunk brandy, contrary to my usual habit, for I was never -fond of drink, and my brain was burning. From time to time I dozed, -and scarcely knew whether I was awake or asleep, whether what I saw -were phantoms or actual forms of things. Was that a knock at my door? -Was that the voice of a waiter speaking to me outside? I did not -answer; I did not move. What mattered anything now? If the door -opened, it could signify nothing to me; if some person entered and -went away, there was no interest in the movements to beguile me from -the tortures I was suffering. Ruin and I were company enough. - -"The sun was streaming into my room long before I rose; when I got out -of bed I staggered like a drunken man, though, except for the delirium -of my senses, I was perfectly sober. It was not till I had washed and -dressed that I observed a letter upon my table. Taking it up, I saw -that it was in the handwriting of my wife. - -"I hardly dared to open it; by my own act I had destroyed any claim to -her affection. I had brought deep unhappiness upon her; I had -systematically neglected her; I had lost the home which should have -been hers; I had taken our child's money, and could not return it. But -the letter must be read. With trembling hands I unfastened the -envelope, and drew forth the sheet. - -"It bore neither date nor address. I have the letter by me now, and I -copy it word for word: - - -"I can bear my agony in silence no longer. I write to you, I speak to -you, for the last time. This is my last farewell to him I loved, to -the father of my child, to the husband who should have been my shield. - -"Do you remember the words you addressed to me when we were married? -'I love you,' you said, 'I am your husband and lover. Nothing shall -ever harm or wound you. I am your shield--the shield of love.' - -"With what fondness I used to repeat these words to myself! My shield! -My shield of love! Side by side with my worship of the Eternal did I -worship you, as the realization of a young girl's happiest dreams; my -joy, my hope, my shield of love! - -"Slowly, slowly did I awake from my dream. I would not, I could not, -believe what you were showing me day by day, but the terrible truth -forced itself upon me with power so resistless, with conviction so -absolute, that I could no longer refuse to believe. How bitter was the -knowledge, how bitter, how bitter! - -"I gave you all my love. But for your own actions it would never have -wavered. O Richard! if in a moment of temptation you had turned to me, -I might have been your shield, as you promised to be mine! - -"I know your secret. I have known it for years--for long, bitter -years. I cannot blame myself that I did not satisfy your expectations. -All that a loving woman could do I did to retain your love. I hid -nothing from you; I strove with all my might to make your home -pleasant and attractive to you; what power lay within me to keep you -faithful to the vows we pledged was exercised by me to the utmost of -my abilities. I used to say to myself, 'What can I do to win my -husband's society and confidence? How can I act so that he shall not -continue to grow weary of me?' You will never know how hard I strove, -you will never know the tears I shed as I slowly recognized that my -shield of love was a mockery, and that there was as little loving -meaning in your declaration as if it had been uttered by a deadly -enemy. - -"Yes, Richard, I know your secret; I know that you have not been -faithful to me; I know that for years your heart has been given to -another. I cannot say that I hope you will be happy with her who -occupies my place. At this solemn moment I will not be guilty of a -subterfuge. The issue lies in God's hand, not in mine, nor in yours. - -"I should not address this farewell to you if it were not that I feel -I have not long to live. It is grief that is killing me, not a mortal -disease which doctors can minister to. - -"It is with distinct purpose that I put no address to this farewell. I -have left the place I went to when you bade me good-by in London, and -it is my desire that you shall not know where I am, that you shall not -come to me. Remorse may touch your soul, and you may wish to come; but -it would not be a sincere wish, springing, as it must, from a sudden -false feeling of compassion in which there is no truth or depth. How -could I believe what you said, after all the years of suffering I have -gone through? And as a wife I must preserve my self-respect. Coming to -me from a woman for whom you deserted me, I would not receive you. It -is long since I bade farewell to happiness. I now bid farewell to you." - - -"That was all. Many times did I pause to question myself, and to read -again, in doubt whether I had mistaken the words. That the accusation -my wife brought against me was untrue you may believe, Rathbeal. No -woman had won me from her side, and I was so far innocent. That, -ignorant of the true cause of my neglect, she may have had grounds for -suspicion, I could well believe, but she seemed to speak with -something more than suspicion. Who had maligned me? Who had played me -false? And for what purpose? - -"I could think of no one. At times during my degraded career in London -I had had disagreements with the men I played with, but I could not -convict one of them with any degree of certainty. - -"The postmark on the envelope was Paris, and there was but one means -of ascertaining my wife's address--through the only friend I had in -the world. To go to her, beggared as I was, would be adding shame to -shame. Besides, I could not pay my hotel bill. But still it impressed -itself upon me as an imperative duty that I should find her and make -full confession; and then to bid her farewell forever. - -"I wrote to my friend, to his address in London; I made a strong -appeal to him, and informed him of the position I was in. He wrote -back after a delay of two days; he said he had something of a very -grave nature to attend to that would take him from England, and he -could not, therefore, come to me at once. When he saw me he would -inform me why he could not come earlier. I was to remain where I was -till he arrived; he would be responsible for my hotel bill; I was not -to trouble myself about that. I learned from the landlord that he had -received a letter from my friend, making himself responsible for my -debt to him. - -"'You have had a turn of ill luck at the tables,' said the landlord. -'It is the way with most gentlemen; but sometimes a turn comes the -other way.' He appeared perfectly satisfied, but I could not help -feeling that he regarded me as a personal hostage for the amount of -the bill. - -"I wrote again to my friend, imploring him not to delay, and this time -I received no answer to my letter. I supposed he had left England on -the business he referred to, and in my helpless position I was -compelled to wait and eat my heart away. - -"Ten days elapsed before he came; he was dressed in mourning, and was -sad and anxious, as though he had passed through some deep trouble. - -"'It was impossible for me to get here before,' he said gravely. - -"I nodded impatiently, and then, with an awkward, consciousness that -something was due to him, I touched his black coat. - -"'You have had a loss," I said. - -"'You will hear sad news presently,' he answered, 'and you must -prepare yourself for it. But tell me first of your troubles here. I -was so harassed and grieved at the time your letter arrived that I -hardly understood it; and then I laid it aside and could not find it -again.' - -"Curbing my impatience, for he insisted upon my exposing the full -extent of my misfortunes, I related to him briefly the result of my -mad venture. - -"'And you are utterly ruined?' he said. - -"'Utterly, utterly ruined,' I replied. 'Enough of myself for the -present. Tell me of my wife.' - -"His countenance fell. There was a significance in his manner which -profoundly agitated me. Eager for an answer, and dreading it, I asked -him why he did not speak. - -"'It is cruel,' he murmured, his face still averted from me, 'at such -a time, when you have lost every hope in life, to say what I have come -to say. We will speak together to-morrow.' - -"'We will speak together now!' I cried, seizing him by the arm, and -compelling him to turn toward me. 'Do you think that anything you can -say, any message you may bring from her, can add to the misery and -degradation of my position? Tell me of my wife!' - -"'How can I speak?' he murmured. 'What can I say?' - -"'Speak the truth,' I said, 'and do not spare me. I deserve no mercy. -I had none upon her; I cannot expect her to have any upon me. But an -imputation has been cast upon me, an infamous, revolting imputation, -and I must clear myself of it. That done, I shall not care what -becomes of me. I have not told you of the last letter I received from -her, the only letter she has written to me since we parted. In that -letter she brings a horrible charge against me, instigated by some -villain who bears me ill will, and I insist upon my right to defend -myself.' - -"I would have said more, but my emotion overpowered me. - -"'She will not hear you,' said my friend sadly. - -"'She has told me so in her letter,' I replied; 'but you can give me -her address, and I will write to her.' - -"'It will be useless,' he said, 'quite useless, I grieve to say.' - -"'You mean that she will return the letter to me unopened; but I will -not rest until she receives my denial of the crime of which she -believes me guilty.' - -"'She will never receive it,' he said in a solemn tone. 'Cannot you -guess the truth?' - -"'Good God!' I cried, a despairing light breaking upon me. - -"'I can keep it from you no longer,' said my friend; 'sooner or later -it must be spoken. She had been for a long time in bad health, as you -know; it was impossible to disguise it--her state was serious. The -only hope for her lay in a change of climate and in perfect freedom -from mental anxiety. In my answer to your letter informing me of your -misfortunes at this fatal place I told you I had something of a grave -nature to attend to. It concerned your wife. A secret sorrow which she -did not impart to me had aggravated her condition, which had become so -alarming that the doctor held out no hope of recovery. She had another -terrible grief to contend with. Your child--but I cannot go on.' - -"'You must go on. My wife--my Clair!----' - -"He assisted me to a seat; I was too weak to stand. - -"'Go on,' I muttered. 'Go on. All must be told--all, all! Do not -spare me. Let me know the worst.' - -"'Grave symptoms had developed themselves in Clair,' he continued, -'and it was feared that she would share the fate that awaited your -wife. In these distressing circumstances she called upon me, and I -went to her without delay. I was shocked at her appearance. Death was -in her face; death was in the face of your child! I begged her to let -me send for you. She would not hear of it; it terrified me to hear the -vehemence of her refusal. "He shall not look upon me again, dead or -alive!" she cried. "He shall not look upon my child! We are parted for -ever and ever!" The doctor, coming in at that moment, warned me that -opposition to anything upon which she had set her heart would snap the -frail cord that bound her to life. "She can survive but a short time," -he said. "In mercy to her, let her last moments be peaceful." What -could I say--what could I do but obey?' - -"My friend waited for my answer. 'You did what was right,' I murmured, -racked with anguish. 'Was she at this time in the village she went to -when we parted?' - -"'She had removed from it without my knowledge, in order that you -should not find her. It grieves me to make these revelations to you, -but the time has gone by for concealment. Clair died first. Her death -was painless.' - -"'Did she not speak? Did she not ask for me?' - -"'She spoke no word that I could hear. She passed away with her lips -to her mother's face. "I am glad my Clair has gone first," your wife -said. "It would have pained me to leave her alone in this cruel world. -She is safe now; she has not lived to have her heart broken. She is -waiting for me, and I shall join her soon--very soon!" I remained with -her to the last. Believe me when I say I would have written to you had -she not bound me by a solemn obligation which I dared not break. She -demanded an oath from me, and to ease her aching heart I gave it. I -could not, I could not refuse her. She died on the following day. Your -wife and child lie in one grave.' - -"'Where?' I found voice to ask. - -"'I dare not tell you. Not for any worldly consideration will I be -false to the dead. Again she made me swear that absolute secrecy -should be preserved as to her last resting-place. "I should not rest -in my grave," she said, "if my husband stood above it." I implore you -not to press me, for I will not, I cannot be false to my trust. Alas, -that I should be compelled to say this to the friend of my youth! You -know the worst now. There is nothing more to tell.' - -"It was just; it was what I had earned. Of what avail would tears have -been, shed over the cold earth that covered the forms of my wife and -child? I had tortured them for years, and I was justly punished. - -"'She sent me no message?' I asked, after a long pause. - -"'None; and she made no distinct complaint against you. All that she -said was that her heart was broken, and that she left the world -gladly. It is the saddest of news, but we reap as we sow.' - -"I acknowledged it. As I had sown, so had I reaped. What better -harvest could I have expected? Desolate and alone I stood upon the -shore, without kith or kin. It was with a stern satisfaction that I -thought I should not remain long on earth. It was truly my impression -at that time; I had the firmest belief that my hours were numbered. - -"'You will make no attempt,' said my friend, 'to discover where they -are laid?' - -"'Her wishes shall be respected,' I said gloomily. 'I could have -brought no comfort to her or to my child had they lived. I will not -disturb them now they are gone.' - -"'It is due from you, I think,' he said, and presently added, 'What -will you do now?' - -"'With my life?' I asked; and then I told him what I believed, that I -had not long to live. 'But for the short time that yet remains to me I -cut myself entirely away from all personal associations with men and -women whom I have known. I renounce even the name I bear, to avoid -recognition, and shall assume another. I am as one who has died, and -who commences life anew. If by my actions during the days that yet may -be mine I can atone in some small measure for the guilt that lies upon -my soul, such atonements shall be made. It is likely I may not reside -in England; the recollections that would force themselves upon me -there would be too painful to bear.' - -"He approved of my resolution, and offered to render me some small -regular assistance to assist me to live. I accepted it after some -hesitation; he had made money out of me while acting as my steward, -and I thought he could afford it. Should I find myself master of more -than would be requisite for the barest necessaries, I would devote it -to the children of misery in memory of my wife, who had a charitable -heart, and was always giving to the poor. But what sweet virtue could -be named that did not grace her soul? - -"You know now, Rathbeal, how it was that I did not bear my own name -when you first became acquainted with me. It was by chance that you -made this discovery, and it was partly because I felt that there was a -cowardice in the subterfuge, and that I was practicing it to avoid the -moral punishment I had earned, that when we were together abroad I -resumed my own. There was no need to make my friend acquainted with -this, and it is probable that he is in ignorance of it to this day. It -does not in any way concern him. I have cut myself away from him as I -have done from every person who knew me during my wife's lifetime. The -motive that induced me to request you to inform him that he would be -troubled with me no more was this: I had to some extent bound myself -to him not to return to England, and when I resolved to do so in your -company I felt that I was partially violating that understanding. -Consequently I determined to sever all personal relations between him -and myself. He has not sought me, nor shall I ever seek him. Our ways -of life lie widely apart, and it is hardly likely we shall ever meet -again. He believes me probably to be dead; let him rest in this -belief. - -"I have nothing to add, Rathbeal, to this lengthy confession. You know -the worst of me. If you condemn me be silent, it will be charitable. -If I am still allowed to retain your friendship, it will ease my -heart. - - "Robert Grantham." - - - - -CHAPTER IX. -Mr. Fox-Cordery is not easy in his mind. - - -In a state of deep dissatisfaction with the world in general, Mr. -Fox-Cordery paced the lawn fronting the country house he had taken on -the banks of the Thames. He was smoking one of his fragrant cigars, -but it had no soothing effect upon him; a common weed of British make -would have afforded him as much gratification. He was perplexed and -annoyed, and was growing savage; and yet he had cause, if not for -gratitude--of which it may be doubted whether he was capable--at least -for self-congratulation. - -To commence with the credit side of his ledger, here he was -comfortably installed in the house facing the river of which we have -heard his mother speak, with its piece of meadow-land, and its lawn, -and its garden of fruit and flowers, and its rustic bridge stretching -to a bank on the opposite side. This bridge, being erected over an -inlet, did not interfere with the traffic of the river proper, and was -a decided attraction to the summer residence which Mr. Fox-Cordery -had taken to carry out a long cherished design. The arm of water it -spanned was deep, and upon it was floating a gayly-painted boat, -bearing in gilt letters the name, "Lucy and Clair." He had so -christened it in honor of the guests he was entertaining, Mrs. -Grantham and her little daughter. He had intended to call it simply -"Lucy"; but love is sometimes wanting in boldness, and for this -reason, or because he was not sure of his ground, he had associated -the names of mother and daughter, which he considered the lady he was -scheming to win could not but regard as a delicate mark of attention. - -To go on with, his mind was more at ease with respect to the fate of -the friend he had betrayed than it had been on the day of his -interviews with John Dixon and Rathbeal. Six weeks had passed by and -he had not seen or heard from John Dixon: a distinct proof that that -astute person had been gasconading when he spoke of having caught a -glimpse of Robert Grantham's face on a foggy night in March. Mr. -Fox-Cordery had arrived at the conclusion that the tale was a clumsy -invention, introduced for the purpose of winning compliance with John -Dixon's suit for the hand of his sister Charlotte. - -"Dixon thought I would strike my flag," he reasoned, "and that I would -implore him to take Charlotte at once, and a handsome dowry with her, -as the price of his silence. A likely thing when he had nothing to -sell but an empty tale!" Of the legacy he had heard nothing more. Mrs. -Grantham had not seen the advertisement in the _Times_, the paper -being one which she did not read, nor had she been approached by the -lawyers with respect to it, as had been threatened by John Dixon. -"Lawyers don't part with money too readily," again reasoned Mr. -Fox-Cordery, "when once it gets into their clutches. I know their -tricks." - -Then, Charlotte was behaving admirably. She and Mrs. Grantham and -Clair were constantly together, Mr. Fox-Cordery believed that his -sister was doing something--perhaps in an indirect way, but that was -of no account--to advance his cause. And yet that cause was making no -progress. It was unaccountable, and he was moodily reflecting upon -this as he paced the lawn and smoked his cigar. - -On the debit side of the ledger were some ridiculous, though -mysterious, eccentricities on the part of Rathbeal. Rathbeal did not -appear personally, but he kept himself in Mr. Fox-Cordery's mind by a -series of written and pictorial communications. These, carefully -sealed, were addressed to Mr. Fox-Cordery's London residence, and were -forwarded on to his suburban home. He destroyed them, wrathfully, -almost as soon as he received them, but it was an additional annoyance -that he could not forget them after they were destroyed; indeed, the -impression they produced was so strong that they were the cause of -many fantastic and disturbing dreams from which he would awake in -perturbation. The peculiar nature of these communications will be seen -from the following examples: - - -"When you weave a web, shrewd sir," wrote Rathbeal, quoting an -observation made by Mr. Fox-Cordery in the course of their recent -interview, "nothing ever escapes from it. - - (Signed) "Rathbeal." - - -Beneath these words was the picture of a large web, in a corner of -which lurked a spider, bearing an unmistakable likeness to Mr. -Fox-Cordery. A number of unfortunate creatures, with human faces, -struggled in the meshes. The face of one figure, designated Fate, was -hidden, purposely it seemed. - -Again, after an interval of a few days: - - -"There are other webs than those that mortals weave," wrote Rathbeal, -quoting his reply to Mr. Fox-Cordery's observation. "Fate is ever at -work. - - (Signed) "Rathbeal." - - -Beneath this was the same web, but this time Mr. Fox-Cordery was in -the meshes, struggling in terror to release himself; while in the -corner lurked the figure of Fate, still with its face hidden. - -"The man is crazy," was Mr. Fox-Cordery's comment, "or in his dotage." - -Nevertheless he could not banish these sketches from his mind, and he -found himself wondering who the figure with his hidden face was -intended to represent. - -At intervals came couplets of verse: - - -The bark we steer has stranded. O breeze, auspicious swell: -We yet may see once more the friend we love so well. - - -"For auspicious," wrote Rathbeal, "read malefic. For love, read hate." - -At another time: - - Better the drunkard void of fraud and wiles - Than virtue's braggart who by fraud beguiles. - - -Another post brought: - - - What serves thy armor 'gainst Fate's arrows fierce? - What serves thy shield if Destiny transpierce? - - -Had Mr. Fox-Cordery not been sensible of the advisability of silence -he might have taken fighting notice of these missives, which, in their -frequency, savored of persecution. He was tempted, as his eyes fell -upon the familiar writing on the envelope, to tear and burn it, -unopened, but he had not the nerve to do this; he was possessed with a -strange fear that it might contain some news of importance to himself, -and thus he was made to contribute to his own uneasiness. - -But these were small matters in comparison with the one desire of -which he had become the slave. In the retreat he had chosen he had -hoped to attain his wish, and to win from Mrs. Grantham a promise that -she would become his wife. Long as he had loved her, he had not had -the courage to speak to her openly. Many times had he approached the -boundary line which stood between friendship and love, and had never -dared to cross it. Something in her manner, which he could not define -or satisfactorily explain to himself, deterred him; and he lacked the -gamester's mettle to risk his all upon the hazard of the die. He -argued with himself that she could scarcely mistake the meaning of the -attentions he was paying her during this visit. Daily offerings of -flowers, a constant ministering to her pleasure, fulfillment of any -wish she expressed, the most careful attention to the adornment of his -small person, a display of amiability to her, to Charlotte and his -mother, and even to the servants who waited on them--all these efforts -seemed to be thrown away upon her. As has been stated, he was growing -savage to find his meaning thus misunderstood, his desire thus -frustrated. Had he seen her while he was restlessly and moodily pacing -the lawn and been able to read what was passing within her, he might -have arrived at a better understanding of the position of affairs; and -had he witnessed a scene which was presently to take place between -Mrs. Grantham and his sister Charlotte, it would not have assisted in -comforting him. - -Mrs. Grantham was alone in her room. It was Charlotte's birthday, and -she was looking in her trunk for a gift she designed to give her -friend, a brooch of turquoise and pearls which she herself had worn as -a young girl. The brooch was in a desk which lay at the bottom of the -trunk, and it was seldom she opened it, for it contained mementos of -the past which it pained her to handle; but they were dear to her -despite the pain they caused her, and she would not have parted with -them for untold gold. Lifting the desk from the trunk, she rose with -it in her hands and seated herself at a table. - -The deep sorrow of her life had left its traces on her face, had -touched her eyes with an abiding sadness; but a delicate beauty dwelt -there still. Charlotte, who had insisted upon being her handmaiden, -and had begged to be allowed to attend her when she retired to bed, -would comment admiringly upon the graces of her person, comments which -Mrs. Grantham would receive with gentle deprecation. Until late years -Charlotte had known nothing of Mrs. Grantham, and was even now as -ignorant of her history as she was of the close association which had -existed between her and her brother. During the present visit a fond -confidence was established between the women, and each knew that in -the other she possessed a true and faithful friend. But Mrs. Grantham -had not admitted Charlotte into the secrets of her married life. The -anguish and indignation which had tortured her soul when she learned -from Mr. Fox-Cordery that her husband was unfaithful to her had long -since passed away. Death had consecrated her grief, and had robbed it -of its bitter sting. - -Mrs. Grantham unlocked her desk. In a small box, at the top of two or -three packets of letters, were the brooch and a few ornaments she used -to wear in happier days. She placed the brooch aside, and taking out -the other articles of jewelry, gazed at them with yearning tenderness. -They were chiefly gifts which her husband had given her during their -courtship and the first few months of their marriage. Since she had -received the news of her husband's death from the lips of Mr. -Fox-Cordery she had not worn an ornament he had given her; and the -only ring upon her fingers was her wedding ring, which had never been -removed. But she had preserved them all, even the smallest article, -and every letter he had written to her was in the desk, carefully -folded and preserved. An impulse stirred her to untie the packets and -read the endearing words he had addressed to her, and for a moment she -was inclined to yield to it, but she went no farther than to place her -fingers on the ribbon which held them together. With a sigh she -replaced the packets in the desk, but not before she had put her lips -to them. Her husband, living, had sorely wronged her, but when she -heard that he was dead she forgave him, and did not thereafter allow -her thoughts to dwell upon any remembrances of him that were not -tender and kind. He had sinned, and had suffered for his sin. She -could not carry resentment beyond the grave. And he was the father of -her child, the sweetest hope the world contained for her. - -When her trunk was repacked the turquoise and pearl brooch was not the -only ornament she had retained, There was a ring of gold set with one -black pearl which her husband used to wear. One day she had expressed -admiration of it, and he had had it made smaller for her. She put it -on her finger now, and pressed her lips to it. As she did so her eyes -filled with tears. - -"May I come in?" - -It was Charlotte's voice, following a tap at the door. - -"Yes, come in, dear." - -Charlotte entered, a different young woman from the last occasion upon -which we saw her. She was neatly dressed, and her eyes were sparkling -and her face radiant. - -"A happy birthday to you, dear," said Mrs. Grantham. "Let me fasten -this on." - -Charlotte had never possessed a gold ornament of any kind, and her -eyes fairly danced as she looked at herself in the glass. - -"For me, Mrs. Grantham? Really for me?" - -"Yes, dear. It was one I used to wear when I was a girl, and I thought -you would like it." - -"Like it! I shall love it all my life. Do you know, Mrs. Grantham, it -is the first brooch I have ever had!" - -"You don't mean that? And you twenty-nine to-day!" - -"Yes, I am not a girl, as you were when you wore it. I am not at all -sorry to be twenty-nine, for I think no one is happier than I am." - -The fact is Charlotte had received this morning the tenderest letter -from John Dixon, wishing her happiness and every good on earth, He had -bought a birthday gift for her (said John Dixon), but it had required -a little alteration, and to his annoyance the man who was making the -alteration had disappointed him; but he was after him like a tiger -(said John Dixon), and she should have the token that very morning, or -he would know the reason why. John Dixon always wrote to Charlotte in -good spirits, and in this birthday letter he was at his blithest. - -"It takes very little to make you happy," observed Mrs. Grantham, -looking rather thoughtfully at Charlotte, who was exhibiting, not the -pleasure of a woman at her gift, but the delight of a child. - -"Do you call this very little?" asked Charlotte, gayly. "I call it a -great deal." - -"Charlotte," said Mrs. Grantham, "did not your mother or your brother -ever give you a brooch, or a bracelet, or any little thing of the -kind?" - -Charlotte was on her guard instantly. She had felt during the past few -weeks that much depended upon her mother and brother, and that they -expected her to speak of them at their best. Therefore she was -uncertain what to say in answer to Mrs. Grantham's straight question. - -"But tell me, dear," urged Mrs. Grantham, "did you never have such a -gift?" - -"Do not ask me," replied Charlotte. "I must not say anything unkind." - -"It is an answer, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, with a pitying smile. "I -have noticed that you never wear the smallest ornament." - -"Nor do you; only your wedding ring. And now I declare you have -another ring on! Is it a pearl?" - -"Yes, Charlotte. It is a ring my husband gave me. I have not worn any -jewels since his death, but I have a number in my desk." - -"And you have put it on to-day in remembrance." - -"Yes, dear, in remembrance." - -She was on the point of saying that she did not wish to continue the -subject, but she was reminded that this would afford Charlotte a valid -excuse for not giving her some information which she was now desirous -to obtain. She had not been quite oblivious of the attentions which -Mr. Fox-Cordery was paying her, and although she had marked out her -course of life, she had lately become not only curious concerning him, -but doubtful. Upon her first introduction to Charlotte she had -observed the menial dress the young woman wore, and the want of -affection displayed toward her in her home. Mr. Fox-Cordery and his -mother had not been careful to disguise their feelings in her -presence, and it was pity and sympathy for Charlotte which had -attracted her. She afterward learned to love Charlotte for her own -sake, and it was chiefly because of Charlotte's pleadings that she had -been induced to accept the invitation which led to her present visit. -And in this closer association she had grown to love the young woman -more. - -Never before had Charlotte the opportunity of unbosoming herself to -one of her own sex, to one in whom she felt she could confide. In -their walks together, she and her little Clair and Charlotte, constant -evidences of Charlotte's kindness of heart and humane instincts had -presented themselves to her, and she more than once suspected that -here was a well which never yet had had free play. The information -that this little brooch was the first gift of any value that Charlotte -could call her own caused her to reflect. That a being so tender and -kind should be treated with so much neglect gave her a shock. - -"Dear Mrs. Grantham," said Charlotte, "how you must have suffered when -you lost your dear husband! I can imagine it. I should wish to die." - -"There was my little Clair left to me, dear; and life means, not love -alone, but duty. I am glad I lived to take care of my child. Do you -expect to be married soon, Charlotte?" - -"Some time this year, I think." - -"When in your position, dear, one thinks one generally knows. I should -not be a false prophet if I said for certain this year." - -"I think it will be." - -"I have not seen your intended, dear." - -"He is noble and good," said Charlotte, enthusiastically. - -"And loves you with his whole heart, as you love him." - -"Yes, it is truly so." - -The women kissed each other. - -"You must introduce me to him," said Mrs. Grantham, "when he comes to -London." - -"Oh, but he is in London," said Charlotte simply. "He lives here." - -Mrs. Grantham looked at her in astonishment. - -"But why does he not visit you?" - -Charlotte's face grew scarlet; she dared not answer the question. - -"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, pitying her confusion; "but -you understand that I wish to know him, for your sake." - -"I understand. Mrs. Grantham, I ought not to keep anything from you. -The reason why Mr. Dixon does not come to see me here, is that he and -my brother are not exactly friends. They had a disagreement in -business, and that is how the trouble occurred. Do not say anything to -my brother about it; it might make him angry." - -"With me, dear?" - -"Oh, no," said Charlotte, without thinking, "he could not be angry -with you." - -"With you, then?" said Mrs. Grantham, her mind half on Charlotte and -half on herself. - -"I don't know how it is," said Charlotte, in a tone of distress, "but -I seem to be saying things I ought not to speak of. If I were clever -it would not happen." - -"You are clever, dear, and you are good; that is why I love you." - -"If I only thought that what I have said without intending it, and -what perhaps I have made you think without intending it, wouldn't make -you run away from us----" - -"I will not run away, Charlotte. If you wish it, I will stay as long -as I have promised." - -"I do wish it; with all my heart I wish it. I never had a friend like -you; I never had a sister----" - -But here Charlotte quite broke down; her sobs would not allow her to -proceed. - -"There, there, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, soothing her. "Tears on your -birthday! Why, Charlotte, what are you thinking of? And with a true -friend by your side----!" - -"I know, I know," murmured Charlotte. "I am very ungrateful." - -"You are a dear, loveable young woman, and you have won my heart. And -who knows whether I may not be able to help you just where you most -need help? There is a knock at the door. Don't move; no one must catch -you crying, or they will have a bad opinion of me. I will go and see -who it is." - -It was a maid with a little parcel for Charlotte. - -"I was to give it to Miss Fox-Cordery at once, ma'am," said the maid, -"and I was told she was in your room." - -"She is here," said Mrs. Grantham, "and she shall have it -immediately." - -The maid departed, and Mrs. Grantham locked the door, so as to be -secure from intrusion. - -"Something for you, dear. I guess a birthday present." - -"Oh!" cried Charlotte eagerly, starting to her feet and holding out -her hand. - -"The question is, from whom," said Mrs. Grantham, with tender -playfulness. - -"I know!" said Charlotte, still more eagerly. - -"From your brother?" - -Charlotte shook her head rather sadly. - -"From your mother?" - -Another sad shake of Charlotte's head. - -"They have given you something already, perhaps!" - -"No, Mrs. Grantham; I do not expect anything from them. They do not -make birthday presents." - -"Don't think I want to tease you; I only want to find out how I can -best serve you. I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Here it -is, dear." - -Charlotte opened the packet clumsily, her fingers trembled so, and -disclosed a tiny note and a small jewel case. The note ran: - - -My Dear Charlotte: Accept this, with my fond and constant love. Ever -yours, John. - - -The jewel case contained a ring of diamonds. The tears that glistened -now in Charlotte's eyes were tears of joy. - -"An engagement ring, I should say," said Mrs. Grantham, gayly. "I want -more than ever to be friends with John. And it fits perfectly. Now, -how did John manage that?" Her mood changed from gayety to tender -solicitude. She drew Charlotte to her side. "I wish you a happy life, -dear. Take a piece of advice from a friend who has had experiences: -When you are married have no secrets from your husband. Trust him -unreservedly; conceal nothing from him. If you note any change in him -that causes you uneasiness do not brood over it in silence; ask him -frankly the reason, and if he is reluctant to give it, implore him to -confide in you. In married life there is no true happiness unless full -confidence exists between husband and wife. And if the man is true and -the woman is true, they should be to each other a shield of love, a -protection against evil, a solace in the hour of sorrow." - -"I will remember what you say, Mrs. Grantham. I hope Fox will not be -displeased. He is not friends with John, and I have never worn a ring; -and this is so grand and beautiful----" - -"Never meet trouble, dear. Perhaps I shall have an opportunity of -saying something to your brother to-day." - -Charlotte looked at her and hesitated; there was something on her -tongue to which she did not venture to give utterance. Knowing it was -her brother's wish to make Mrs. Grantham his wife, she wondered -whether any words to that end had passed between them. To call Mrs. -Grantham sister would be a great happiness to her, but she trembled to -think of the price at which that happiness would be bought. The -oppression to which she herself had been subjected in her home since -her father's death rose before her. Was such a fate in store for Mrs. -Grantham? Was it not her duty to warn her? But she dared not speak; -she could only hope that nothing had been settled, and that her dear -friend would be spared unhappiness. - -"Of what are you thinking, dear?" asked Mrs. Grantham, perceiving that -a struggle was going on in Charlotte's heart. - -"Of nothing," Charlotte replied, and inwardly prayed for courage to -warn her before it was too late. - - - - -CHAPTER X. -In which Mr. Fox-Cordery meets with a repulse. - - -Shortly afterward Mr. Fox-Cordery saw Mrs. Grantham issue from the -house and advance toward him. With conspicuous gallantry he went to -meet her, and raised his hat. He was careful to omit no form of -politeness and attention to establish himself in her regard. - -"I have come especially to have a chat with you," said Mrs. Grantham, -declining the arm he offered her. "Such old friends as ourselves need -not stand upon ceremony." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery looked upon this as a promising opening. - -"There is something I wish to say to you," he said boldly and -tenderly, "if you will listen to me." - -"Certainly I will listen to you. Is it about business?" - -"It is of far more importance than business," he replied, with a -significance of tone that could not fail to convey some perception of -his meaning. - -She paused awhile before she spoke again, and then seemed to have -arrived at a decision. - -"I wish to say a word about your sister." - -"Dear Charlotte!" he murmured, and could not have said anything, nor -uttered what he said in a tone that would have been more fatal to his -cause, even if she were willing to listen to it favorably. He had been -his own enemy, and had forged the weapon that was to strike him down; -for it was Mrs. Grantham's insight into the life Charlotte must have -led with him and her mother that had made her reflect upon the true -nature of the man who had been for so many years her husband's friend -and her own. The closer intimacy of the last few weeks had served him -ill. Mrs. Grantham was a lady of much sweetness, but the trials she -had passed through had taught her to observe and sometimes to suspect. - -"To-day is Charlotte's birthday," she said. - -"Charlotte's birthday!" he exclaimed. "How could we have overlooked -it? Charlotte's birthday! Why so it is! I must wish her every -happiness." He began to pick some flowers. "For Charlotte," he said. - -"She will appreciate them. I have grown very fond of your sister." - -"You could not say anything to make me happier--except----" - -She nipped his tenderly suggested exception in the bud by continuing: - -"She has the most amiable nature in the world--" - -"No, no," he protested; "not the _most_ amiable nature in the world." - -"And is so sweet-tempered and self-sacrificing--" - -"She shares the best qualities of our family," he managed to get in. - -"That I am as anxious for her happiness as you yourself can be. She -has had two birthday presents, which have given her great pleasure, -one especially." ("Confound her!" was Mr. Fox-Cordery's thought, as he -bent over a dwarf rose tree. "Who has been making her birthday -presents?") "I have given her a poor little brooch"--("That is one of -the presents," thought Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and Clair has given her the -other. Of course, of course." He was content that the gifts should -have come from Mrs. Grantham and her little girl)--"and Mr. Dixon," -continued Mrs. Grantham, "sent her an engagement ring." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery looked suddenly up. - -"Mr. Dixon!" he cried. "An engagement ring!" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Grantham, ignoring his surprise, "a very beautiful -ring. It is set with diamonds, and Charlotte, you may depend, put it -on her finger at once. She must never take it off, at least till she -is married. We foolish women, you know, have superstitions." - -"Charlotte has been telling you a great deal about Mr. Dixon," said -Mr. Fox-Cordery, striving to speak amiably, and not succeeding. - -"Not a great deal; very little, indeed. It is only because I would -have an answer to my questions that I learned anything at all. I have -a common failing of my sex: I am intensely curious. And I am really -annoyed, taking the interest I do in your sister, that I have not yet -been introduced to Mr. Dixon. How is it that I have not been -introduced to Mr. Dixon? Put a little forget-me-not in your posy; it -means remembrance." - -He obeyed her, and then took the bull by the horns. - -"Mrs. Grantham," he said, "inspired by a hope I have entertained for -many years, you must not remain in ignorance of our family secrets. I -do not blame Charlotte for speaking to you about Mr. Dixon----" - -"No," she gently interposed, "you must not blame her. We chat together -every night before we retire, and little things come out in our -conversation. If you must blame anybody, blame me, for it is entirely -my fault that I know anything of her engagement. I teased it out of -her." - -"I regarded it as a family secret," he said. "The fact is--it pains me -to make the statement--that neither my mother nor I quite approve of -Mr. Dixon. You do not know him, and I do not wish to say anything -against him. We are more likely to form a correct estimate of his -character than Charlotte. We have a wider experience of human nature." - -"Granted. But Charlotte has set her heart upon him, and he appears to -have a very sincere love for her. But I am wrong, perhaps, in -presuming to interfere in a matter which you say is a family secret. I -was not aware of it when I commenced to speak to you. Forgive me." - -"Dear Mrs. Grantham," he said, "do not distress me by saying that you -are wrong. You are right, entirely right, in everything you do. I only -wished to explain to you why it is that Mr. Dixon does not visit us. -We have Charlotte's interests at heart, and if she insists upon having -her way we shall not thwart her. Our hope will be that her marriage -will turn out better than we anticipate. It is true that we put her -upon probation for a time. We desired her--you can ask her for -confirmation of my statement--to wait for two months before she -finally committed herself, and she consented to do so. And now, Mrs. -Grantham----" - -"Pardon me," interrupted Mrs. Grantham; "let me justify myself -completely. In speaking to you about your sister, I was prompted by my -affection for her; she is not a young girl, and can to some extent -judge for herself. We will not discuss Mr. Dixon, who is represented -to me in two opposite lights. Let us hope for the best, and that her -union with that gentleman will be a happy one. My own married life -taught me much that brought sadness to my heart; I will pray that no -shadow shall rest upon hers. But my sorrows have been softened by -time, and I have a heavenly consolation in the love of my child, to -whom, since I lost my husband, I have consecrated my life." - -"Let that life," he said grandiloquently, "be consecrated to make -another happy, as well as your darling child." - -"No," she said firmly; "I am fixed in my resolve to form no other -ties. Mr. Fox-Cordery, it would be a mere pretense for me to say I do -not understand you. I beg you to go no farther--to say nothing more. -You were my husband's friend; you are mine. Let us remain friends." - -"But, dear Mrs. Grantham," he stammered, enraged and confounded at -this unexpected repulse, "surely you must have seen, you must have -known--the devotion of years----" - -Either inability to proceed, or an expression in her face, restrained -him here. - -"Do not say what cannot be unsaid or forgotten. It will be best for -both of us. Clair and I have been very happy during our visit. If you -wish to drive us away----" - -"No, no!" he cried; "you are cruel to make the suggestion. I do not -deserve such a return. My mother would look upon it as an affront; and -Charlotte--you love Charlotte----" - -He hardly knew what to say in his confusion; but he felt it would be -quite fatal to his hopes if he lost his present hold upon her. - -"You do not deserve such a return," she said; "and not for worlds -would I wound your mother's feelings or yours. It was only an hour ago -that I promised Charlotte not to curtail my visit; and I will promise -you, if you will engage not to reopen the subject. Let us forget what -has passed. Shall we exchange promises?" - -She held out her hand, and he deluded himself into the belief that he -saw signs of softening in her face. As he took her hand his native -cunning and coolness returned to him, and he was more than ever -determined that she should not slip from him. He would be her master -yet, and she should pay for her treatment of him. Even as he held her -hand in his, the skeleton of a scheme to force her compliance -presented itself to his mind, fertile in schemes and snares. - -"I am almost inclined to be jealous of dear Clair," he said, in a -plaintive tone, "for she seems to stand in the way of my happiness." - -"You must not say that. If it were not for her, I might not be living -this day. Through her, I saw my duty clear before me. I live only for -her and for her happiness. It is an understanding, then?" - -"Yes," he said, "it is an understanding. Excuse me now; I will go and -give these flowers to Charlotte." - -But he did nothing of the kind. He walked away, and when he was sure -that no one saw him he tore the posy to pieces, and trod savagely upon -the fragments, stamping at the same time upon every living thing -beneath him that caught his eye. Such acts of destruction and cruelty -always afforded him satisfaction, and after a few minutes so occupied -he devoted himself more calmly to the difficulties of his position. -Gradually a scheme formed itself in his mind, and he smiled at the -thought that it would lead him to victory. He recalled the words Mrs. -Grantham had spoken: - -"The love of her child is a heavenly consolation to her, and she has -consecrated her life to the brat. She lives only for Clair's -happiness. If I prove to her how that happiness is imperiled, and that -her infernal consecration will land her in the gutter .... Yes, I see -my way; I see my way!" - -But he saw not the Nemesis that was following his footsteps, born of a -base action he had committed without ruth or remorse. He thought it -was dead and buried, and that a woman he had wronged--not the only -one--was happily lost to him, if not to the world. Neither did he -bestow a thought upon Robert Grantham, nor upon the double deceit he -had practiced upon husband and wife. In fancied security he paced a -secluded path, meditating upon the new lie which would bring Mrs. -Grantham to her knees, for the sake of the child she loved so well. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. -Little Prue. - - -Who Roxy was, what was his occupation, and whether he lived in a -bygone age or was living at the present day, are matters which are not -pertinent to our story, the course of which brings us, in a remote and -indirect manner, to the knowledge that such a being once existed, or -exists now. That he was responsible for the miserable dozen tenements -known as "Roxy's Rents" may be accepted, as may be also the undoubted -reason for his giving them the eccentric name they bore; the rents of -the hovels he erected being lawfully his, if he could find tenants to -occupy them. - -A stranger to the wretched ways of life of thousands upon thousands of -poor people in such a city as London might reasonably have doubted the -wisdom of spending money in the erection of such hovels; but Roxy knew -what he was about when he went into the speculation. A comprehensive -knowledge of humanity's outcasts had taught him that the more dismal -and wretched the habitations, the more likely it was that there would -be numerous applicants for the shelter they afforded; and his wisdom -was proved by the result, not a room in Roxy's Rents ever being empty -longer than a day or two. The narrow blind alley lined by the hovels, -half a dozen on each side, may be found to-day in all its desolation -or wretchedness in the south of London, by any person with a leaning -to such explorations. It is well known to the police, who seldom have -occasion to go there, because, strangely enough, it is chiefly -tenanted by people who work hard for a living, often without obtaining -it. - -Roxy himself, or his agent, who collects the rents regularly every -Saturday night from eight o'clock till past midnight, is very -particular in his choice of tenants, which he is able to be by reason -of the delectable tenements being in demand. There are numbers of -landlords in more favored localities who would like to stand in Roxy's -shoes in this respect. The alley is some eight feet wide, and its one -architectural embellishment is a kind of hood at its entrance, the -only use of which is to deepen its darkness by day and night. There is -no public lamp in Roxy's Rents, nor near it in the street, very little -wider than the alley, in which it forms a slit; therefore the darkness -is very decided in its character on foggy days and moonless nights. -This has never been a subject of complaint on the part of the -residents or the parish authorities--officers who, as a rule, have an -objection to stir up muddy waters: by which inaction they show their -respect for an ancient proverb, the vulgar version of which is, "Let -sleeping dogs lie." To one of the hovels in Roxy's Rents the course of -our story takes us. - -The room is on the ground floor, the time is night, the persons -in it are a woman and her child. The woman's name is Flower; the name -of her child, a girl of eight or nine, is Prue, generally called -"Little Prue." The apartment is used for every kind of living -purpose--working, cooking, eating, and sleeping, It is furnished with -an ordinary stove, one bed on the floor in a corner (a bedstead being -a luxury beyond the means of the family), two wooden chairs, a child's -low chair, the seat of which once was cane but now is hollow, a deal -table, a few kitchen utensils, and very little else. On the -mantelshelf are two or three cracked cups and saucers, a penny, and a -much-faded photograph of two young women, with, their arms round each -other's waists. There is a family likeness in their faces, and one -bears a faint resemblance to Mrs. Flower. The paper on the walls hangs -loose, and the walls themselves reek with moisture; the plaster on the -ceiling has dropped in places, and bare rafters are visible. Not a -palatial abode, but the Flowers have lived there for years, and it -forms their Home--a mocking parody on a time-honored song. Mrs. Flower -is standing at the table, ironing clothes. She takes in washing when -she can get it to do, having but few garments of her own to wash. - -Mrs. Flower was working with a will, putting her whole soul into the -iron. The apartment was chiefly in shadow, the only light being that -from one tallow dip, twelve to the pound. The candle was on the table, -being necessary for the woman's work, and its rays did not reach -Little Prue, who sat in the low hollow-seated chair by the bed. Mrs. -Flower enlivened her toil by singing, or rather humming with bated -breath, a most lugubrious air for which she was famous in her maiden -days, but then it used to be given forth with more spirit than she put -into it now. Occasionally she turned to her child, who was sitting -quite still with her eyes closed. There was a faint sickly smell of -scorching in the room, proceeding from a wisp of carpet on the floor -before the fire, upon which Mrs. Flower tested her hot irons. It had -served this purpose so long that it was scorched almost to tinder. -Presently the woman broke off in her melancholy singing, and called -softly: - -"Prue!" No answer coming, she called again, "Prue!" - -"Yes, mother," said the child, opening her eyes. Her voice was weak, -as might have been expected from a child with a face so pale and limbs -so thin. - -"I thought you were asleep, Prue." - -"So I was, mother. Why didn't you let me be?" - -"Dreaming of things?" - -"Oh, of sech things, mother! I was 'aving a feast of sheep's -trotters." Mrs. Flower sighed. "There was a 'ole pile of 'em, and the -'ot pie man was giving pies away. I was just reaching out my 'and for -one." - -"Never mind, never mind," said Mrs. Flower, rather fretfully. "You -talk as if I could get blood out of a stone." - -"Do I, mother? I didn't know. I _am_ 'ungry!" - -"What's the use of worriting? Didn't I promise you should have some -supper? I'm going to ask Mrs. Fry to pay me for the washing when I -take it home. I do hope she won't say there's anything missing. She -always does; and when I ask her to look over the things again, she -sends word she can't till the morning. That's how she puts me off time -after time; but I'll be extra particular to-night. Three dozen at one -and nine--that's five and three. She don't often give out so much; -that's luck for us, Prue." - -"I say, mother?" - -"Well?" - -"D'yer think father'll come 'ome? I 'ope he won't." - -"He won't come home while he's got a copper in his pocket, that you -may depend on. Go to sleep again, child, till I've finished." - -But Little Prue, now wide awake, made no attempt to obey. Rising to -her feet, she stealthily drew one of the large wooden chairs to the -mantelshelf, and, mounting, craned her neck. The shelf was high, and -Prue was a very small child. It was only by tiptoeing, and running the -danger of tumbling into the fire, that she ascertained what she wished -to know. Stepping down like a cat, she crept to her mother's side. - -"There's a penny on the mantelpiece, mother." - -"Don't worry; how can I get on with my work if you do? It's father's -penny, for his supper beer; he put it there before he went out, so -that he couldn't spend it till he came home." Aside she said, with a -sidelong look of pity at Prue, "I daren't touch it!" - -"I'm so 'ungry, mother!" pleaded Prue, plucking her mother's gown. "My -inside's grinding away like one o'clock." - -Mrs. Flower was seized with a fit of irresolution, and she muttered, -"If I look sharp, I shall be back with the washing money before he -comes in." Stepping quickly to the fireplace, she took the penny from -the mantel, and thrust it into Prue's hand. "There; go and get a -penn'orth of peas-pudding." - -"Oh, mother, mother!" cried Little Prue joyfully, and was running out, -when the door was blocked by the form of her father, who had returned -sooner than he was expected. - -Mr. Flower was slightly intoxicated--his normal state. However much he -drank, he never got beyond a certain stage of drunkenness; by reason, -probably, of his being so thoroughly seasoned. - -"Hallo, hallo!" he cried, grasping his little girl by the shoulder. -"Is the house on fire? Where are _you_ off to in such a hurry?" - -"Nowhere, father," replied Prue, slipping her hand with the penny in -it behind her back. - -"Nowhere, eh? You're in a precious pelt to get there. What have you -got in your hand?" - -"Nothink, father!" - -"Nothink, father!" he mocked, eyeing Prue with something more than -suspicion. - -"No, father. Wish I may die if I 'ave!" - -Without more ado, Mr. Flower seized the little hand and, wresting the -tightly-clenched fingers open, extracted the penny. Looking toward the -mantelshelf, he said: - -"Stealing my money, eh, you young rat? Who learnt you to tell lies?" - -"You did!" replied Mrs. Flower, stepping between them. She had -finished her washing, and was putting it together while this scene was -proceeding. "You did, you drunken vagabond!" - -"You shut up! As for you," he said, throwing Prue violently on the -bed; "you stop where you are, or I'll break every bone in your body!" - -"Lay a finger on her," cried Mrs. Flower fiercely, "and I'll throw the -iron at your head! Don't mind him, Prue; I'll soon be back." - -"Ah, you'd better!" said Mr. Flower, with a brutal laugh at his wife, -who was looking at him in anger. "What are you staring at?" - -"At you." - -"Well, and what do you make of me?" - -"What I've made of you ever since the day I married you." - -"For better or worse, eh?" - -"For worse, every minute of my life," she retorted. "I wonder why the -Lord allows some people to live." - -"Here, that's enough of your mag, with your Lord and your Lord! What's -your Lord done for me? Off you go, now!" - -But Mrs. Flower was not so easily disposed of. - -"Have you brought home any money?" she asked. - -"Money! How should I get money?" - -"Why work for it, like other men, you----" She repressed herself, and, -with a flaming face, arranged the clothes she had washed. - -"Work for it!" he cried, with a laugh, and immediately afterward -turned savage. "Well, ain't I willing?" - -"Yes, you show yourself willing," said Mrs. Flower, bitterly; "hanging -round public-houses, and loafing from morning to night!" - -"Think I'm going to work for a tanner an hour?" demanded Mr. Flower. -"Not me! I'll have my rights, I will!" - -"While we starve!" - -"Starve! When you can get washing to do, and live on the fat of the -land! If I was a woman, I'd rejoice in such clean work." - -"And don't I do it? Haven't I sat up night after night, wearing my -fingers to the bone for you?" - -"For me? Oh, oh! I like that!" - -"Yes, for you," repeated Mrs. Flower, thoroughly roused. "And what's -the good of it all? You drink away every penny I earn, you sot; and -you call yourself a man!" - -"I'll call you something, if you don't cut your stick! I wonder what I -married you for?" - -"I'll tell you. You married me to make me work for you; and you're not -the only one that speaks soft to a woman till he's got her in his -clutches. There ought to be a law for such as you." - -"Law! Talk of what you understand. There was your sister Martha. Ah, -she was a girl! Such eyes--such skin--such lips!" He smacked his own, -in his desire to further aggravate her. "I was real nuts on her; and -I'd have had her instead of you, if she hadn't took up with a swell. I -hope she's found out her mistake by this time." - -"I dare say she has. We all do, whether we're married or not." She -turned to Little Prue, who sat dumb during the scene, which presented -no features of novelty to her; from her earliest remembrance she had -been a witness of such. "I shan't be gone long," she whispered, -kissing the child, "and then you shall have some supper." - -"Mind you get the money for the washing, and bring it straight -home!"--called Mr. Flower after her as she left the room. "Selfish -cat!" He slammed the door to. "Never thinks of anyone but -herself--never thinks of me! What are you sniveling at?" Prue, now -that her mother had gone, began to cry. "Come here; I've got something -to say to you. Ain't I your father?" - -"Yes, father." - -"And a good father?" - -"Yes, father." - -"And a kind father?" - -"Yes, father." - -"Very well, then. How old are you?" - -"I don't know, father." - -"You don't know, father! You're old enough to get your own living, and -here you are passing your days in idleness and plenty. D'you see -these!" He pulled some boxes of matches from his pocket. - -"Yes, father." - -"What are they?" - -"Matches, father." - -"Count 'em. D'you hear me? Count 'em." The child was reeling, and he -shook her straight. "Count 'em." - -"One--two--three--four--five--six." - -"Six it is. Now, you've got to go out with these six boxes of matches, -and bring home tenpence for 'em. How are you going to do it, eh?" - -"I don't know, father." - -"Don't give me any more of your don't knows. You've got no more sense -than your mother; but I'm not going to let you grow up as idle and -selfish as she is--not if I know it, I ain't. Stop your blubbering, -and listen to me. You go to Charing Cross Station, you do, where all -the lights are, and where everybody's happy. What are you shaking your -head for?" - -"I don't know--I mean, I can't find my way, father." - -"I shall have to take you there; I'm only fit to be a slave. There -you'll stand, with the lights shining on you. That'll be nice, won't -it?" - -"Yes, father." - -"Nice and warm; and you get it for nothing, all for nothing. There's a -treat I'm giving you! You stand in the gutter, mind that; and you -ain't to look happy and bright. You're to try all you know to look -miserable and hungry. Do you hear?" - -"I'll try to, father." - -"Ah, you'd better, or it'll be the worse for you! When an old gent or -an old lady gives you a penny, don't you offer 'em a box; there's a -lot of mean beasts that'd take it. You hold the boxes tight, and you -bring me back not less than a bob for the six--not less than a bob, -mind!" - -"Yes, father." - -"Here, I'll give you a lesson. Blest if we don't have a rehearsal! -Stand there, in the gutter, and look miserable. I'm a gent. Hold out -your hand. 'Here's a penny for you, little girl.' Take it--quick! and -hold on tight to the matches. The gent goes away. I'm an old lady. 'My -poor child, what brings you out at such an hour?' What do you say to -the kind old lady?" - -"Father sent me out, please; and told me to stand in the gutter----" - -"Shut up! You're a born fool! What you say is this. Just you repeat -after me. 'Kind lady----'" - -"'Kind lady!'" - -"'Father's dead----'" - -"'Father's dead!'" - -"'And mother's laying ill of a fever----'" - -"'And mother's laying ill of a fever!'" - -"'And baby's dying----'" - -"'And baby's dying!'" - -"''Cause we ain't had nothing to eat since yesterday----'" - -"''Cause we ain't 'ad nothink to eat since yesterday!'" - -"That's more like it. And then you can begin to cry. Have you got that -in your head?" - -"Yes, father." - -"Come along, then, and step out. I'll keep my eye on you to see how -you do it." - -Taking Little Prue by the hand, he led her out of Roxy's Rents into -the wider thoroughfares, to play her part in the sad drama of poverty -that runs its everlasting course from year's end to year's end in this -City of Unrest. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. -"Drip-Drip-Drip!" - - -As they issued from the hooded portal of Roxy's Rents, a woe-stricken -woman approached the alley, and looked wearily around. Dark as was the -night, and though years had passed since she had visited the locality, -she had found her way without inquiry; but her steps faltered at the -entrance to the narrow court, and her manner was that of one who was -uncertain of the errand she had undertaken. To resolve her doubts, she -accosted a young girl about to pass her: - -"This is Roxy's Rents, isn't it?" - -"Yes," replied the girl. - -"Can you tell me if Mrs. Flower lives here?" - -"Yes, the last house but one on the right; front room, ground floor." - -"Is she at home, do you know?" - -"I don't know." - -"Thank you." - -The girl went her way, singing; she was in her spring. The woman -entered the alley, sighing; winter had come upon her too soon. When -she arrived at the last house but one on the right, she seemed to be -glad to see the glimmering of a light through the torn blind on the -front window. The street door stood open, and she stepped into the -dark passage, and paused before the door of the room in which Mrs. -Flower lived. - -"Janey!" she called, and listened for the answer. None reaching her -ear, she entered without further ceremony. The candle, which Mr. -Flower had inadvertently left alight, was burnt nearly to its socket, -and the woman shivered as she noted the unmistakable signs of -privation in the room. - -"It _is_ Janey's place, I suppose!" she said, and looking toward the -mantelshelf, saw there the faded photograph of herself and sister. -"Yes, it's all right." She took down the photograph, and gazed at it -with a curl of her lip as rueful as it was bitter. "Here we are -together, Janey and me, before . . . ." A shudder served to complete -the sentence. "How well I remember the day this was taken! We had a -week at the seaside, and stood together on the sands, as happy as -birds. The sun was shining, the children were playing and laughing. If -I had known--if I had known! I never see children laughing now, and I -sometimes wonder if the sun ever comes out. I was good-looking then, -and nicely dressed, and no one could say anything against me. But -what's the use of thinking about it? Thinking won't alter it." - -She had contracted a habit of speaking to herself, and was scarcely -conscious that she was uttering audible words. - -"I don't mean to stand it long," she said presently. "I've come to -London for something, and if he doesn't do what he ought to, I'll put -an end to it. As I'm a living woman, I'll put an end to it! I don't -care much which way it is. I've nothing to live for now!" - -She sat down and covered her face with her hands; the candle had been -spluttering and, being now at its last gasp, went out. The woman was -left in darkness. It suited her mood. The sound of water slowly -dropping outside attracted her attention. She removed her hands from -her face, and listened; as she listened she followed the rhythm with -the sound of her voice. - -"Drip, drip drip! Drip, drip, drip!" - -The pattering of the drops and her accompaniment fascinated her. - -"Drip, drip, drip!" she continued to murmur, and did not stop till -another sound diverted her attention. The door of the room was sharply -opened, and Mrs. Flower entered. The woman stirred in her chair. - -"Is that you, Prue?" asked Mrs. Flower. "Stop a minute; I'll get a -light." - -"No," replied the woman, "it isn't Prue." - -"My God!" cried Mrs. Flower, "whose voice is that?" - -She groped for the end of a candle, and lit it; holding it up, she -looked at her visitor, who had risen, and was facing her. - -"Martha!" - -"Yes, Janey, it's me. You're not glad to see me, I dare say, after all -these years." - -"How can you say that? How long have you been here, and where's Prue?" - -"I've been here--I don't know how long, and there was no one in the -room when I came in. Who's Prue?" - -"My little girl. Where can she have got to? I forgot, Janey. I didn't -have a baby when----" She paused. - -"Finish it," said Martha. "When I ran away and disgraced myself." - -"O Martha!" said Mrs. Fowler, throwing her arms round her sister and -kissing her, "don't think I'm hard on you. God knows I've no call to -be hard on anyone, least of all on you. We all make mistakes." - -"And have got to pay for them. Thank you for your welcome, Janey; it's -more than I deserve." - -"You're my sister, and I love you, Martha. Sit down, sit down, and -tell me everything. How often I've wondered what had become of you! -But I'm worried about Prue. I left her here with her father when I -went out." - -"Your husband's alive. That's a comfort." - -"Is it? You wouldn't say so if he was yours. I suppose he's taken her -into the streets with him. He's done it before, and got her to beg for -him, the brute! It's no use my going out to find her; I shouldn't know -where to look." - -"That tells a tale, and I am sorry for you, Janey. I mightn't have -come if I'd known; but I'd nowhere else to go to." - -"Of course you came here. What a time it is since we saw each other!" - -"We haven't improved much, either of us," said Martha. "I was hoping -you were better off." - -"I might have been if my husband was a man. The truth must be told: I -couldn't be worse off than I am, I left my Prue hungry, and promised -her some supper. I take in washing, Martha, and there was five -shillings due to me, but the woman wouldn't pay me to-night; I've got -to wait till to-morrow, so Prue will have to go to sleep on an empty -stomach. It's hard lines on a sickly child, but what can I do?" - -"I can't assist you, Janey. I've spent my last penny." - -"There's no help for it, then; we're in the same boat. But tell me -where you've been all these years." - -"In Manchester. It's a puzzle to me how I got here, but I made up my -mind to come to London, to try and screw something out of the man who -took me away from home. I've got his address, and I went to his house -this afternoon. He was away in the country, they told me, but I -couldn't get them to tell me where. There was a man saw me standing at -his door after they'd shut it in my face, and he came up and asked if -he could do anything for me, and whether I would mind telling him what -I wanted with Mr. Fox-Cordery, for that's the name of the villain that -deceived me, but I said it was no business of his, and I walked away, -and left him looking after me. I wandered about till it was dark, and -then I thought I'd come and ask you to let me sleep here to-night. -Must I turn out?" - -"How can you ask such a thing? You're welcome to stop if you don't -mind. This is the only room we've got, and I can't give you anything -to eat because the cupboard's as empty as my pocket." - -"Oh, I'm used to that! Your heart isn't changed, Janey." - -"I couldn't be hard to you if I tried; and I'm not going to -try. In Manchester you've been? You disappeared so suddenly and -mysteriously----" - -"Yes, yes; but we were carrying on together long before I went away. -He wanted to get me out of London, away from him, you know: he was -tired of me, and I wasn't in the best of tempers; he got frightened a -bit, I think, because I said if he threw me over I'd have him up at -the police court when my baby was born. He's a very respectable -man--oh, very respectable!--and looks as soft and speaks as soft as if -butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. But he's clever, and cunning, and -sly, for all that, and he talked me over. I was to go away from -London, and he was to allow me so much a week. He did for a little -while, and sent it on to me in Manchester. Janey, when he first -pretended to get fond of me he promised to marry me." - -"Yes, they all do that, and women are fools enough to believe em." - -"I was, and I used to remind him of his promise. That was while I was -in London. When I was in Manchester he thought himself safe. Then my -baby came, and it cost him a little. I had to write to him for every -shilling almost, and he'd send me a postal order without a word of -writing to say who it came from. That made me wild, and I wrote and -said if he didn't write me proper letters I'd come back to London and -worry his life out of him. That pulled him up, and he did write, but -he never signed his name. He just put 'F.' at the bottom of his -letters; I've got them in my pocket, every one of them. Well, then I -got a situation as a shop-woman--they didn't know I had a baby, and I -didn't tell them, you may be sure--and I put by a shilling or two. It -was wanted, because his money dropped off. I lost my situation, and -then I frightened him into coming to Manchester to see me. He was as -soft and smooth as ever, and he swore to me that I should never want; -he took his oath on it, and I told him if he didn't keep it I'd make -it hot for him. Janey, you don't know the promises that man made to me -when we first came together; it was a long time before I could bring -myself to like him, but he spoke so fair that at last I gave way. And -he played me false, after all. Don't think that I wanted to sponge on -him; if I could have got my own living in an honest way.--and I never -intend to get it any other way; I'm not thoroughly bad, Janey--I -wouldn't have troubled him; but I couldn't. I have been in such -misery, that if it had not been for my child I should have made away -with myself long ago; but nothing keeps me back now. I have lost my -child; it was buried by the parish." - -"Hush, Martha, hush!" - -"It's no use talking to me, Janey. I can't live this life any longer; -and if the man that's brought me to it won't help me, I've made up my -mind what to do. Nothing can change it--nothing. Look at me; I've -hardly a rag to my back. It's a rosy look-out, to-morrow is. If I had -decent clothes and a pound in my pocket, I might get into service; but -who'd take me as I am?" - -"You are changed from what you were, Martha; you used to be as merry -as a lark." - -"The lark's taken out of me long ago, and you haven't much of it left -in you that I can see. I don't know that you're any better off than -me, though you _are_ a respectable married woman; you've had to pay -for your respectability. Much comfort it brings you, according to your -own reckoning! What water is that dripping outside?" - -She asked this question in the dark; the candle had gone out, and Mrs. -Flower had no more. - -"The water-butt leaks." - -"Drip, drip, drip--and then it becomes a large pool--I see it -spreading out--large enough to drown one's self in!" - -"Martha!" - -"Which would be best, Janey? That or what I shall be forced into if no -one helps me? Supposing I'm alive! There it goes--drip, drip, drip! It -might be drops of blood. There isn't a sheet of water I've seen since -my child died that hasn't seemed to draw me to it, that hasn't -whispered, 'Come, and end it!' When you wake up of a morning -sometimes, aren't you sorry?" - -"I am, God help me!" - -"You've had a long sleep, and you've been happy; and you wake up--to -this! Wouldn't it be better never to wake up? Drip, drip, drip! It's -singing 'Come, come, come!' It drips just to that tune." She began to -sing softly, with a pause between each word, to keep time to the -water, "Come--come--come! Let me alone, Janey; don't lay hands on me. -I'm all right for a day or two--I won't say for how much longer. I'll -try and get some sleep." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. -In which Rathbeal makes a winning Move. - - -On this same day Rathbeal had met with adventures. There was a coffee -shop in his neighborhood to which he was in the habit of going, two or -three times a week, to have a cup of coffee and play a game of chess -with the hoary proprietor. - -It belonged to a class of shops which once were a favorite resort for -working people, but are now fast dying out; they are only to be found -in second-class neighborhoods, and seem, as it were, to be striving to -keep themselves out of sight, with a painful consciousness that they -are relics of a bygone age, and have no business to be in existence. -It cannot be said that they die hard, for there is a patient and sad -resignation in their appearance, which in its humbleness and abasement -is almost pathetic. The interior of these shops is as shabby and -uninviting as their exterior. There are the narrow boxes which cramp -the legs to sit in, the tables are bare of covering, the knives and -forks are of ancient fashion, the crockery is in its last stage, and -the once brilliant luster of the dominoes has quite disappeared, -double one especially looking up with two hollow dead white eyes which -cannot but have an inexpressibly depressing influence upon the -players. The draughts and chessmen with their one wooden board are in -a like condition of decay, and the games played thereon are the -reverse of lively. There is another peculiarity which forces itself -upon the attention. All the newspapers are old, some dating back -several weeks, and they are allowed to lie about till they are in a -condition so disgraceful that they are fit for nothing but lighting -fires. These newspapers are never bought on the day of issue, but -considerably later on, at less than a quarter their original price. -Thus it was that in the coffee shop to which Rathbeal was in the habit -of resorting there were always to be found two or three copies of the -_Times_, of dates varying from one to two months ago. - -On the day in question, Rathbeal, while the hoary proprietor was -fetching the chessmen and board, happened to take up one of these -sheets and run his eyes down the columns. It was not news he was -glancing at, but advertisements, and he was conning the first page of -the newspaper. When the proprietor of the shop took his seat opposite -to him and arranged his men, Rathbeal, folding the paper neatly, laid -it beside him on the table. Then he proceeded to place his warriors, -and the game was commenced. The proprietor was a slow player, Rathbeal -moved very quickly; thus it was that he had plenty of leisure to -glance from time to time at the newspaper by his side. "Check," he -called, and turned his eyes upon the paper. A sudden color flushed -into his face, caused by an advertisement he had up to this time -overlooked. This was what he read: - - -If Mr. Robert Grantham, born in Leamington, Warwickshire, will call -upon Messrs. Paxton and Freshfield, solicitors, Bedford Row, London, -he will hear of something to his advantage. - - -Rising hastily, he upset the chessboard. The proprietor looked up in -surprise. - -"Your game," said Rathbeal, and then consulted the date of the -newspaper. It was nearly seven weeks old. Permission being given to -him to make a cutting from the paper, he cut out the advertisement -very neatly, and asked the proprietor whether he had a London -Directory in the shop. - -"I have one," said the proprietor, "but it is twelve years old." - -"That will do," said Rathbeal. "Lawyers are rocks." - -Turning over the pages of the Directory, he found the number in -Bedford Row at which Paxton and Freshfield carried on their practice. -Wishing the proprietor good-day, he left the shop, and went straight -to Robert Grantham's lodging. Grantham was at home. - -"I have something to ask you, Robert," he said, without beating about -the bush. "Were you born in Leamington?" - -"Yes," replied Grantham. - -"Leamington in Warwickshire?" - -"Yes." - -"Then this concerns you," said Rathbeal, and handed him the cutting. - -The expression on Robert Grantham's face was not one of pleasure; to -be thus publicly advertised for seemed to cause him discomfort. He -read the advertisement, and offered no remark upon it. - -"It was by chance," said Rathbeal, "using your own term, for I do not -admit that chance is a factor in our lives, that I came across it. The -paper I cut it from is nearly two months old. What are you going to do -about it?" - -"Nothing," said Grantham. - -"Something to your advantage, it says. That sounds like money. You -cannot afford to neglect it, Robert." - -"I would rather have nothing to do with it." - -"Gently, friend. How much coin have you in your pocket at the present -moment?" - -"Two small silver pieces and a few pennies. To be exact, one shilling -and tenpence." - -"Your rent is due to-morrow." - -"I shall earn it." - -"Do not be too sure. If this advertisement means money for you, it -becomes your duty to claim it." - -"How so?" - -"Remember the penance you imposed upon yourself. You would spend for -your own necessities only what was requisite for the plainest food; -any money you had remaining should be devoted to the children of -misery. You have nobly carried out your resolution. Do you consider -you have atoned for the sins and errors of the past?" - -"I could not atone for them if I lived twice my allotted span." - -"Then the right is not yours to throw away this money. It belongs, not -to you, but to the poor, whose sufferings it would alleviate. Neglect -of the opportunity which now presents itself would become a crime. And -why do you desire to let the matter rest? To save yourself a possible -personal annoyance, you shrink from publicity; you tremble at the idea -that some old friend or acquaintance may learn that you still live. I -did not think you capable of such weakness." - -"I am reproved, Rathbeal; but still I would rather not appear in the -matter until the last moment, until it is certain that my appearance -is necessary, and would benefit others. Will you take this office of -friendship upon yourself, and make inquiries for me at the lawyer's?" - -"Willingly, if you will give me full powers. I must be prepared to -show that I am acting for you." - -"Draw up a paper, Rathbeal. I will sign whatever you write." - -In his neat handwriting Rathbeal drew out something in the shape of a -power of attorney, which Robert Grantham signed. Before he went upon -his mission Rathbeal made an appointment to meet Grantham at nine -o'clock that night; the appointment would have been made for an -earlier hour, but Grantham had some copying to finish and deliver, and -the work could not be neglected. - -When Rathbeal arrived at the offices of Paxton and Freshfield he asked -to see one of the principals, and he heard a clerk tell another to see -if Mr. Dixon was in. Mr. Dixon was not in, but Mr. Paxton was, and -would see Mr. Rathbeal. - -"I have come about this advertisement," he said, showing the cutting -to an old gentleman wearing gold spectacles. - -Mr. Paxton glanced at the advertisement, and said: - -"Our partner, Mr. Dixon, has taken it in hand; he will return at four -o'clock." - -"I will wait for him," said Rathbeal, "but meanwhile you can perhaps -give me some information concerning it." - -"I know very little about it," said the lawyer, cautiously. "Mr. Dixon -is in possession of the full particulars. You are not Mr. Grantham?" -He referred to the card Rathbeal had sent in. - -"No, I am Mr. Grantham's friend and agent. I have authority to act for -him." He produced the document Grantham had signed. "It is drawn out -and signed to-day, you see." - -"I see. How is it that so long a time has elapsed before answering the -advertisement?" - -"It only came to Mr. Grantham's knowledge a couple of hours ago. Would -you object to inform me whether it is really something to his -advantage, whether it means money?" - -"There is a small legacy left to Mr. Grantham, I believe, which he can -obtain if the proofs are clear." - -A clerk knocked at the door, and entered. "Mr. Dixon has come in, -sir." - -"Show this gentleman to his room." - -Being introduced to Mr. Dixon, Rathbeal opened up his business, and -observed signs of agitation in John Dixon's face, which he construed -unfavorably. With the signed document before him--which he examined, -Rathbeal thought, with suspicious attention--John Dixon schooled -himself presently to a more strictly professional method, but he did -not immediately make any observation. - -"The document is genuine, sir," said Rathbeal. "It was signed in my -presence." - -"Upon that point," said John Dixon, with studious brows, "I must be -quite certain. You are a stranger to me, and your name is strange; and -you bring me startling news, Mr. Rathbeal. Why did not Mr. Grantham -come himself? Are you aware that it is believed by his friends that he -is dead?" - -"I know that it was his wish to be thought so, and I am acquainted -with his reasons for a course of conduct which, without proper -explanation, must be viewed with mistrust. As to the trouble I am -taking, it is, I assure you, sir, not actuated by selfish motives. He -has a strong disinclination to appear personally in the matter, and -his motives could only be disclosed to friends in whom he has the most -thorough confidence. I can satisfy you as to my respectability----" - -"I throw no doubt upon it, Mr. Rathbeal: you do not seem to understand -that the intervention of a second party is quite useless. The -principal must appear himself." - -"I accept your word, sir, but I would ask you whether the affair could -not be conducted confidentially--without publicity, I mean. I have -learnt that a small legacy has been left to Mr. Grantham. However -small it is, it will be of great value to him: he is very poor, as I -am myself." - -John Dixon did a singular thing here. Motioning Rathbeal not to -proceed at present, he arranged the papers on his table, put others in -a desk, which he locked, opened a shut-up washstand and laved his -hands, brushed his hair, put on his hat, and then asked Rathbeal to -give him the favor of his company in his private chambers, which were -situated in Craven Street, Strand. Rathbeal consenting, they walked -together from the office, and John Dixon called a cab, in which they -rode to Craven Street. On the road Rathbeal would have continued to -speak of the mission he had undertaken, but John Dixon said, "Wait -till we get to my rooms; these confounded wheels make conversation -difficult." His voice, as he made this observation, was entirely -different from the professional voice he had adopted in the office; -there was a frank heartiness in it which attracted Rathbeal favorably, -and he deferred to his companion's wish and said nothing more till -they arrived at Craven Street. - -"Sit down, Mr. Rathbeal," said John Dixon. "Let me offer you a cigar. -Now we can speak openly; I am no longer a lawyer; I am Robert -Grantham's friend. You look surprised. I have a very close interest in -the news you have brought me, and if you have spoken the truth--pardon -me for saying this; I am justified by the nature of the -circumstances--I may be able to serve him, and shall be glad to do so. -If I understand aright, you and he are intimate friends." - -"We have been intimate friends for years. There is no man living for -whom I have a greater affection." - -"You state that the signature to the document empowering you to act -for him is in his handwriting." - -"I saw him write it." - -"This very day?" - -"This very day. The date is on the paper." - -"Could you take me to him?" - -"I could, but I would not do so without his permission." - -"We are both on guard, as it were, Mr. Rathbeal. I was Robert -Grantham's schoolfellow." - -"That is a piece of news," said Rathbeal, and added significantly, "He -had other schoolfellows." - -"Shall we say one especially?" - -"Yes, we will say that." - -"Whose name you know?" - -"Whose name I know." - -"I am tempted to make a curious proposition to you, which if you -accede to, and it turns out successful, may satisfy each of us that we -may work together on behalf of one whose career has been unfortunate -and unhappy." - -"Make your proposition, sir." - -"One other of Robert Grantham's schoolfellows has been referred to. We -will each write down his name on separate pieces of paper, which we -will exchange. If the name is the same, we can proceed with our -conversation with less reserve." - -"I agree, sir," said Rathbeal, and wrote the name that was in his -mind. - -John Dixon did the same, and when they exchanged papers they saw that -the name they had penciled was "Fox-Cordery." - -"Could we exchange opinions of this gentleman on the same plan?" asked -John Dixon. - -"I will give you mine, sir, byword of mouth. The gentleman, as you -call him, is a reptile in human shape. To touch his hand in friendship -is a degradation." - -"The terms are strong, but he has proved deserving of them. The -peculiar circumstances of my connection with him would have made the -expression of my opinion more temperate. You must be aware of the -imperative necessity of carrying the disclosure of the existence of -Robert Grantham to other ears, even though he persists in keeping -himself in concealment." - -"No, sir, I am aware of no such necessity," said Rathbeal. "For -reasons best known to himself, Mr. Fox-Cordery desired the death of -Mr. Grantham. Some short time since, disturbed probably by something -that had come to his ears, he paid me a visit to assure himself that -Mr. Grantham was not of this world. I refused to betray the confidence -reposed in me by my friend, and Mr. Fox-Cordery went away no wiser, -for any information he received from me, than he came." - -"Are you quite honest," said John Dixon rather sternly, "in saying -that you are not aware of the necessity for Mr. Grantham making his -existence known to certain persons?" - -"Perfectly honest, sir. Mr. Grantham is alone in the world; no one has -the least claim upon him, and whatever judgment you may pass upon him, -he has a distinct right to do as he pleases with himself and his -identity." - -"Have you no thought for his wife and child?" asked John Dixon. "Do -you really maintain that a husband and a father has the right to -assist by his own premeditated action in the lie that his wife is a -widow and his child an orphan?" - -"I should be sorry to maintain an assumption so monstrous. We cannot -assist each other by playing at cross-purposes, which is what we -appear to be doing. Mr. Grantham, I repeat, is alone in the world. He -has no wife and child." - -"He has no wife and child!" exclaimed John Dixon, in amazement. - -"Unhappily, he has lost them, and it is the distressing circumstances -of this sad loss that has made him what he is--an outcast on the face -of the earth. As we have gone so far, sir, I may tell you that Mr. -Grantham has no secrets from me. He has revealed to me all the -sorrowful circumstances of his life, and he has drained the bitter cup -of agony and remorse. I trust to you, sir, to keep this confidence -sacred. You have wrung it out of me, and it must go no farther. If Mr. -Grantham consents to see you, and if then he confides to you what he -has confided to me, you will receive from him a full verification of -my statements. Will you now, sir, give me the particulars of the -legacy that has been left to him?" - -It was impossible for John Dixon to doubt that Rathbeal was speaking -without guile or deceit. His manly, sympathetic voice, the frankness -of his manner, and his honest look carried conviction with them. - -"We will speak of the legacy presently," he said. "There is a mystery -here which must first be cleared up. From whom did you receive the -information that Mr. Robert Grantham's wife and child were dead?" - -"From his own lips." - -"How did he obtain the information?" - -"It came through Mr. Fox-Cordery." - -"Do you tell me this seriously," asked John Dixon, pale with -excitement, "or are you inventing a fantastic and horrible tale for -some purpose of your own?" - -"I have no purpose of my own to serve," replied Rathbeal. "I am here -to serve a noble and suffering man, who erred grievously in years gone -by, and who is now passing his life in the work of expiation. Your -words, your manner, point to a mystery indeed--a mystery it is out of -my power to pierce. I scarcely know what to say, what to think. You -could not demand from me a sacrifice I would be unwilling to make if I -could assist in bringing comfort to my friend's heart. Trust me, sir; -I am worthy of trust. Do not speak to me in metaphor; but explain to -me the meaning of words I cannot at present understand." - -During the last few moments there had dawned upon John Dixon a light -in which Mr. Fox-Cordery's villainous duplicity was to some extent -made clear, and he resolved to avail himself of Rathbeal's assistance -to bring him to justice. A husband who believed that those he loved -were in their grave, a wife who believed herself widowed, a child who -believed she was an orphan--the figures of these three wronged beings -rose before him, and appealed to him to take up their cause and bring -the truth to light. - -"If I were to tell you," he said slowly, "that I have this day written -to Robert Grantham's wife, informing her of the legacy left to her -husband, and asking for her instructions thereon, what would you say?" - -Hitherto Rathbeal had preserved his calmness, but it was his turn now -to exhibit agitation. - -"You have written to Robert Grantham's wife!" he exclaimed. "To Robert -Grantham's wife, who is in her grave!" - -"She lives," said John Dixon, "and is now, with her child, in Mr. -Fox-Cordery's house." - -"The child's name, Clair?" - -"The child's name, Clair," said John Dixon. "The time for concealment -is over; plain-speaking is now the order of the day, and Justice our -watchword. Tell me all you know; you shall receive a like confidence -from me." - -Thereupon the men related to each other all they knew of husband, -wife, and child; and when their stories were told Mr. Fox-Cordery's -wiles were fully exposed. Uncertain on the spur of the moment what -action it was advisable to take, they pledged each other to secrecy -for two days, by which time they would have devised a plan to unmask -the traitor. Their reason for resolving not to communicate their -discoveries immediately to Robert Grantham was that they feared he -would do some rash action which would put Mr. Fox-Cordery on his -guard, and give him an opportunity to crawl out of the net he had -woven around these innocent beings, and which now was closing round -himself. Cooler brains than his should devise a fitting means of -exposure, and should bring retribution upon the traitor and schemer. -This decided, they talked of minor matters affecting the main issue. -John Dixon expressed a wish to see Robert Grantham without himself -being seen--for even now at odd moments a kind of wondering doubt -stole upon him whether all he had heard was true--and Rathbeal, ripe -in expedients, suggested the way to this. - -"At ten o'clock to-night," he said, "come to the entrance to Charing -Cross Station, and I will pass you in the company of Robert Grantham; -then you will have an opportunity of seeing him. Do not accost us; but -having satisfied yourself, take your departure. I can easily manage to -bring Grantham to the spot, and to-morrow I will call upon you at any -hour you name." - -Upon this understanding they separated, Rathbeal well satisfied with -his day's work, and glowing with anticipation of the enemy's -overthrow. - -"You do wrong to make enemies, shrewd sir" (thus his thoughts ran); -"they are more zealous against you, more determined for victory, when -they scent the coming battle. You are a fool, shrewd sir, for all your -cleverness. Your sun is setting, and you see not the shadows beyond. -But the veil shall soon be drawn by willing hands. With what truth -could Robert say: - - - "I, as thou knowest, went forth, and my heart with sorrow oppressed, - Where ruthless Fate had bestowed what I needed for life and rest. - - -We are but instruments in the hands of Fate. Sooner or later the ax -shall fall." - -He had an idle hour before his appointment with Robert Grantham, and -instinctively he had turned his steps in the direction of Mr. -Fox-Cordery's house. As he walked on the opposite side of the street -he saw a miserably-clad woman, whose face, equally with her dress, was -a melancholy index to her woeful state, standing at the door, -exchanging words with a servant who had responded to her knock. -Crossing the road, he heard something of what was passing between -them, and learned that Mr. Fox-Cordery was in the country. Closer -contact with the woman disclosed more plainly to him that she was -destitute and in sore trouble, and he was particularly struck at the -half-defiant and wholly reckless tone in which she spoke. The door was -shut upon her, and she was left standing in the street. Then he -observed that she directed a threatening and despairing look at the -house; and, as she was walking slowly away, he went up and asked her -if he could be of any assistance to her, and whether she would tell -him what she wanted with Mr. Fox-Cordery. It was Martha he accosted, -but she would have nothing to say to him. Bidding him sullenly to mind -his own business, she quickened her steps to a run and disappeared. He -reproached himself afterward for not hastening after her, and tempting -her with a bribe; for he felt that the woman had some bitter grievance -against Mr. Fox-Cordery, and that she could have been of assistance in -bringing him to bay. But he shrugged his shoulders, muttering "What -is, is; what will be, will be," and followed in the direction she had -taken, without, however, seeing her again. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. -Do you remember Billy's last prayer? - - -At ten o'clock that night Rathbeal and Robert Grantham were at Charing -Cross Station, as he had engaged they should be. He had no difficulty -in wooing Grantham to the neighborhood, in which they had taken many a -stroll on leisure nights. He had given his friend an unfaithful -version of his interview with the lawyers, saying there was a -difficulty in obtaining the information he required, and that he was -to call upon them again to-morrow. - -"There is a small sum of money attaching to the business," he said, -"but we must wait for the precise particulars. It is likely you will -have to put in an appearance." - -"I will do whatever you advise," said Grantham, "but assist in keeping -me out of it till the last moment." - -Rathbeal promised, and they strolled to and fro, westward to Trafalgar -Square, eastward not farther than Buckingham Street, conversing, as -was their wont, on the typical signs of life that thronged this -limited space. Robert Grantham was always deeply impressed by these -signs which, in their contrasts of joy and misery, and of wealth and -poverty, furnish pregnant pictures of the extremes of human existence. -Grantham was saying something to this effect when he paused before a -white-faced, raggedly-dressed child--no other than Little Prue--who -had some boxes of matches in her hands, and was saying to a woman who -had also paused to observe her: - -"Kind lady! Father's dead, and mother's laying ill of a fever, and -baby's dying 'cause we ain't 'ad nothink to eat since yesterday!" - -The woman gave Little Prue a penny, and the next moment a man stepped -to her side and snatched the penny from her hand, the child making no -objection. - -"A suggestive scene," said Rathbeal. "The brute is the girl's father, -I suppose, and she stands there in the gutter by his directions, -probably repeating the speech he has drilled into her. Does not such a -picture tempt you not to give? Is it not almost a justification for -the existence of institutions which contend that beggary is a -preventable disease?" - -"Not in my eyes," replied Robert Grantham. "I have no sympathy with -anti-natural societies, organized for the suppression of benevolent -impulse. The endeavor to deaden charitable feeling, and to inculcate -into kindly-hearted people that pity must be guided by a kind of -mathematical teaching, is a deplorable mistake. Carry such a teaching -out to its natural end, and the sweetest influences of our nature -would be lost. Seeing what I have seen, I would not give to that poor -child, but I would take her away from the brute: and the first thing I -would do would be to set her down before a hot, wholesome meal. Poor -little waif! See, Rathbeal, the brute is on the watch on the opposite -side. Now, if Providence would take him in hand, and deal out to him -what he deserves, we might give the child a foretaste of heaven." - -Rathbeal, looking to the opposite side of the road, saw John Dixon -approaching them, and in order that he should have a clear view of -Grantham he took his friend's arm, and proceeded onward a few yards to -a spot which was brilliantly lighted up. John Dixon passed them -slowly, and exchanged a look of recognition with Rathbeal, which -Grantham did not observe. - -"It is time to get home," said Rathbeal, who, now that John Dixon was -gone, saw no reason to linger. - -"A moment, Rathbeal," said Grantham. "I can't get that child out of my -head. Is there no way of doing her an act of kindness without the -intervention of the brute?" - -Little Prue had just finished another appeal in a weak, languid voice, -addressed to no one in particular. She appeared to be dazed as the -words dropped slowly from her bloodless lips. She could scarcely keep -her eyes open; her frail body began to sway. - -"She is fainting," said Rathbeal hurriedly; "the child is overpowered -by want and fatigue." - -The brute on the opposite side saw this also, and he started forward, -not impelled by pity, but with the intention of keeping Little Prue's -strength in her by means of threats. A judgment fell upon him. It was -as if Providence had heard what Robert Grantham said, and had taken -him in hand; for as he was crossing the road in haste he got tangled -in a conflict of cabs and omnibuses, and was knocked to the ground. -Rathbeal darted forward to see what had happened to him, while -Grantham, taking Little Prue's hand, said some gentle words to her, -which she was too exhausted to understand. A great crowd had assembled -on the spot where the brute had fallen, and Rathbeal, returning, -whispered to Grantham that he had been run over. - -"What are they doing with him?" asked Grantham. - -"They are carrying him to Charing Cross Hospital." - -"He will be all right there. If we want to inquire after him we can do -so to-morrow. Let us look after the child." - -She needed looking after; but for Grantham's sustaining arm she would -have sunk into the gutter. - -"I know the hospital to take her to," said Grantham, "and the medicine -she needs." - -With Little Prue in his arms, he plunged into a narrow street, -accompanied by Rathbeal, and entered a common restaurant, where he -ordered a pot of tea, bread and butter, and a chop. The swift motion -through the air had done something to revive Little Prue, the tea and -food did the rest; and presently she was eating and drinking as only -one who was famished could. The men looked on in wondering pity, and -did not interrupt her engrossing labors. It was not until nature was -satisfied that she thought of her father; a look of terror flashed -into her eyes. - -"What's the matter, child?" asked Robert Grantham. - -"Father'll be the death of me!" she replied. - -"Don't be frightened; he will not hurt you." - -"Are you sure, sir? You don't know father!" - -"I am quite sure; we have seen him." - -This satisfied Little Prue, and the look of terror changed to one of -gratitude. - -"Thank yer kindly, sir," she said. "I think I should 'ave died if I -'adn't 'ad somethink to eat. It's a long time since I had sech a -tuck-out. I couldn't eat another mouthful if I tried." - -"And now, child, tell us where you live, and whether you have a -mother." - -"Oh, yes, sir, I've got a mother; and I live in Roxy's Rents." - -"I've heard of the place," said Rathbeal; "it's in Lambeth. We will -see the little one home." - -"Thank yer, sir. I don't think I could find my way without father. -Oh!" she cried, looking about distressfully, "where's my matches?" - -They had dropped from her hands when she was falling, and the friends -had not stopped to pick them up. - -"Never mind your matches." - -"But father'll wollup me if I don't sell 'em before I go 'ome! I can't -go 'ome till I've got a shilling!" - -"You shall have the shilling. Here it is. We will take care of it till -we get to Roxy's Rents, and you shall give it to your mother. What is -your name, child?" - -"Prue, sir; Little Prue." - -Robert Grantham laid his hand on Rathbeal's arm. - -"Little Prue!" he said. "That is poor Billy's sweetheart, that he -spoke of with his dying breath." - -He addressed the child: - -"Did you know a poor boy called Billy?" - -"Oh, yes, sir; we used to play together. He sed he'd marry me when he -grew up, if he could get a suit of clothes. What's become of Billy, -sir? I ain't seen 'im for a long time." - -"He is happier than he was, my child," said Grantham; "all his -troubles are over." - -"I'm glad to 'ear that, sir. I wish mine and mother's was." - -"They will be, one day. Now, child, we must be moving." - -Little Prue rose and put her hand in Grantham's and they left the -restaurant. They rode to Lambeth by 'bus and tram, and then, being in -streets familiar to her, Little Prue conducted them to Roxy's Rents. -Her mother's room was in darkness. - -"Are yer coming in, sir?" - -"Yes; we will see your mother before we leave you." - -"Mother, mother!" cried Prue, opening the door. - -Mrs. Flower started up and, running to the door, caught her child in -her arms. - -"O Prue, Prue! where have you been? I was afraid you were lost!" - -"I should 'ave been, mother, if it 'adn't been for the gentlemen." - -"The gentlemen?" - -She could not see them. - -"Do not be alarmed," said Robert Grantham. "Your little one was not -well, and we brought her home. She is all right now." - -"You're very good, sir; I'm ever so much obliged to you." - -"Oh, mother, I've 'ad sech a supper! Did yer get the money for the -washing?" - -She was accustomed to take her part in these domestic matters, which -were, in a sense, vital. - -"Don't worry, child, before the gentlemen." - -"But did yer, mother?" persisted Little Prue, thinking of the chances -of food for to-morrow. - -"No. There, child, let me alone." - -"Have you a candle in the place?" asked Grantham, suspecting the state -of affairs. - -"No, sir. I am really ashamed----" - -"We owe your little one a shilling for some matches," said Grantham, -pitying her confusion, and slipping the money into her hand. "Is it -too late to buy some candles?" - -He would have taken his departure under these awkward circumstances, -but he considered it his duty to tell Mrs. Flower of the accident that -had happened to her husband. - -"One of the lodgers will sell me one, sir, if you don't mind waiting." - -"We will wait." - -"Martha!" called Mrs. Flower; but Martha was asleep, and did not -speak. "It's my sister, sir; I thought she might be awake. I won't be -gone a minute." - -She ran to another room, and obtaining the candle, returned with it -alight. Her visitors sighed at the misery it displayed. Martha's arms -were spread upon the table, and her head rested upon them. Prue pulled -her mother's dress. - -"Who is she, mother?" - -"Your aunt Martha." - -Prue went to the sleeping woman, and tried to get a glimpse of her -face. - -"I have bad news to tell you about your husband," said Grantham, -speaking low, so that the child should not hear. "He has met with an -accident, and has been taken to Charing Cross Hospital." - -He broke the news to her in a gentle voice, and she received it -without emotion. Her husband had crushed all love for him from her -breast long since, and she had felt for years that it would be a happy -release if he were dead. - -"Is he much hurt, sir?" she asked, with tearless eyes. - -"I do not know. He was knocked down by a cab, and was carried to the -hospital at once. He will be better cared for there than here." - -"Yes, sir; I have no money to pay for doctors. Did Prue see the -accident?" - -"She knows nothing of it." - -"Drip--drip--drip! Oh, God! will it never stop?" - -It was Martha who was speaking. The men were awed by the despairing -voice. - -"It's my sister, sir; I told you, I think. She came upon me quite -sudden to-night. I haven't seen her for years. She's in trouble. -Martha, Martha!" - -She shook the woman, who started wildly to her feet and looked this -way and that with swift glances, more like a hunted animal than a -human creature. - -Rathbeal uttered an exclamation. It was the woman he had seen that -afternoon standing at Mr. Fox-Cordery's door. - -"Fate!" he said, and advanced toward her. - -A violent spasm of fear seized Martha, and shook her in every limb. -Crazed perhaps by her dreams, or terrified by the suspicion of a -hidden evil in the appearance of Rathbeal, whom she instantly -recognized, and who must have tracked her down for some new -oppression, she retreated as he advanced, and watching her -opportunity, rushed past him from the room, and flew into the dark -shelter of the streets. They gazed after her in astonishment, and then -followed her into the alley, and thence into the wider thoroughfare, -but they saw no trace of her. - -"Her troubles have driven her mad," said Mrs. Flower, "and no wonder. -How she's lived through them is a mystery. She's in such a state that -I'm afraid she'll do herself a mischief." - -"I intended her no harm," said Rathbeal. "I saw her once before -to-day, and if my suspicions are well founded, it may be in my power -to render her a service, even to obtain some kind of justice for her, -if her troubles are caused by a man." - -"A man, you call him!" said Mrs. Flower, with bitter emphasis. - -"Do you know him?" - -"I heard his name for the first time to-night." - -"Is it Fox-Cordery?" - -In the dark he felt Robert Grantham give a start, and he pressed his -arm as a warning to be silent. - -"That's the villain that's brought her to this; that took her away -from her home and disgraced her, and then left her to starve. If -there's justice in heaven, he ought to be made suffer for it." - -"There's justice in heaven," said Rathbeal, "and it shall overtake -him. Your sister needs a man to champion her cause; I offer myself as -that man. Without a powerful defender, the reptile who has brought -this misery upon her will spurn and laugh at her. It is too late to -talk together to-night; your child is waiting for you, and your sister -may return at any moment. After a night's rest, she will listen to -me--will believe in me. May I call upon you to-morrow morning early?" - -"Yes, sir, as early as you like. I get up at six. You speak fair, and -you've been kind to Prue. God bless you for your goodness! I shall -have to go to the hospital in the morning, but I'll wait at home till -ten for you." - -"Very well. Meanwhile, this may be of service to you." - -He gave her two shillings, and wishing her goodnight, the friends took -their departure. - -"What does all this mean, Rathbeal?" asked Robert Grantham. "I am -wrapt in mystery." - -"You trust me, Robert?" - -"I would trust you with my life." - -"Then believe that I have my reasons for keeping silence to-night. -Before long the mystery shall be explained to you. I am working for -your happiness, Robert." - -"For my happiness?" echoed Grantham, with a groan. - -"You are not a skeptic? You believe in eternal mercy and justice?" - -"I do, God help me!" - -"Hold fast to that belief. The clouds are breaking, and I see a light -shining on your life. Do you remember poor Billy's last prayer?' O -Lord God, give Mr. Gran all he wants, and a bit over!' The Lord of the -Universe heard that prayer. Ask me no questions, but before you go to -bed to-night pray with a thankful heart; for the age of miracles is -not yet over, Robert, my friend." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. -Friends in Council. - - -Rathbeal presented himself at Mrs. Flower's room as the clock struck -nine. In anticipation of his visit, the woman had "tidied" up the -apartment, and Little Prue looked quite neat, with her hands and face -washed, and her hair properly combed and brushed. Rathbeal's two -shillings had enabled them to have a sufficient breakfast, and the -child, naturally shy, raised her eyes gratefully to her benefactor. - -"Well, little one," he said, pinching her cheek, "do you feel better -this morning?" - -"Oh, ever so much, sir!" replied Little Prue. - -He looked round for Martha, and Mrs. Flower told him sorrowfully that -her sister had not come back. - -"I shall be worried out of my life till I see her, sir," she said. - -"We will try and find her for you," he said. "And now tell me -everything you know concerning her." - -She related all that she had learned from Martha; and when she had -done he plied her with questions, which she answered freely. Having -obtained all the information it was in her power to give him, and -leaving his address with her, he rode to Craven Street, his -appointment with John Dixon having been made for an early hour. He was -received with cordiality all John Dixon's suspicions being now quite -dispelled. - -"I recognized Robert Grantham the moment I saw him," he said, "thanks -to his wearing no hair on his face; but it bears the marks of deep -suffering." - -"He has passed through the fire," said Rathbeal. "I have more news for -you. Another weapon against Mr. Fox-Cordery is placed in our hands." - -With that he gave an account of his adventures with Martha and Little -Prue, to which John Dixon listened with grave attention, and then said -he had also news to impart. - -"It will be necessary, I think," he said, "to strike earlier than we -expected. You will be surprised to hear that I expect shortly to be -connected with Mr. Fox-Cordery by marriage. I have no wish to spare -him on that account, but for the sake of my intended wife I should -wish, if possible, to avoid a public exposure. Justice must be done to -Robert Grantham and his wife and child--that is imperative; and if we -can compel Mr. Fox-Cordery privately to make some reparation to the -poor woman who has so strangely been introduced into this bad -business, so much the better. It is likely, however, that she will -disappear from the scene; my opinion is that she will not return to -her sister. So far as she is concerned, there is no law to touch her -betrayer: her case, unhappily, is a common one, and he can snap his -fingers at her; and, moreover, if she personally annoy him, he can -prosecute her. But he may be willing to sacrifice something to prevent -his name being dragged into the papers. As for any punishment he may -have incurred for his infamous conduct toward the Granthams, the -choice of visiting it upon him must be left to your friend. Speaking -as a lawyer, we have no standing in the matter: it is not us he has -wronged; we are simple lookers on." - -"May I ask how you expect to be connected with Mr. Fox-Cordery by -marriage?" - -"There is now no secret about it. He has a sister, whom he has -oppressed after his own brutal fashion since she was a child. That two -natures so opposite as theirs should be born of the same parents is a -mystery beyond my comprehension, but so it is. She is the -personification of sweetness and charity, but I will not dilate upon -her virtues. It is enough that I am engaged to be married to her, and -that the engagement is viewed with intense dislike by her brother and -her mother, both of whom would, I have not the least doubt, he -rejoiced to hear that I had met my death in a railway accident or by -some equally agreeable means. It is, I believe, chiefly because of her -liking for my intended wife that Mrs. Grantham accepted the invitation -of Mr. Fox-Cordery to become a guest in the house by the river which -he has taken for the summer months. Besides, you must bear in mind -that he is Mrs. Grantham's business agent, and that she is ignorant of -his true character. I have an idea that her eyes are being opened, for -I have received a letter from my intended this morning in which she -informs me that Mrs. Grantham is in great trouble, and wishes to -consult me privately. She asks me to meet her to-night near her -brother's house, when I shall hear what the trouble is. I am prepared -for some fresh villainy on the part of Mr. Fox-Cordery, who has -entertained a passion for Mrs. Grantham for years. He knew her in her -maiden days, and would have paid open suit to her, but her love was -given to Robert Grantham." - -"Do you tell me that he desires to marry her now?" - -"I understand from Charlotte--the name of my intended; I cannot speak -of her as Miss Fox-Cordery, there is something hateful in the -name--that it is his ardent wish, and that he has set his heart -upon it. That may be the reason for his taking the house by the river -and for his wish to make Mrs. Grantham his guest there. Part of a -plan--and his plans are generally well laid. He hoped to bring his -suit to a happy ending, for him, before the termination of her visit." - -"But Robert Grantham lives!" exclaimed Rathbeal. - -"He believes him to be dead, remember; you yourself told me so." - -"Yes, yes; I was forgetting for the moment. I see now why he came to -me; the motive of all his actions is clear. But this must not be -allowed to go on any longer. In justice to her, in justice to Robert, -the truth must no longer be withheld." - -"My own opinion: there has been but little time lost; it is only -yesterday that you and I first met. My idea is, to bring matters to a -conclusion this very night. I shall go to meet my intended, and hear -what she has to say. I am not sure whether Mrs. Grantham will be with -her. If she is not, I will not leave without an interview in which she -shall learn the solemn truth. It will be a difficult task to prepare -her for it, but it is a duty that must be performed. Meanwhile you -must prepare Robert Grantham for the wonderful happiness in store for -him. Do you think it advisable that we shall go down together?" - -"It will be best; and on our way we can determine upon our course of -action. I imagine that we shall have to keep in the background until -we receive an intimation from you to appear; but we can talk of all -that by-and-by. I have paved the way with Robert already, and he is -now impatiently awaiting me. Ah-ha! Mr. Fox-Cordery, when you weave a -web, nothing ever escapes from it! A stronger hand than yours has -woven for you a web, and scattered yours to the four winds of heaven. -I have tortured him already with letters, trusting to Fate to aid me, -and he stands, unmasked, defeated, disgraced for evermore." - -This outburst was enigmatical to John Dixon, but time was too valuable -for him to ask for an explanation. There was much to do, and every -minute of the day would be occupied. He made an appointment to meet -Rathbeal and Grantham in the evening, and they parted to go upon their -separate tasks. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI -Mr. Fox-Cordery's Master-Stroke. - - -Mr. Fox-Cordery had made the move he had thought of to insure success. -On the morning of the day that Charlotte wrote to John Dixon to come -to her, he sent word to Mrs. Grantham that he wished to see her upon -business of importance, either in his room or hers. She sent word back -that she would see him in her apartment, and he went there to deal a -master-stroke. Her child Clair was with her, and Charlotte also; and -he drew Clair to him, and spent a few moments in endearments which -manifestly did not give the girl any pleasure. He had not succeeded in -making himself a favorite with her, and as soon as she could she -escaped from him and ran to her mother's side. He was quite aware that -Clair was not fond of him, but he made no protest; the future should -pay him for all. Mrs. Grantham and Charlotte were both employed in -needlework, and they did not lay it aside when he entered. - -"Charlotte!" he said, sternly. - -"Yes, Fox," she answered. - -He motioned with his head to the door, indicating that she was to -leave the room. Charlotte rose immediately. - -"Where are you going, Charlotte?" asked Mrs. Grantham. - -He replied for her. - -"I wish to speak to you alone," he said. "Take Clair with you, -Charlotte, and go and gather some flowers." - -"You can speak before them," said Mrs. Grantham; "they will be very -quiet." - -"Yes, mamma," said Clair, "we will be very quiet." - -"What I have to say is for your ears alone," he said, and he motioned -again to the door. The masterfulness of the order did not escape Mrs. -Grantham. She moved her chair to the window, which looked out upon the -lawn, and from which she could also see the bridge. - -"Go with Charlotte, my dear," she said to Clair, "but keep on the -lawn, so that I can see you." - -"Yes, mamma." - -"My dear Mrs. Grantham," commenced Mr. Fox-Cordery, in a bland voice -of false pity, "I have deplorable news to convey to you. A short time -since, when I had the honor of making a proposal to you----" - -The look she gave him stopped him. "If you are about to renew that -proposal, Mr. Fox-Cordery, I must ask you to go no further. I gave you -my answer then; it would be my answer now." - -"I am unfortunate in my choice of words," he said, losing the guard he -had kept upon himself during her visit. "I did not wish to shock you -too suddenly by disclosing abruptly what it is my duty, as your man of -business, to disclose." - -"To shock me too suddenly!" she said, pausing in her work. - -"It was my desire. Believe me, I am your friend, as I have ever been; -make any call you like upon me, and you will not find me unwilling to -respond. But to come down so low in the world, to lose one's all, to -be suddenly beggared----" - -He put his hand to his eyes, and watched slyly through his fingers. -Her work dropped into her lap; her mouth trembled, but she did not -speak. - -"It might have been borne with resignation," he continued, "if one did -not have a beloved child to care for and protect from the hardships of -a cruel world. In your place I can imagine how it would affect me, how -I should tremble at what is before me. Love is all-powerful, but there -are circumstances in which it brings inexpressible grief to the heart. -How shall I tell you? I cannot, I cannot!" - -He rose from his chair, and paced the room with downcast head, but he -kept his stealthy watch upon her face all the time. He was -disconcerted that she did not speak, that she uttered no cry of alarm. -He expected her to assist him through the scene he had acted to -himself a dozen times. He had put words into her mouth, natural words -which should by rights have been spoken in the broken periods of his -revelation; but she sat quite silent, waiting for him to proceed. - -"Still, it must be told, and should have been told before. I grieve to -say that you have lost your fortune, and that, unless you have -resources with which I am unacquainted--and with all my heart I hope -you have--your future and the future of your dear child is totally -unprovided for." - -And having come to this termination, he threw himself into his chair -with the air of a man whose own hopes and prospects were utterly -blighted. She found her voice. - -"How have I lost my fortune, sir?" she asked with dry lips. Her throat -was parched, and her husky voice had a note of pain in it which -satisfied him that he had succeeded in terrifying her. "You had the -sole control of it." - -"Alas, yes! How ardently do I wish that it had been in the control of -another man, to whom you were indifferent, and who could have told you -calmly what it shakes me to the soul to tell! I have also lost, but I -can afford it; it is only a portion of my fortune that has gone down -in wreck. I have still a competence left that makes me independent of -the buffets of the world, that enables me to provide a home for those -I love." - -"I fail to understand you, sir," she said, glancing from the window at -her child, who was walking on the lawn with Charlotte, and who, seeing -her mother looking at her, smiled and kissed her hand to her. "You -have not yet informed me how I have lost my fortune." - -"You made investments----" - -"Acting upon your advice, sir." - -"True; I believed my advice to be good, and I invested part of my -money also in the same stocks and shares. Unhappily the papers you -have signed----" - -"Always by your directions, sir. You informed me that the investments -were good, and that I need have no anxiety." - -"I cannot deny it; I was wrong, foolishly, madly wrong. I thought your -fortune would be doubled, trebled. It has turned out disastrously, -every shilling you possessed is lost. And, unhappily, as I was saying, -the papers you have signed have involved you beyond the extent of your -means. It racks me to think of what is before you, unless you accept -the assistance which a friend is ready to tender you. A life of -poverty, of privation for you and your dear child--it maddens me to -think of it!" - -"For how long have you known this?" she asked faintly. - -It was the question he wished her to put to him. - -"I knew it," he said humbly, "when I made the proposal which you -rejected. I knew then that you were ruined, and it was my desire to -spare you. Had you answered as my heart led me to hope you would have -done, I still should have kept the secret from your knowledge until -the day that made you mine, to love, to shelter, to protect. It is the -truth, dear Mrs. Grantham--it is the truth, on the word of an -honorable gentleman." - -He put his hand to his heart, and sighed heavily. - -"I cannot but believe you," said Mrs. Grantham, pondering more upon -his manner than the words he uttered; it seemed to her as if a light -had suddenly descended upon her, through which she saw for the first -time the true character of the man she had trusted. "I cannot but -believe you when you tell me I am ruined, and that starvation lies -before me and my child." - -"Alas!" he put in here. "Your child, your dear Clair!" - -"I had no understanding of business, and I relied implicitly upon you. -I never questioned, never for a moment doubted." - -"Nor I," he murmured. "Am I not a sufferer, like yourself? Does that -not prove how confident I was that I was acting for the best? Call me -foolish, headstrong, if you will; inflict any penance you please upon -me, and I am by your side to bear it." - -She shivered inwardly at the insidious tenderness he threw into his -voice, but she was at the same time careful to conceal this feeling. -She was in his power; her whole future was in his hands, and with it -the future of her beloved Clair. She had no other friend; she could -not think of another being in the world whom she could ask for help at -this critical juncture. It seemed as if the very bread she and her -child ate from this day forth might depend upon him who had brought -ruin upon them. - -"Yes," he continued, "I will not desert you. A single word from your -lips, and your misfortune will become a blessing." - -"Is nothing left, sir?" she asked. "Have I really lost everything?" - -"You are cruel to make me repeat what I have said, what I have -endeavored to make clear to you. You have not only lost everything, -but are responsible for obligations it is, I am afraid, out of your -power to discharge. Mrs. Grantham, will you listen to me?" - -"I have listened patiently, sir. Have you any other misfortunes to -make clear to me?" - -"None, I am thankful to say. You know all; there is nothing to add to -the sad news I have been compelled to impart. Think only of yourself -and your dear child." - -"I am thinking of her, sir." - -"She is not strong; she has not been accustomed to endure poverty. Can -we not save her from its stings? Is it not a duty?" - -"To me, sir, a sacred duty, if I can see a way." - -"Let me show you the way," he said eagerly. "Dear Mrs. Grantham, my -feelings are unchanged. Even in your maiden days I loved you, but -stifled my love and kept it buried in my breast when I saw that -another had taken the place it was the wish of my heart to occupy. You -gave to another the love for which I yearned, and I looked on and -suffered in silence. Is not my devotion worthy of a reward? It is in -your power to bestow it; it is in your power to save dear Clair from a -life of misery. I renew the offer I made you. Promise to become my -wife, and the grievous loss you have sustained need not give you a -moment's anxiety." - -The artificial modulation of his tones, his elaborate actions, and his -evident desire to impress her with a sense of the nobility of his -offer, filled her with a kind of loathing for him. It was as though he -held out an iron chain, and warned her that if she refused to be bound -she was condemning her child to poverty and despair. But agonizing as -was this reflection, she could not speak the words he wished to hear; -she felt that she _must_ have time to think. - -"What you have told me," she said, "is so unexpected, I was so little -prepared for it, that it would not be fair to answer you immediately. -My mind is confused; pray do not press me; in a little while I shall -be calmer, and then----" - -"And then," he said, taking up her words and thinking the battle won, -"you will see that it is the only road of happiness left open to you, -and you will give me a favorable answer. We will tread this road -together, and enjoy life's pleasures. Shall we say this evening?" She -shook her head. "To-morrow, then?" - -"Give me another day," she pleaded. - -"Till the day after to-morrow, by all means," he said gayly. "It would -be ungallant to refuse. But, dear Mrs. Grantham--may I not rather say -dear Lucy?--it must be positively the day after to-morrow. I shall -count the minutes. To be long in your society in a state of suspense, -or in the knowledge that you refuse to be mine, would be more than I -can bear." - -She silently construed these words; they conveyed a threat. If in two -days she did not give him a favorable answer, she and Clair would have -to leave the house at once, and go forth into the world, stripped and -beggared. - -"And now I will leave you," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. -"Do not look at the cloud, dear Lucy--look only at the silver lining." - -He was about to go, when she said: - -"Mr. Fox-Cordery, if I wish to speak to a friend, can I do so here, in -your house?" - -"Why, surely here," he replied, wondering who the friend could be, and -feeling it would be best for him that the meeting should be an open -and not a secret one. "Where else but in the home in which you are -mistress?" - -She thanked him, and he kissed her hand again, and looked -languishingly at her lips, and then left her to her reflections. - -She locked her door, and devoted herself to a consideration of her -despairing position. She tried in vain to recollect what papers she -had signed; there had been many from time to time, and she had had -such confidence in the man who had managed her husband's affairs, and -since his death had managed hers, that when he said, "Put your name -here, where my finger is, Mrs. Grantham," she had grown into the habit -of obeying without reading what she signed. The longer she thought, -the more she grew confused. There was but little time for decision, -scarcely two days. Where could she turn for counsel? Where could she -find a friend who might be able to point out a way of escape? She -stood at the window as she asked these questions of herself, and as -her eyes wandered over the prospect they lighted upon Charlotte. The -moment they did so she thought of John Dixon. The questions were -answered. She would implore Charlotte to bring about an interview with -him. - -Under ordinary circumstances she would not have dreamt of asking a -sister of Mr. Fox-Cordery to assist her in opposing his wishes, but -the circumstances were not ordinary. These last few days Mr. -Fox-Cordery and his mother had thrown off the mask in their treatment -of Charlotte, and Mrs. Grantham had noticed with pain the complete -want of affection they displayed. She had spoken sympathetically to -Charlotte of this altered behavior, and Charlotte had answered wearily -that she had been accustomed to it all her life. The pitiful -confession made Mrs. Grantham very tender toward her, and she consoled -Charlotte with much feeling. Then Charlotte poured forth her full -heart, and it needed but little persuasion to cause her to relate the -story of her lifelong oppression. The bond of affection which united -the women was drawn still closer, and they exchanged confidences -without reserve. Now, in her own hour of trouble, Mrs. Grantham sought -Charlotte, and confided to her the full extent of the misfortune that -had overtaken her. - -"If I could see your John," she said, "he might be able to advise me -perhaps." - -"I will write to him," said Charlotte impulsively; "he will come at -once." - -And so it was arranged. A little later, Mrs. Grantham said: - -"I must not anger your brother by meeting John secretly. You shall -meet him, and ask him to come and speak to me here in my own room." - -"But may he?" inquired Charlotte. - -"Your brother has given me permission to receive in this house any -friend I wish to consult. There is no one else in the world whose -advice I can rely upon; I am sure your John is a true and sincere -gentleman. Will it make any difference to you, Charlotte, if your -brother discovers that you have assisted to bring about this meeting?" - -"None," replied Charlotte, in a decided tone. "I ought to know him by -this time. He made me a half-promise that he would give me a little -money to buy a few clothes, but the way he has behaved to me lately -proves that he has no intention of helping me. I shall have to go to -John as I am." - -Then the women spent an hour in mutual consolation, and exchanged vows -that nothing should ever weaken their affection for each other. - -"John will be your true friend," said Charlotte, "remember that. You -may believe every word he says. Oh, my dear, I hope things will turn -out better than they look!" - -"I put my trust in God," said Mrs. Grantham solemnly, and, clasping -her hands, raised her eyes in silent prayer. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. -Retribution. - - -At five o'clock in the evening Robert Grantham and Rathbeal joined -John Dixon in his rooms in Craven Street. The revelation which -Rathbeal had made to Grantham had produced a marked change in him. -With wonder and incredulity had he listened at first to the strange -story, but his friend's impressive earnestness had gradually convinced -him that it was no fable which Rathbeal was relating. The first force -of his emotions spent, hope, humility, and thankfulness were expressed -in his face. It seemed to him that the meeting between him and his -wife, which Rathbeal had promised should take place that night, was -like the meeting of two spirits that had been wandering for ages in -darkness. It was not without fear that he looked forward to it. The -sense of the wrong he had inflicted upon the woman he had vowed to -cherish and protect was as strong within him now as it had been -through all these years, from the day upon which he heard that she was -dead. Would she accept his assurance that he had not been false to -her, would she believe in his repentance, would she forgive him? - -"I ask but that," he said to Rathbeal, "and then I shall be -content to go my way, and spend the rest of my life in the task of -self-purification." - -"Hope for something better," Rathbeal replied: "for a reunion of -hearts, for a good woman's full forgiveness, and forgetfulness of the -errors of the past. The clouds have not lifted only to deceive. There -is a bright future before you, my friend." - -"My future is in God's hands," said Grantham. - -"He will direct your wife aright. Hope and believe." - -In this spirit they wended their way to John Dixon's rooms. - -Grantham and he had not met since they left school, but he received -his old schoolfellow as though there had been no break in their early -association. They shook hands warmly, and the look that passed between -Rathbeal and John Dixon told the latter that the truth had been -revealed to the wronged man. They wasted no time in idle conversation, -but started immediately on their journey. - -For a reason which he did not divulge to his companions, John Dixon -had elected to drive to Mr. Fox-Cordery's summer residence; he had a -vague idea that occasion might arise to render it necessary that he -should run off with Charlotte that very night; if so, there was a -carriage, with a pair of smart horses, at his command. The coachman he -had engaged had received his instructions, and when they got out of -the tangle of the crowded thoroughfares the horses galloped freely -along the road. While they proceed upon their way some information -must be given of Martha's movements. - -She had rushed from her sister's room in a state of delirium. Her -privations and sufferings, and the conflicting emotions which tortured -her, had destroyed her mental balance, and she was not responsible for -her actions. She had no settled notion where she was going; the only -motive by which she was guided was her desire to escape from her -fellow-creatures. Instinctively she chose the least frequented roads, -and she stumbled blindly on till she was out of London streets. She -had no food, and no money to purchase it, but she scarcely felt her -hunger. One dominant idea possessed her--under the floating clouds and -with silence all around her, she heard the drip of water. It pierced -the air, it made itself felt as well as heard. Drip, drip, drip! The -sound wooed her on toward the valley of the Thames, and unconsciously -she pursued a route which had been familiar to her in her girlhood's -days. She walked all that night, and through the whole of the -following day, compelled to stop now and again for rest, but doing so -always when there was a danger of her being accosted by persons who -approached her from an opposite direction. Rathbeal, had he been -acquainted with her movements, would have answered the question -whether it was chance or fate that took her in the direction of Mr. -Fox-Cordery's house. When night came on again she was wandering along -the banks of the Thames, within a short distance of the man who had -wrecked her life. She knew that she had reached her haven, and she -only waited for the moment to put her desperate resolve into -execution. The water looked so peaceful and shining! The tide silently -lapped the shore, but she heard the drip, drip, drip of the water. -Death held out its arms to her, and invited her to its embrace. It was -a starlight night, but she saw no stars in heaven. The moon sailed on, -but she saw no light. "I shall soon be at rest." That was her thought, -if it can be said that she thought at all. - -The occupants of a carriage, drawn by a pair of smart horses, saw the -figure of a woman moving slowly on toward the little rustic bridge -which stretched from Mr. Fox-Cordery's lawn to the opposite bank. They -took no notice of her, being entirely occupied with the important -mission upon which they were engaged. They had remarked that it was -fortunate the night was so fine. Could they have heard the sound that -sounded like a death-knell in Martha's ears, they might have changed -their minds, and recognized that no night could be fine which bore so -despairing a message to a mortal's ears. Drip, drip, drip! "I am -coming," whispered Martha to her soul. "I am coming. The water is deep -beneath that bridge!" - -At nine o'clock Robert Grantham and his companions reached their -destination. The coachman drew up at an inn, and the men alighted. - -"Now," said John Dixon, as they strolled toward Mr. Fox-Cordery's -house, "we must be guided by Charlotte's instructions. The night is so -clear that we shall be able to see each other from a distance. You -must not be in sight when Charlotte comes; I must explain matters to -her. The bank by that bridge stands high. Go there and remain till you -hear from me. Before I enter the house I shall have a word to say as -to the method of our proceedings. Someone is coming toward us. Yes, it -is Charlotte. Go at once, and keep wide of her." - -They obeyed, and walked toward the bridge. Martha was on the opposite -side, and perceiving men approaching, she crouched down and waited. - -"John," said Charlotte, in a low, clear voice. - -"Charlotte!" - -Only a moment for a loving embrace, and then they began to converse. -What they said to each other did not occupy many minutes. John Dixon -left her standing alone, and went to his friends. - -"I am going to the house," he said, "and am to speak to Mrs. -Grantham"--how Robert trembled at the utterance of the name!--"in her -room. That is her window; there is a light in the room. If I come to -the window and wave a white handkerchief, follow me into the house -without question. Allow no one to stop you. I do not know how long I -may be there, but I will bring matters to an issue as soon as -possible." - -They nodded compliance, and Robert Grantham breathed a prayer. Then -John Dixon rejoined Charlotte, and they entered the house. - -Martha, crouching by the bridge, heard nothing of this. All she heard -was the drip of water; all she saw were the dark shadows of men on the -opposite side. They would soon be gone, and then, and then---- - -Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother, being closeted together, were not -aware of the entrance of John Dixon. Unobstructed he ascended the -stairs to the first floor, and was conducted to the presence of Mrs. -Grantham. - -What she had to disclose to him, and what he had to disclose to her, -is already known to the reader. She told her story first, and John -Dixon said that, from his knowledge of Mr. Fox-Cordery, he was more -than inclined to believe that her agent had been false to his trust. -He informed her that he had gained an insight into her affairs during -the time he had served Mr. Fox-Cordery, and that their disagreement -had arisen partly from a remonstrance he had made as to his employer's -management of certain speculations. - -"My impression was then," said John Dixon, "that Mr. Fox-Cordery was -exceeding his powers, and that in case of a loss he could be made -responsible for it." - -"God bless you for those words!" exclaimed Mrs. Grantham. "The thought -of being forced into marriage with him makes me shudder. But what can -I do? To see my child in want of food would break my heart." - -"There is no question of a marriage with him," said John Dixon -gravely; his own task was approaching. "It is impossible. I will tell -you why presently, Mrs. Grantham. You will need all your strength. It -is not on your affairs alone that I am here to-night. Before I say -what I am come to say, let us finish with Mr. Fox-Cordery. I am a -partner in a respectable firm of solicitors, and my advice is that you -place your business affairs in our hands. We shall demand papers, and -a strict investigation; and I think I can promise you that we shall be -able to save something substantial for you. Are you agreeable to this -course?" - -"Yes, dear friend, yes." - -"Then I understand from this moment I am empowered to act for you?" - -"It is so," she replied, and thanked Heaven for having sent her this -friend and comforter. - -"Thank Charlotte also," he said. - -Then he began to speak of the important branch of his visit to her. -Delicately and gently he led up to it; with the tenderness of a true -and tender-hearted man he brought the solemn truth before her. With -dilating eyes and throbbing breast she listened to the wonderful -revelation, and to the description of the life her husband had led -since he had received the false news of her death. Much of this he had -learned from Rathbeal, who had armed him with the truth; and as he -went on the scales fell from her eyes, and she saw with the eyes of -her heart the man she had loved, weak, erring, and misguided, but now -truly repentant and reformed, and not the guilty being she had been -led by Mr. Fox-Cordery to believe he was. She had no thought for the -wretch who had worked out his infamous design; she thought only that -Robert was true to her, and that her dear child was not fatherless. -John Dixon gave her time for this to sink into her mind, and then told -her that her husband had accompanied him, and was waiting outside for -the signal of joy. - -"I will go to him! I will go to him!" she cried. - -But John Dixon restrained her. - -"Let him come into the house," he said. "Let your enemy know that he -is here, and that his schemes are foiled. Remember, I am your adviser. -Be guided by me."' - -Trembling in every limb, she went to the window and opened it. - -"Shall I give him the signal?" asked John Dixon. - -"No; I will do it," she replied, and, reaching forth, waved the white -flag of love and forgiveness. - -Robert Grantham, his eyes fixed in painful anxiety upon the window, -was the first to see the signal. With a gasp of joy he started for the -house, and Rathbeal, whose attention just then had been diverted by -the figure of Martha crouching by the bridge, hearing his footsteps, -turned to follow him. At the moment of his doing so, Martha, seeing -them walk away, crept on to the bridge and leaned over. Suddenly she -straightened herself, and raising her arms aloft, whispered softly, -"I'm coming--I'm coming!" and let herself fall into the water. The -heavy splash, accompanied by a muffled scream, reached Rathbeal's ears -before he had proceeded twenty yards. Turning to the bridge, and -missing the figure of the crouching woman, he instinctively divined -what had happened. - -"Don't stop for me," he cried hurriedly to Grantham. "I'll follow -you." - -Then he ran back to the bridge. - -Robert Grantham did not hear him, so absorbed was he in the supreme -moment that was approaching. Had a storm burst upon him, he would -scarcely have been conscious of it. Who was that standing at the -window, waving the handkerchief! It was not John Dixon. His eyes were -dim, his heart palpitated violently, as he fancied he recognized the -form of his wife. If it were so, indeed his hope was answered. He was -met at the door by Charlotte, who led him to the room above. Standing -upon the threshold he saw his wife looking with wistful yearning -toward him--toward her husband who, after these long years, had come -to her, as it were, from the grave. They were spellbound for a few -moments, incapable of speech or motion, each gazing upon the other for -a sign. - -John Dixon stepped noiselessly to Charlotte's side, and the lovers -left the room hand in hand, closing the door gently behind them. - -Husband and wife, so strangely reunited, were alone. - -She was the first to move. Bending forward, she held out her arms, and -her eyes shone with ineffable love; with a sob he advanced, and fell -upon his knees before her. Sinking into a chair, she drew his head to -her breast and folded her arms around him. - -Let the veil fall upon those sacred minutes. Aching hearts were eased, -faith was restored, and Love shed its holy light upon Lucy and Robert. - -"Our child!" he whispered. "Our Clair!" - -"I will take you to her," she said, and led him to the bed where Clair -was sleeping. - -Meanwhile Rathbeal, hastening to the bridge, saw his suspicions -confirmed by the death-bubbles rising to the surface of the water. -With the energy and rapidity of a young man, he tore off his coat and -waistcoat, and plunged into the river. He was a grand swimmer, and he -did not lose his self-possession. He had eyes in his hands and -fingers, and when, after some time had elapsed, he grasped a woman's -hair, he struck out for the bank, and reaching it in safety, drew the -woman after him. She lay inanimate upon the bank, and, clearing his -eyes of the water, he knelt down to ascertain if he had rescued her in -time to save her. He put his ear to her heart, his mouth to her mouth, -but she gave no sign of life. The moon, which had been hidden behind a -cloud, now sailed forth into the clearer space of heaven, and its -beams illumined the woman's face. - -"It is Martha!" he cried, and without a moment's hesitation he caught -her up in his arms and ran with her to the house. - -Mr. Fox-Cordery, closeted with his mother in a room on the ground -floor, heard sounds upon the stairs which had a disturbing effect upon -him. The sounds were those of strange footsteps and whispering voices. -Opening the door quickly he saw, by the light of the hall-lamp, John -Dixon and Charlotte coming down--John with his arm round Charlotte's -waist, she inclining tenderly toward the man she loved. - -"You here!" cried Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"You behold no spirit," replied John Dixon, releasing Charlotte, and -placing her behind him; "I am honest flesh and blood." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery, his mother now by his side, looked from John Dixon to -Charlotte with a spiteful venom in his eyes which found vent in his -voice. - -"You drab!" he cried. "You low-minded hussy! And you, you sneak and -rogue! Have you conspired to rob the house? I'll have the law of you; -you shall stand in the dock together. Curse the pair of you!" - -"Easy, easy," said John Dixon, calm and composed. "Don't talk so -freely of law and docks. And don't forget that curses come home to -roost." - -Other sounds from the first floor distracted Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"Is there a gang of you here? Whose steps are those above? Mother, -alarm the house. Call up the servants, and send for the police." - -"Aye, do," said John Dixon, as Mrs. Fox-Cordery pulled the bell with -violence, "and let them see and hear what you shall see and hear. -Don't be frightened, Charlotte. The truth must out now." - -Mr. Fox-Cordery's pallid lips quivered, and he started back with a -smothered shriek. Robert Grantham and his wife appeared at the top of -the stairs, and as they slowly descended he retreated step by step, -and seized his mother's arm. - -"Be quiet, can't you?" he hissed. "Go and send the servants away. We -do not want them. Say it was a mistake--a false alarm--anything--but -keep them in their rooms!" - -Retribution stared him in the face. The edifice he had built up with -so much care had toppled over, and he was entangled in the ruins. It -was well for them that he had no weapon in his hands, for coward as he -was, his frenzy would have impelled him to use it upon them. - -"I am here," said John Dixon, "by the permission you gave to Mrs. -Grantham, and I am armed with authority to act for her. You see, I -have not come alone." - -"You devil! you devil!" muttered Mr. Fox-Cordery, through the foam -that gathered about his mouth. - -"Say nothing more to him, Mr. Dixon," said Robert Grantham, who had -reached the foot of the stairs. "The truth has been brought to light, -and his unutterable villainy is fully exposed. Leave to the future -what is yet to be done. Lucy, go and dress our child. We quit this -house within the hour. Do not fear; no one shall follow you." - -Mrs. Grantham went upstairs to Clair, and she had scarcely reached the -room when the street door was burst open, and Rathbeal appeared with -Martha in his arms. - -"This poor woman threw herself into the water," said Rathbeal. "Tired -of life, she sought the peace of death in the river. Give way, Mr. -Fox-Cordery; she must be attended to without delay. Obstruct us, and -the crime of murder will be on your soul!" He beat Mr. Fox-Cordery -back into the room, and laid his burden down on the floor. "You see -who it is!" - -"She is a stranger to me," muttered Mr. Fox-Cordery, his heart -quaking with fear. - -"False! You know her well. If she is dead you will be made -responsible; for you and no other drove her to her death!" - -It was no time to bandy further words. Assisted by Charlotte and John -Dixon, he set to work in the task of bringing respiration into the -inanimate form, Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother standing silently by, -while Robert Grantham guarded the staircase. Their efforts were -successful. In a quarter of an hour Martha gave faint signs of life, -and they redoubled their efforts. Martha opened her eyes, and they -fell upon Mr. Fox-Cordery. - -"That man! that monster!" she murmured, and would have risen, but her -strength failed her. - -"Rest--rest," said Rathbeal soothingly. "Justice shall be done. You -are with friends who will not desert you." Returned to Mr. -Fox-Cordery. "Have you no word to speak to your victim?" - -"I have no knowledge of her," replied Mr. Fox-Cordery. "You are mad, -all of you, and are in a league against me." - -"You ruined and betrayed her," said Rathbeal, "and then left her to -starve. Is it true, Martha?" - -"It is true," she moaned. "God have pity upon me, it is true!" - -"Liars--liars!" cried Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Liars all!" - -"She speaks God's truth, and it shall be made known to man," said -Rathbeal. - -He did not scruple to search the room for spirits, and he found some -in a sideboard. - -"Drink," he whispered to her, "and remember that you have met with -friends. You shall not be left to starve. We will take care of her, -will we not, Mr. Dixon?" - -"I take the charge of her upon myself," said John Dixon. "She shall -have the chance of living a respectable life." - -"Robert!" said Mrs. Grantham, in a gentle tone. She was standing by -his side, holding Clair by the hand. Seeing the woman on the floor she -started forward. "Oh, can I do anything? Poor creature! poor -creature!" - -"We can do all that is required," said John Dixon. "She is getting -better already. Go with your husband and child to the inn where we put -up the horses. Mr. Grantham knows the way. We will join you there as -soon as possible." - -Charlotte whispered a few words in his ear. - -"Take Charlotte with you, please. She must not sleep another night -beneath her brother's roof. Go, my dear." - -"Remain here!" cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery, speaking for the first time. "I -command you!" - -But Charlotte paid no heed to her. Accompanied by her friends, she -left her brother's home, never to return. - - -But little remains to be told. Baffled and defeated, Mr. Fox-Cordery -was compelled to sue for mercy, and it was granted to him under -certain conditions, in which, be sure, Martha was not forgotten. His -accounts were submitted to a searching investigation, and, as John -Dixon had anticipated, it was discovered that only a portion of Mrs. -Grantham's fortune was lost. Sufficient was left to enable her and her -husband and child to live in comfort. Purified by his sufferings, -Robert Grantham was the tenderest of husbands and fathers, and he and -those dear to him commenced their new life of love and joy, humbly -grateful to God for the blessings he had in store for them. - -Neither were Little Prue and her mother forgotten. Each of those who -are worthy of our esteem contributed something toward a fund which -helped them on in the hard battle they were fighting. - -A month later our friends were assembled at the wedding of Charlotte -and John Dixon. The ceremony over, the newly-married couple bade their -friends good-by for a little while. They were to start at once upon -their honeymoon. - -"It is a comfort," said Rathbeal, shaking John heartily by the hand, -"in our travels through life to meet with a man. I have met with two." - -"I shall never forget," said John, apart to Mrs. Grantham, "nor will -Charlotte, some words of affection you once addressed to her. We know -them by heart: 'If the man is true,' you said, 'and the woman is true, -they should be to each other a shield of love, a protection against -evil, a solace in the hour of sorrow.' Charlotte and I will be to each -other a Shield of Love. Thank you for those words, and God bless you -and yours." - -The last kisses were exchanged. - -"God protect you, dear Charlotte," said Mrs. Grantham, pressing the -bride to her heart. "A happy life is before you." - -"And before you, dear Mrs. Grantham," said Charlotte, hardly able to -see for the tears in her eyes. - -"Yes, my dear. The clouds have passed away. Come, my child; come, dear -Robert!" - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shield of Love, by B. L. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/53598-8.zip b/old/53598-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 626da6f..0000000 --- a/old/53598-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53598-h.zip b/old/53598-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8e8f286..0000000 --- a/old/53598-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53598-h/53598-h.htm b/old/53598-h/53598-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a42a39b..0000000 --- a/old/53598-h/53598-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7693 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<title>The Shield of Love</title> -<meta name="Author" content="B. L. Farjeon"> - -<meta name="Publisher" content="Henry Holt and Company"> -<meta name="Date" content="1891"> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> -<style type="text/css"> -body {margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} - - -p.normal {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;} -.center {margin: auto; text-align:center; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt} - - - -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} - -p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} - - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} - -span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:110%;} -span.sc2 {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:90%;} - -hr.W10 {width:10%; color:black; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt} - -hr.W20 {width:20%; color:black; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt} - -hr.W50 {width:50%; color:black;} -hr.W90 {width:90%; color:black;} - -p.hang1 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;} -p.hang2 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:0em;} - - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shield of Love, by B. L. Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Shield of Love - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: November 25, 2016 [EBook #53598] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHIELD OF LOVE *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (the New York Public Library) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes:<br> -1. Page scan source: Google Books<br>/ https://books.google.com/books?id=PAAoAAAAMAAJ<br> -(the New York Public Library)</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>LEISURE HOURS SERIES.</h5> -<hr class="W90"> -<h4>THE SHIELD OF LOVE</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>BY</h5> -<h4>B. L. FARJEON</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>NEW YORK</h5> -<h4>HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY</h4> -<h5>1891</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5><span class="sc">Copyright</span>, 1891,<br> -BY<br> -<span style="font-size:larger">HENRY HOLT & CO</span>.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,<br> -RAHWAY, N. J.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>CONTENTS.</h4> - -<p><span class="sc">CHAPTER</span></p> -<div style="margin-left:10%"> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">I. In which some -particulars are given of the Fox-Cordery -family.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">II. Poor Cinderella.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">III. A family discussion.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">IV. Wherein Cinderella asserts herself.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">V. In which John Dixon informs Mr. Fox-Cordery -that he has seen a ghost.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">VI. In which we make the acquaintance of Rathbeal.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">VII. Billy turns the corner.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">VIII. The gambler's confession.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">IX. Mr. Fox-Cordery is not easy in his mind.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">X. In which Mr. Fox-Cordery meets with a repulse.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">XI. Little Prue.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">XII. "DRIP--DRIP--DRIP!"</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">XIII. In which Rathbeal makes a winning move.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">XIV. Do you remember Billy's last prayer?</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_15" href="#div1_15">XV. Friends in Council.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_16" href="#div1_16">XVI. Mr. Fox-Cordery's master-stroke.</a></p> -<p class="hang1"><a name="div1Ref_17" href="#div1_17">XVII. Retribution.</a></p> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>THE SHIELD OF LOVE.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<h5>In which some particulars are given of the Fox-Cordery Family.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">This is not exactly a story of Cinderella, although a modern -Cinderella--of whom there are a great many more in our social life -than people wot of--plays her modest part therein; and the allusion to -one of the world's prettiest fairy-tales is apposite enough because -her Prince, an ordinary English gentleman prosaically named John -Dixon, was first drawn to her by the pity which stirs every honest -heart when innocence and helplessness are imposed upon. Pity became -presently sweetened by affection, and subsequently glorified by love, -which, at the opening of our story, awaited its little plot of -fresh-smelling earth to put forth its leaves, the healthy flourishing -of which has raised to the dignity of a heavenly poem that most -beautiful of all words, Home.</p> - -<p class="normal">Her Christian name was Charlotte, her surname Fox-Cordery, and she had -a mother and a brother. These, from the time her likeness to -Cinderella commenced, comprised the household.</p> - -<p class="normal">Had it occurred to a stranger who gazed for the first time upon Mr. -and Miss Fox-Cordery, as they sat in the living-room of the -Fox-Cordery establishment, that for some private reason the brother -and sister had dressed in each other's clothes, he might well have -been excused the fancy. It was not that the lady was so much like a -gentleman, but that the gentleman was so much like a lady; and a -closer inspection would certainly have caused the stranger to do -justice at least to Miss Fox-Cordery. She was the taller and stouter -of the twain, and yet not too tall or stout for grace and beauty of an -attractive kind. There was some color in her face, his was perfectly -pallid, bearing the peculiar hue observable in waxwork figures; her -eyes were black, his blue; her hair was brown, his sandy; and the -waxwork suggestion was strengthened by his whiskers and mustache, -which had a ludicrous air of having been stuck on. There was a -cheerful energy in her movements which was conspicuously absent in -his, and her voice had a musical ring in it, while his was languid and -deliberate. She was his junior by a good ten years, her age being -twenty-eight, but had he proclaimed himself no more than thirty, only -those who were better informed would have disputed the statement. When -men and women reach middle age the desire to appear younger than they -are is a pardonable weakness, and it was to the advantage of Mr. -Fox-Cordery that it was less difficult for him than for most of us to -maintain the harmless fiction.</p> - -<p class="normal">This was not the only bubble which Mr. Fox-Cordery was ready to -encourage in order to deceive the world. His infantile face, his -appealing blue eyes, his smooth voice, were traps which brought many -unwary persons to grief. Nature plays numberless astonishing tricks, -but few more astonishing than that which rendered the contrast between -the outer and inner Mr. Fox-Cordery even more startling than that -which existed in the physical characteristics of this brother and -sister.</p> - -<p class="normal">There were other contrasts which it may be as well to mention. As -brother and sister they were of equal social rank, but the equality -was not exhibited in their attire. Mr. Fox-Cordery would have been -judged to be a man of wealth, rich enough to afford himself all the -luxuries of life; Charlotte would have been judged a young woman who -had to struggle hard for a living, which, indeed, was not far from the -truth, for she was made to earn her bread and butter, if ever woman -was. Her clothing was common and coarse, and barely sufficient, the -length of her frock being more suitable to a girl of fifteen than to a -woman of twenty-eight. This was not altogether a drawback, for -Charlotte had shapely feet and ankles, but they would have been seen -to better advantage in neat boots or shoes than in the worn-out, -down-at-heels slippers she wore. Depend upon it she did not wear them -from choice, for every right-minded woman takes a proper pride in her -boots and shoes, and in her stockings, gloves, and hats. The slippers -worn at the present moment by Charlotte were the only available -coverings for her feet she had. True, there was a pair of boots in the -house which would fit no other feet than hers, but they were locked up -in her mother's wardrobe. Then her stockings. Those she had on were of -an exceedingly rusty black, and had been darned and darned till -scarcely a vestige of their original self remained. Another and a -better pair she ought to have had the right to call her own, and these -were in the house, keeping company with her boots. In her poorly -furnished bedroom you would have searched in vain for hat or gloves; -these were likewise under lock and key, with a decent frock and mantle -she was allowed to wear on special occasions, at the will of her -taskmasters. So that she was considerably worse off in these respects -than many a poor woman who lives with her husband and children in a -garret.</p> - -<p class="normal">But for all this Charlotte was a pleasant picture to gaze upon, albeit -just now her features wore rather a grave expression. She had not an -ornament on her person, not a brooch or a ring, but her hair was -luxuriant and abundant, and was carefully brushed and coiled; her neck -was white, and her figure graceful; and though in a couple of years -she would be in her thirties, there was a youthfulness in her -appearance which can only be accounted for by her fortunate -inheritance of a cheerful spirit, of which, drudge as she was, her -mother and her brother could not rob her.</p> - -<p class="normal">This precious inheritance she derived from her father, who had -transmitted to her all that was spiritually best in his nature: and -nothing else. It was not because he did not love his daughter that she -was left unendowed, but because of a fatal delay in the disposition of -his world's goods. Procrastination may be likened to an air-gun -carrying a deadly bullet. Mr. Fox-Cordery, the younger, "took" after -his mother. Occasionally in life these discrepant characteristics are -found grouped together in one family, the founders of which, by some -strange chance, have become united, instead of flying from each other, -as do certain violently antagonistic chemicals when an attempt is made -to unite them in a friendly partnership. The human repulsion occurs -afterward, when it is too late to repair the evil. If marriages are -made in heaven, as some foolish people are in the habit of asserting, -heaven owes poor mortality a debt it can never repay.</p> - -<p class="normal">Far different from Charlotte's was Mr. Fox-Cordery's appearance. As to -attire it was resplendent and magnificent, if these terms may be -applied to a mortal of such small proportions. He was excruciatingly -careful in the combing and brushing of his hair, but in the effect -produced he could not reach her point of excellence, and this drawback -he inwardly construed into a wrong inflicted upon him by her. He often -struck a mental balance after this fashion, and brought unsuspecting -persons in his debt. Moreover, he would have liked to change skins -with her, and give her his waxy hue for her pearly whiteness. Could -the exchange have been effected by force he would have had it done. At -an early stage of manhood he had been at great pains to impart an -upward curly twist to his little mustache, in the hope of acquiring a -military air, but the attempt was not successful, and his barber, -after long travail, had given it up in despair, and had advised him to -train his mustache in the way it was inclined to go.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let it droop, sir," said the barber, "it will look beautiful so. -There's a sentiment in a drooping mustache that always attracts the -sex."</p> - -<p class="normal">The argument was irresistible, and Mr. Fox-Cordery's little mustache -was allowed to droop and to grow long; and it certainly did impart to -his countenance a dreaminess of expression which its wearer regarded -as a partial compensation for the disappointment of his young -ambition. No man in the world ever bestowed more attention upon his -person, or took greater pains to make himself pleasing in the sight of -his fellow-creatures, than did Mr. Fox-Cordery; and this labor of love -was undertaken partly from vanity, partly from cunning. A good -appearance deceived the world; it put people off their guard; if you -wished to gain a point it was half the battle. He spent hours every -week with his tailor, the best in London, discussing fits and -fashions, trying on coats, vests, and trousers, ripping and unripping -to conquer a crease, and suggesting a little more padding here, and a -trifle less there. His hats and boots were marvels of polish, his -shirts and handkerchiefs of the finest texture, his neckties marvels, -his silk socks and underwear dainty and elegant, and his pins and, -rings would have passed muster with the most censorious of fashion's -votaries. He was spick and span from the crown of his head to the -soles of his feet. As he walked along the streets, picking his way -carefully, or sat in his chair with his small legs crossed, he was a -perfect little model of a man, in animated pallid waxwork. He -preferred to sit instead of stand; being long-waisted it gave -beholders a false impression of his height.</p> - -<p class="normal">From his cradle he had been his mother's idol and his father's terror. -Mrs. Fox-Cordery ruled the roost, and her husband, preferring peace to -constant warfare, gave the reins into her hands, and allowed her to do -exactly as she pleased. This meant doing everything that would give -pleasure to the Fox-Cordery heir, who soon discovered his power and -made use of it to his own advantage. What a tyrant in the domestic -circle was the little mannikin! The choicest tidbits at meals, the -food he liked best, the coolest place in summer, and warmest in -winter, all were conceded to him. He tortured birds and cats openly, -and pinched servants on the sly. The good-tempered, cheerful-hearted -father used to gaze in wonder at his son, and speculate ruefully upon -the kind of man he was likely to grow into.</p> - -<p class="normal">When young Fox-Cordery was near his eleventh birthday Charlotte was -born, and as the mother held the son to her heart, so did the father -hold the daughter to his. They became comrades, father and daughter on -one side, mother and son on the other, with no sympathies in common. -Mr. Fox-Cordery took his little daughter for long rides and walks, -told her fairy stories, and gave her country feasts; and it is hard to -say who enjoyed them most.</p> - -<p class="normal">The introduction of Charlotte into young Fox-Cordery's life afforded -him new sources of delight. He pinched her on the sly as he pinched -the servants, he pulled her ears, he slapped her face, and the wonder -of it was that Charlotte never complained. Her patience and submission -did not soften him; he tyrannized over her the more. Hearing his -father say that Charlotte ought to have a doll, he said that he would -buy her one, and the father was pleased at this prompting of -affection. Obtaining a sum of money from his mother, young Fox-Cordery -put half of it into his pocket, and expended the other half in the -purchase of a doll with a woebegone visage, dressed in deep mourning. -Presenting it to his sister he explained that the doll had lost -everybody belonging to her, and was the most wretched and miserable -doll in existence.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She will die soon," he said, "and then I will give you a coffin."</p> - -<p class="normal">But the young villain's purpose was foiled by Charlotte's sweet -disposition. The poor doll, being alone in the world, needed sympathy -and consolation, and Charlotte wept over her, and kissed and fondled -her, and did everything in her power to make her forget her sorrows. -Eventually Charlotte's father suggested that the doll had been in -mourning long enough and he had her dressed like a bride, and restored -to joy and society; but this so enraged young Fox-Cordery that he got -up in the night and tore the bridal dress to shreds, and chopped the -doll into little pieces.</p> - -<p class="normal">The fond companionship between Mr. Fox-Cordery and his daughter did -not last very long. Before Charlotte was seven years old her father -died. On his deathbed the thought occurred to him that his daughter -was unprovided for.</p> - -<p class="normal">His will, made shortly after his marriage, when he was still in -ignorance of his wife's true character, left everything unreservedly -to her; and now, when he was passing into the valley of the Shadow of -Death, he trembled for his darling Charlotte's future. The illness by -which he was stricken down had been sudden and unexpected, and he had -not troubled to alter his will, being confident that many years of -life were before him. And now there was little time left. But he lived -still; he could repair the error; he yet could make provision for his -little girl. Lying helpless, almost speechless, on his bed, he -motioned to his wife, and made her understand that he wished to see -his lawyer. She understood more; she divined his purpose. She had read -the will, by which she would become the sole inheritor of his -fortune--she and her son, for all she had would be his. Should she -allow her beloved Fox to be robbed, and should she assist in -despoiling him? Her mind was quickly made up.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will send for the lawyer," she said to her husband.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At once, at once!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, at once."</p> - -<p class="normal">A day passed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has the lawyer come?" whispered the dying man to his wife.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He was in the country when I wrote yesterday," she replied. "He -returns to-morrow morning, and will be here then."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There must be no delay," said he.</p> - -<p class="normal">His wife nodded, and bade him be easy in his mind.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Excitement is bad for you," she said. "The lawyer is sure to come."</p> - -<p class="normal">He knew that it would be dangerous for him to agitate himself, and he -fell asleep, holding the hand of his darling child. In the night he -awoke, and prayed for a few days of life, and that his senses would -not forsake him before the end came. His wife, awake in the adjoining -room, prayed also, but it will be charitable to draw a veil over her -during those silent hours.</p> - -<p class="normal">Another day passed, and again he asked for his lawyer.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He called," said his wife, "but you were asleep, and I would not have -you disturbed."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was false; she had not written to the lawyer.</p> - -<p class="normal">That night the dying man knew that his minutes were numbered, and that -he would not see another sunrise in this world. Speech had deserted -him; he was helpless, powerless. He looked piteously at his wife, who -would not admit any person into the room but herself, with the -exception of her children and the doctor. She answered his look with a -smile, and with false tenderness smoothed his pillow. The following -morning the doctor called again, and as he stood by the patient's -bedside observed him making some feeble signs which he could not -understand. Appealing to Mrs. Fox-Cordery, she interpreted the signs -to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He wishes to know the worse," she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">The doctor beckoned her out of the room, and told her she must prepare -for it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Soon?" she inquired, with her handkerchief to her dry eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Before midnight," he said gravely, and left her to her grief.</p> - -<p class="normal">She did not deprive her husband of his last sad comfort; she brought -their daughter to him, and placed her by his side. Mrs. Fox-Cordery -remained in the room, watching the clock. "Before midnight, before -midnight," she whispered to herself a score of times.</p> - -<p class="normal">The prince of the house, soon to be king, came to wish his father -farewell. There was not speck or spot upon the young man, who had been -from home all day, and had just returned. During this fatal illness he -had been very little with his father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is the use of my sitting mum chance by his bedside?" he said to -his mother. "I can't do him any good; and I don't think he cares for -me much. All he thinks of is that brat."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte was the brat, and she gazed with large solemn eyes upon her -brother as he now entered the chamber of death. He was dressed in the -height of fashion, and he did not remove his gloves as he pressed his -father's clammy hand, and brushed with careless lips the forehead upon -which the dews of death were gathering. Then he wiped his mouth with -his perfumed handkerchief, and longed to get out of the room to smoke. -The father turned his dim eyes upon the fashionably attired young man, -standing there so neat and trim and fresh, as if newly turned out of a -bandbox, and from him to Charlotte in an old cotton dress, her hair in -disorder, and her face stained with tears. Maybe a premonition of his -little girl's future darkened his last moments, but he was too feeble -to express it. Needless to dwell upon the scene, pregnant and -suggestive as it was. The doctor's prediction was verified; when the -bells tolled the midnight hour Mr. Fox-Cordery had gone to his rest, -and Charlotte was friendless in her mother's house.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<h5>Poor Cinderella.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Then commenced a new life for the girl; she became a drudge, and was -made to do servants' work, and to feel that there was no love for her -beneath the roof that sheltered her. She accepted the position -unmurmuringly, and slaved and toiled with a willing spirit. Early in -the morning, while her tyrants were snug abed, she was up and doing, -and though she never succeeded in pleasing them and was conscious that -she had done her best, she bore their scolding and fault-finding -without a word of remonstrance. They gave her no schooling, and yet -she learned to read and write, and to speak good English. There were -hidden forces in the girl which caused her to supply, by unwearying -industry, the deficiencies of her education. Hard as was her life she -had compensations, which sprang from the sweetness of her nature.</p> - -<p class="normal">Her early acquaintance with errand boys and tradesmen's apprentices -led her into the path strewn with lowly flowers. She became familiar -with the struggles of the poor, and, sympathizing with them, she -performed many acts of kindness which brought happiness to her young -heart; and though from those who should have shown her affection she -received constant rebuffs, she was not soured by them.</p> - -<p class="normal">The treatment she and her brother met with in the home in which they -each had an equal right, and should have had an equal share, was of a -painfully distinctive character. Nothing was good enough for him; -anything was good enough for her. Very well; she ministered to him -without repining. He and his mother took their pleasures together, and -Charlotte was never invited to join them, and never asked to be -invited. There was no interchange of confidences between them. They -had secrets which they kept from her; she had secrets which she kept -from them. Those shared by Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother savored of -meanness and trickery; Charlotte's were sweet and charitable. They did -not open their hearts to her because of the fear that she might rebel -against the injustice which was being inflicted upon her; she did not -open her heart to them because she felt that they would not sympathize -with her. They would have turned up their noses at the poor flowers -she cherished, and would have striven to pluck them from her--and, -indeed, the attempt was made, fortunately without success.</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte's practical acquaintance with kitchen work, and the -economical spirit in which she was enjoined by her mother to carry out -her duties, taught her the value of scraps of food, a proper -understanding of which would do a great many worthy people no harm. -Recognizing that the smallest morsels could be turned to good account, -she allowed nothing to be thrown away or wasted. Even the crumbs would -furnish meals for birds, and they were garnered with affectionate -care. She was well repaid in winter and early spring for her kindness -to the feathered creatures, some of which she believed really grew to -know her, and it is a fact that none were frightened of her. Many -pretty little episodes grew out of this association which was the -cause of genuine pleasure to Charlotte, and she discovered in these -lowly ways of life treasures which such lofty people as her mother and -brother never dreamed of. If she had authority nowhere else in her -home she had some in the kitchen, so every scrap of food was looked -after, collected, and given to pensioners who were truly grateful for -them. These pensioners were all small children, waifs of the gutters, -of whom there are shoals in every great city. Thus it will be seen -that the position assigned to Charlotte by her mother and brother -ennobled and enriched her spiritually; it brought into play her best -and sweetest qualities.</p> - -<p class="normal">Her charities were dispensed with forethought and wisdom, and Mr. -Fox-Cordery took no greater pains in the adornment of his person than -Charlotte did to make her scraps of food palatable to the stomachs of -her little pensioners. With half an onion, nicely shredded, and the -end of a stray carrot, she produced of these scraps a stew which did -her infinite credit as a cook of odds and ends; and it was a sight -worth seeing to watch her preparing such a savory meal for the -bare-footed youngsters who came at nightfall to the kitchen entrance -of her home.</p> - -<p class="normal">When these proceedings were discovered by her mother she was ordered -to discontinue them, but in this one instance she showed a spirit of -rebellion, and maintained her right to give away the leavings instead -of throwing them into the dustbin. That she was allowed to have her -way was perhaps the only concession made to her in her servitude.</p> - -<p class="normal">For an offense of another kind, however, she was made to pay dearly.</p> - -<p class="normal">She obtained permission one evening to go out for a walk, an hour to -the minute being allowed her. On these occasions, which were rare, she -always chose the poorer thoroughfares for her rambles, and as she now -strolled through a narrow street she came upon a woman, with a baby in -her arms, sitting on a doorstep. Pity for the wan face, of which she -caught just one glance, caused Charlotte to stop and speak to the -woman. The poor creature was in the last stage of want and -destitution, and Charlotte's heart bled as she listened to the tale of -woe. The wail of the hungry babe sent a shiver through the -sympathizing girl. She could not bear to leave the sufferers, and yet -what good could be done by remaining? She had not a penny to give -them. Charlotte never had any money of her own, it being part of the -system by which her life was ruled to keep her absolutely penniless. -She learned from the poor woman that every article of clothing she -possessed that could with decency be dispensed with had found its way -to the pawn-shop.</p> - -<p class="normal">"See," said the wretched creature, raising her ragged frock.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was all there was on her body.</p> - -<p class="normal">The pitiful revelation inspired Charlotte. She had on a flannel and a -cotton petticoat. Stepping aside into the shadow of an open door she -loosened the strings of her petticoats, and they slipped to the -ground.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take these," said the young girl, and ran home as fast as she could.</p> - -<p class="normal">She was a few minutes behind her time, and her mother was on the watch -for her. Upon Charlotte making her appearance she was informed that -she would never be allowed out again, and she stood quietly by without -uttering a word of expostulation. The scene ended by Charlotte being -ordered instantly to bed, and to secure obedience Mrs. Fox-Cordery -accompanied her daughter to her bedroom. There, on undressing, the -loss of the two petticoats was discovered. Mrs. Fox-Cordery demanded -an explanation and it was given to her, and the result was that every -article of Charlotte's clothing was taken from her room, and locked in -her mother's wardrobe. There was not so much as a lace or a piece of -tape left. But, stripped as she was of every possession, Charlotte, as -she lay in the darkness and silence of her dark room, was not sorry -for her charitable deed. She thought of the poor woman and her babe, -and was glad that they had something to eat; and she was sure, if the -same thing occurred again, that she would act as she had already done.</p> - -<p class="normal">The next morning early, Mrs. Fox-Cordery unlocked the door of her -daughter's bedroom, and entered with a bundle of clothes in her arms. -Though it was imperative that Charlotte should be punished for her bad -behavior, there was work in the kitchen to do, and the girl was not to -be allowed to dawdle all day in bed because she had misconducted -herself. That would be a reward, not a punishment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your brother and I have been talking about you," said Mrs. -Fox-Cordery. "He is shocked at your behavior. If you have the least -sense of what is right you will beg him to forgive you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why should I do that?" asked Charlotte, pondering a little upon the -problem presented to her. "I have not hurt him in any way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you not hear me say," exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, frowning, "that -he is shocked at your behavior? Is that not hurting him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not that I can see, mother," replied Charlotte. "I cannot help it if -he looks upon what I have done in a wrong light."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In a wrong light, Miss Impertinence!" cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery. "The -view your brother takes of a thing is always right."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you will give me my clothes," said Charlotte, with pardonable -evasion, "I will get up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will get up when I order you, and not before. I am speaking to -you by your brother's instructions, and we will have this matter out, -once and for all."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte lay silent. It did not appear to her that she had anything -to defend, and she instinctively felt that the most prudent course was -to say as little as possible.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will you tell your brother that you are sorry for what you have done, -or shall I?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not sorry, mother."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Fox-Cordery was rather staggered by this reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is an absence of moral perception in you," she said severely, -"that will lead to bad results. If you were not my daughter I should -call in a policeman."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte opened her eyes wide, and she shivered slightly. She was -neither a theorist nor a logician; she never debated with herself -whether a contemplated action was right or wrong; she simply did what -her nature guided her to do. A policeman in her eyes was a -blue-frocked, helmeted creature who held unknown terrors in his hand, -which he meted out to those who had been guilty of some dreadful -action. Of what dreadful action had she been guilty that her mother -should drag a policeman into the conversation? It was this reflection -that caused her to shiver.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You gave away last night," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, regarding the -symptom of fear with satisfaction, "what did not belong to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My clothes are my own," pleaded Charlotte.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are not your own. They represent property, and every description -of property in this family belongs to me and to your brother. The -clothes you wear are lent to you for the time being, and by disposing -of them as you have done you have committed a theft. You are sharp -enough, I presume, to know what a theft is."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Charlotte. Monstrous as was the proposition, she was -unable to advance any argument in confutation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That we do not punish you as you deserve," pursued Mrs. Fox-Cordery, -"is entirely due to your brother's mercy. We will take care that you -do not repeat the offense. Such clothes as you are permitted to wear -will be given to you as occasion requires; and everything will be -marked in my name--you shall do the marking yourself--in proof that -nothing belongs to you. Dress yourself now, and go to your work."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mother," said Charlotte, getting out of bed, opening her little chest -of drawers, and looking round the room, "you have taken everything -away from me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, everything."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But something is mine, mother."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing is yours."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Father gave me his picture; let me have that back."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will have nothing back. We will see how you behave in the future, -and you will be treated accordingly. Before you go downstairs pray for -a more thankful heart, and for sufficient sense to make you appreciate -our goodness. Have you any message to send to your brother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, mother."</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I supposed. It is a mystery to me how I ever came to have such a -child."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte said her prayers before she left her bedroom; her father had -taught her to do so, night and morning; but she did not pray for a -more thankful heart, nor for sense to make her appreciative of the -goodness of the family tyrants. Perhaps she was dull; perhaps she -failed to discover cause for gratitude; certain it is that she was -selfish enough to pray for her father's picture back, a prayer that -was never answered. And it is also certain that she had a wonderful -power of endurance, which enabled her to bear the heavy burden of -domestic tyranny, and even to be happy under it.</p> - -<p class="normal">From that morning she was practically a prisoner in her home, and the -course of her daily life was measured out to her, as it were, from -hour to hour. And still she preserved her cheerfulness and sweetness -and snatched some gleams of sunshine from her gloomy surroundings.</p> - -<p class="normal">A brighter gleam shone upon her when, a woman of twenty-five, she made -the acquaintance of John Dixon, who for twelve months or so came -regularly to the house on business of a confidential nature with Mr. -Fox-Cordery. This business connection was broken violently and -abruptly, but not before the star of love was shining in Charlotte's -heart; and when her lover was turned from the door she bade him -good-by with a smile, for she felt that he would be true to her -through weal or woe.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<h5>A Family Discussion.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte sat at the window, darning stockings; Mr. Fox-Cordery sat at -the table killing flies.</p> - -<p class="normal">There are more ways than one of killing flies, and there is something -to be said about the pastime on the score of taste. The method adopted -by Mr. Fox-Cordery was peculiar and original. He had before him a -tumbler and a bottle, and he was smoking a cigar. The tumbler was -inverted, and into it the operator had inveigled a large number of -flies, which he stupefied with smoke. The cigar he was smoking was a -particularly fragrant one, and the flies could not therefore complain -that they were being shabbily treated. When they were rendered -completely helpless he transferred them to the bottle, taking the -greatest possible care to keep it corked after each fresh importation, -in order that the prisoners should not have the opportunity of -escaping in any chance moment of restored animation. By this means Mr. -Fox-Cordery had collected some hundreds of flies, whose dazed -flutterings and twitchings he watched with languorous interest, his -air being that of a man whose thoughts were running upon other matters -almost, if not quite, as important as this. He continued at his -occupation until the tumbler was empty and the bottle nearly full; and -then he threw the stump of his cigar out of window, and, with a smart -wrench at the cork, put the bottle on the mantelshelf. He rose, and -stood beside his sister.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did Mr. Dixon give you no inkling of what he wanted to see me about?" -he asked, in his low, languid voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"None whatever," replied Charlotte, drawing the stocking she was -darning from her left hand, and stretching it this way and that, to -assure herself that the work was well done. They were her own -stockings she was mending, and Heaven knows how many times they had -gone through the process.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you did not inquire?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I did not inquire."</p> - -<p class="normal">Some note in her voice struck Mr. Fox-Cordery as new and strange, and -he regarded her more attentively.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The old affair, I suppose," he said maliciously.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you mean that Mr. Dixon has any intention of reopening the subject -with you," said Charlotte, laying aside the sorely-darned stocking and -taking up its fellow, "you are mistaken."</p> - -<p class="normal">Perhaps the act of stooping had brought the blood to her face, for -there was a flush upon it when she lifted her head.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is not often that I am."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet it may happen."</p> - -<p class="normal">The flush in her face had died away, and she was now gravely attending -to her work.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery pulled down the ends of his little silky mustache. "Be -careful how you address me, Charlotte. It is a long time since you and -Mr. Dixon met."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; we have seen each other several times this past year."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You made no mention to me of these meetings."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was no reason why I should, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you inform mother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is an unnecessary question. Had I informed her you would not -have remained in ignorance. Mother keeps nothing from you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have grown into a particularly intelligent young woman," he said, -and added spitefully, "Well, not exactly a young woman----" pausing to -note the effect of the shot.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am twenty-eight," said Charlotte, in her usual tone, "and you, Fox, -will be forty soon."</p> - -<p class="normal">Her shot told better than his. "We will not continue the -conversation," he said shortly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As you please, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">He stepped to the fireplace, gave the bottle of flies a violent shake, -looked at Charlotte as if he would have liked to serve her the same, -and then resumed his place by the window, and drummed upon a pane.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Dixon's visit here was a presumption. How dare he intrude himself -into this house?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Settle it when he calls again," said Charlotte. "He came to see you -upon some business or other."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Which you insist upon concealing from me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed I do not. I cannot tell you what I do not know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"At three o'clock, you say?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, at three o'clock."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will consider whether he shall be admitted. Don't move, Charlotte."</p> - -<p class="normal">There was a fly on her hair, which he caught with a lightning sweep of -his hand. As he thrust his unfortunate prisoner into the bottle he -chuckled at the expression of disgust on Charlotte's face. The fly -disposed of, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mother shall judge whether you are right or wrong."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't put yourself to unnecessary trouble," said Charlotte. "I can -tell you beforehand how she will decide."</p> - -<p class="normal">The entrance of Mrs. Fox-Cordery did not cause her to raise her head; -she proceeded with her darning, and awaited the attack of the combined -forces. A singular resemblance existed between mother and son. Her -face, like his, was of the hue of pallid wax, her eyes were blue, her -hair sandy, and she spoke in a low and languid voice. She held an open -letter in her hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here is a house that will suit you, my love," she said, holding out -the letter to him. "It faces the river; there is a nice piece of -meadow-land, and a lawn, and a garden with flowers and fruit trees. It -stands alone in its own grounds, and there is a little arm of the -river you may almost call your own, with a rustic bridge stretching to -the opposite bank. The terms are rather high, twelve guineas a week -for not less than three months, paid in advance, but I think we must -go and see it. I should say it is exactly the place to suit your -purpose."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte listened in wonder. This contemplated removal to a house -near the river was new to her--and what scheme was Fox engaged upon -that would be furthered by a proceeding so entirely novel? Mr. -Fox-Cordery put the letter in his pocket without reading it, and said -in a displeased tone:</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will speak of it by and by."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Fox-Cordery glanced sharply from her son to her daughter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charlotte, what have you been doing to annoy Fox?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing," replied Charlotte.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She can prevaricate, you know, mother," observed Mr. Fox-Cordery -quietly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course she can prevaricate. Have we not had innumerable instances -of it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will finish my work in my own room," said Charlotte rising.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not stir," commanded Mrs. Fox-Cordery, "till permission is given -you. Fox, my love, what has she done?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Dixon has paid a visit to Charlotte in this house."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Impossible!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fox has stated what is not correct," said Charlotte, resuming her -seat and her work. "Mr. Dixon called to see Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is her version," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "She seeks to excuse -herself by throwing it upon me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your conduct is disgraceful," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery to her daughter, -"and I am ashamed of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have done nothing disgraceful," retorted Charlotte, "and I am not -ashamed of myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Fox-Cordery stared at her in astonishment, and Mr. Fox-Cordery -nodded his head two or three times, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"You observe a change in Charlotte. There was a time when she would -not have dared to put her will in opposition to ours, but I think I -shall be found equal to my duty as master of this house. I do not say -I am perfect, but I know of what I am capable. I have had my crosses -and disappointments; I have had my sorrows. I have them still. Let us, -at least, have harmony in our home."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Amen!" intoned Mrs. Fox-Cordery, with a reproachful look at -Charlotte.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is but one way," continued Mr. Fox-Cordery, "to secure this -harmony. By obedience to orders. I am the head of this house and -family, and I will not be thwarted or slighted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will support you, my love," said his mother, "in all ways."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I never for a moment doubted you, mother. We will not be uncharitable -to Charlotte; we will be, as we have ever been, tender and considerate -toward her. She inherits a family characteristic which she turns to a -wrong account. Tenacity is an excellent quality, but when it is in -alliance with intense selfishness, it is productive of great mischief. -I am not a hard man; my nature is tender and susceptible, and I am -easily led. Convince me that I am wrong in any impression I have -formed, and I yield instantly. I learn from Charlotte, mother, that -she has been in the habit of meeting Mr. Dixon during the last year in -a clandestine and secret manner."</p> - -<p class="normal">Before Mrs. Fox-Cordery could express her horror at this revelation, -Charlotte interposed:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fox is misrepresenting me. What I told him was that Mr. Dixon and I -have seen each other several times. We have not met secretly or -clandestinely."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You met without our knowledge or sanction," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, -"and it comes to the same thing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite the same thing," assented his mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">"_I_ never equivocate," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, in his most amiable -tone, "_I_ am never evasive. When Mr. Dixon was on friendly terms with -us, he was admitted freely into our family circle, and was made -welcome. For reasons which I need not enter into I was compelled to -sunder all association with him, and to forbid him the house. You, -mother, knowing my character, will know whether I was justified or -not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who should know you better than your mother?" said Mrs. Fox-Cordery -fondly. "I am not acquainted with your reasons, but I am satisfied -that they were just. Have you yet to learn, Charlotte, that your -brother is the soul of honor and justice?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery waited for Charlotte's indorsement, but she was -obstinately silent, and he proceeded:</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would have been natural, in the attitude I was compelled to assume -toward Mr. Dixon, that every member of my family should have had -confidence in me, for I was working in their interest. Unfortunately, -it was not so; Charlotte stood aloof, probably because I had -discovered that a secret understanding existed between her and Mr. -Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was none," said Charlotte indignantly. "What was known to Mr. -Dixon and myself was known to you and mother. I see no reason to be -ashamed of the avowal that we loved each other."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The avowal is coarse and indelicate," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, with a -frown.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery held out his hands, palms upward, as expressing, "What -can one expect of a person so wrong-headed as Charlotte?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I trust," said Charlotte, with a bright blush on her face, "that the -confession of an honest attachment is not a disgrace. You used to -speak in the highest terms of Mr. Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We live to be deceived," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, sadly surveying the -ceiling, "to find our confidence abused. We create an ideal, and -discover, too late, that we have been worshiping a mask, the removal -of which sends a shudder through our"--he could not find the word he -wanted, so he added--"system."</p> - -<p class="normal">His mother's eyes were fixed admiringly upon him, but there was no -admiration in Charlotte's face as, with her hand to her heart, she -said boldly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are fond of using fine phrases, Fox, but I do not think you -believe in them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not to be deterred by insults from doing my duty," he replied. -"Mr. Dixon asked permission to pay his addresses to you, and, as your -natural guardians and protectors, we refused. That should have put an -end to the affair."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should be justified in asking you," said Charlotte, "whether you -think other persons have feelings as well as yourself. If I were to -interfere in your love matters I wonder what you would say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The cases are different," said Mr. Fox-Cordery pathetically. "I am a -man; you are a woman."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Charlotte, with bitterness, "I am a woman, and am -therefore expected to sacrifice myself. Have you finished, Fox?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is only this to say. It is your mother's command, and mine, -that the intimacy between you and Mr. Dixon shall cease. We will not -allow it to continue."</p> - -<p class="normal">He gave his mother a prompting glance.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your brother has expressed it correctly," she said. "We will not -receive Mr. Dixon into our family. He is an utterly objectionable -person, and we will have nothing to do with him. If you have a grain -of decent feeling in you, you will obey. Now you can go to your room."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<h5>Wherein Cinderella Asserts Herself.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">CHARLOTTE rose, work in hand, and went toward the door, they following -her with their eyes, desiring her obedience and approving of it, and -yet curious to ascertain what was passing in her mind. For that she -was unusually stirred was evident from her manner, which was that of -one who had been beaten down all her life, and in whom the seeds of -rebellion were struggling to force themselves into light. Suddenly she -turned and faced them, and they saw in her eyes the spirit of a brave -resolve.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have spoken plainly to me," she said. "I must speak plainly to -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go to your room this instant," sternly said her mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">That the hard cold voice should have given her fresh courage, was a -novel experience to them; generally it compelled obedience, but now it -had failed. It seemed, indeed, as if she had burst the bonds of -oppression which had held her fast for so many years.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not till I have said what I have to say, mother. It is something you -ought to hear." She paused a moment before she continued. "It is three -years ago this very day since we had our last conversation about Mr. -Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, and would have expressed herself -more violently had not her son restrained her with a warning look, -which meant, "Let her go on; she will be sure to commit herself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Dixon was in the habit for some time of coming regularly to the -house, and his visits formed the pleasantest remembrances in my life, -with the exception of the happy years when my dear father was alive."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your dear father, indeed!" was Mrs. Fox-Cordery's scornful comment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"From the date of my dear father's death," said Charlotte steadily; -she was speaking now calmly and resolutely, "Mr. Dixon is the only -gentleman who has shown me any consideration, and who has made me feel -that I have some claim to a higher position in this house than that of -a menial. I am ignorant of the nature of his business with Fox----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will enlighten you," interposed Mr. Fox-Cordery; "he was in my -employ, a paid servant."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He served you faithfully, I am sure; it is not in his nature to be -otherwise than faithful in all that he undertakes. He was received -here as an equal, and he treated me as such. Neither you nor my mother -ever did. I have no memory of one kind look I have received from -either of you; and it is hardly to be wondered at that I should have -felt grateful to the gentleman who spoke to me in a kind and gentle -voice, and who showed in his manner toward me that he regarded me as a -lady. He awoke within me a sense of self-respect which might have -slept till I was an old woman, whose life, since the death of my -father, had never been brightened by a ray of love. He awoke within -me, also, a sense of shame; and I saw how humiliating it was that I -should be dressed as I am dressed now, in clothes which a common -servant would be ashamed to wear. But I had no choice. You gave me -food, and you gave me nothing else, not even thanks. You pay your -servants wages; you might have paid me something so that I could have -bought clothes in which I should not feel degraded. I have not a -shilling I can call my own----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't stop me, Fox," cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery, thoroughly enraged; "I -must speak! You shameless creature, how dare you utter these -falsehoods? You have a beautiful gown, and a hat, and boots, and -everything a woman can wish for; and you stand there, and deny it to -my face!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do deny it, mother. Are these things really mine? If they are, why -do you keep them locked up in your wardrobe, and why do you allow me -to wear them only when I go out with you, or when any particular -visitor comes to the house?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because you are not fit to be trusted, you ungrateful child!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, mother, it is not that. You allow me to put them on sometimes -because you cannot with decency allow me to be seen as I am. You -forget, mother; you have told me over and over again that the clothes -I wear--even those I have on now--are not my own, and are only lent to -me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And so they are. It was not your money that paid for them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It could not well have been, seeing I never had any. Will you give -them to me to-day, so that I may put them on, and not feel ashamed -when I look in the glass?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To enable you to go flaunting about, and disgracing yourself and us? -No, I will not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are at your shifty tricks again, Charlotte," said Mr. -Fox-Cordery. "Finish with your Mr. Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I will do so if you will let me. All the time he was visiting -here you said nothing to me to show you did not wish me to be intimate -with him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We were not aware of what was going on," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We concealed nothing from you. Three years ago he asked me to be his -wife. I answered gladly, yes, and wondered what he could see in me to -stoop so low."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon my word!" ejaculated her mother. "And this from a Fox-Cordery!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He explained that he was not in good circumstances, and that I would -have to wait till he could furnish a home. I said that I would wait -for him all my life, and so we were engaged. Then he went from me to -you, Fox, and to mother, and asked for your consent."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And it so happened," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "that it was the very day -on which I discovered that he was not fit to be trusted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is above doing a dishonorable action," said Charlotte, with -generous warmth, "and whatever it was you discovered it was not to his -discredit."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is as good as saying," cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery, advancing a step -toward Charlotte, and would have advanced farther if her son had not -laid his hand upon her arm, "that the discovery your brother speaks of -was to _his_ discredit, and that it was _he_ who was guilty of a -dishonorable action. You shall be punished for making these -comparisons between your brother and such a creature as Mr. Dixon. My -dear Fox, have we not heard enough?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," replied Mr. Fox-Cordery, smiling blandly upon his sister. "We -must not give Charlotte the opportunity of saying that she is unfairly -treated. Speak freely, Charlotte; you are unbosoming yourself to your -best friends. Do not be afraid. We will protect and take care of you. -Charlotte harbors none but the most affectionate feelings for us, -mother. If in a moment of excitement she says something that is not -exactly loving and dutiful, we will excuse her. She will be sorry for -it afterward, and that shall be her punishment. Go on, my dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is scarcely possible," said Charlotte, with a look of repugnance -at her brother, "that we can be always right, not even the best of us; -sometimes we are mistaken in our judgment, and Fox is when he speaks -harshly of Mr. Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Convince me of it, my dear," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, nodding genially -at her, "and I will make the handsomest apology to him. I will have it -written out and illuminated, and he shall hang it, framed, in his -room. You cannot complain that I am unfair, after that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was not present when Mr. Dixon spoke to you about our engagement, -but I heard high words pass between you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listening at keyholes!" exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery scornfully. "What -next?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no, mother," expostulated Mr. Fox-Cordery; "be just. It was quite -natural that Charlotte should listen. Everybody would not have done -so, but then Charlotte is not everybody."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My happiness was at stake," said Charlotte, "and I was anxious."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You hear, mother. Charlotte was anxious."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was not eavesdropping," said Charlotte. "I was downstairs, and your -voices forced themselves upon me. Shortly afterward Mr. Dixon came -down and told me that there had been a disagreeable scene between you, -and that you would not listen to what he had to say about our -engagement. 'But I will not give you up,' he said, 'unless you turn -away from me.' I answered that it depended upon him, and that I should -be very unhappy if our engagement were broken. He said it should not -be broken, and that if I would remain true to him he would remain true -to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has a pastoral sound," observed Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Such charming -simplicity!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He suggested that, before he left the house, we should speak to you -together of an agreement we had entered into, and we came up to you. -You cannot have forgotten what passed at that interview."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You were informed that we would not sanction the engagement."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And Mr. Dixon, speaking for himself and for me, told you that we held -to it, and that we had agreed not to think seriously of marriage for -three years, during which time he hoped to so improve his position -that he would be able to make a home for me. We bound ourselves to -this in your presence, and Mr. Dixon said that he would not visit the -house without some strong inducement. He has not done so. When he -calls this afternoon you will learn why he has come now. During these -three years we have corresponded, and have met occasionally in the -streets, and have spoken together."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I believe," remarked Mr. Fox-Cordery, "that servants and their young -men are in the habit of meeting in this way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been no better than a servant," retorted Charlotte, "and many -a poor girl has left service to enter into a happy marriage."</p> - -<p class="normal">"As you are going to do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know. What I wish you and mother to understand is that the -three years have expired, and that we do not consider ourselves bound -to you any longer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never in the whole course of my life," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, "did I -listen to anything so unladylike and indelicate."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What it is necessary for you to understand," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, -"is that Mr. Dixon will not be permitted to visit you here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will not come to see me here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I prefer not to tell you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have some idea of a place of meeting?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have something better than an idea, Fox; I have almost a hope."</p> - -<p class="normal">He repeated her words thoughtfully, "almost a hope," and fixed his -eyes upon her face; but he could not read there what he desired to -read.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you given any consideration," he asked, "to your circumstances? -Do you think that any man would receive you--as you are?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a cruel taunt, and she felt it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I have thought of it," she answered sadly, "and it is a deep -trouble to me. If I dared to make an appeal to you----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Make it," he said, during the pause that ensued.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am your sister, Fox. I have done nothing to disgrace you--nothing -of which I should be ashamed. If Mr. Dixon tells me he has a home -ready for me, how can I go to him--as I am?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She looked down at her feet, she spread out her hands piteously, and -the tears started to her eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think," she said, in an imploring tone, "if father could have seen -the future he would have made some provision for me, ever so little, -that would enable me to enter a home of my own in a creditable -manner."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is it, dear Charlotte, that you wish me to do for you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Give me a little money, Fox, to buy a few decent clothes for myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In other words," he said, "furnish you with the means to act in -direct opposition to our wishes, to what we are convinced is best for -your welfare."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a hard way of expressing it, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is the correct way, Charlotte. I perceive that you are speaking -more humbly now. You are not so defiant. You recognize, after all, -that you cannot exactly do without us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are my brother. Mother has only you and me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your brother," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, in a tone of relentless -severity, "has been a blessing to me. It is more than I can say of -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have worked hard, mother; I have had few pleasures; I have not cost -you much."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have cost us too much. We have been overindulgent to you, and in -return you insult your brother and set yourself in direct opposition -to us. When your father died he left his property wisely. He knew you -were not to be trusted; he knew that your ungrateful, willful nature -would bring irreparable mischief upon us if it were left uncontrolled. -He said as much to me. 'Charlotte will need a strong hand over her,' -he said, 'to prevent her bringing shame to your door.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no, mother!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"His very words. I have never repeated them to you because I wished to -spare your feelings. 'To prevent her bringing shame to your door. Keep -a strict watch over her for all your sakes.' We have done so in -fulfillment of our duty, and now it has come to this."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery knew that these words had never been uttered by his -father, and that there was not a grain of truth in them, but he -thoroughly approved of the unworthy device. When he was working to -gain a point, there was no trick that was not justifiable in his eyes; -and although upon the present occasion he did not exhibit any -consciousness of his mother's duplicity, neither of them was deceived -by it or ashamed of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte was dismayed by this pretended voice from the grave. Was it -possible that it could be true? Had the words really been spoken by -the kind father who had left with her a cherished memory of kindness -and love? But her experience of her mother was of such a nature that -the doubt did not remain long to torture her. She swept it away; and -except for the brief period of pain it caused her, it passed, and left -no sting behind. She turned to her brother for a response to her -appeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is the hope you referred to," he asked, "the hope of getting money -out of me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," she replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oblige me by informing me what it is."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not till you answer me," she said firmly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take your answer, then. You shall not have a farthing, not one -farthing. Now for your hope, please."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will nothing move you, Fox?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You leave me no alternative; I must appeal elsewhere. I think I know -someone who will extend a helping hand to me. On the few occasions she -has been here, and on which you have allowed me to see her, she has -spoken to me with such unvarying kindness that I feel confident she -will assist me. She has a tender heart, I am sure, and she will feel -for me. I hope you will be happy with her; I hope it from my -heart----"</p> - -<p class="normal">She was not allowed to finish. Her brother, striding forward, seized -her by the wrist so fiercely that she gave utterance to a cry of pain. -The next moment she released herself--not a difficult matter, for, -woman as she was, her strength exceeded his. Mr. Fox-Cordery had so -effectually schooled himself that he had an almost perfect command -over his features, and it was seldom that he was so forgetful as to -show the fury of his soul. Even now, when a tempest was raging within -him, there was little indication of it in his face, and but for the -glittering of his blue eyes there was no evidence of his agitation. In -a cold voice he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"No further subterfuge. Name the lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mrs. Grantham."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother exchanged glances.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you mean," he asked, "that you would go to her and beg?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would go to her," replied Charlotte, "and relate the story of my -life--of my outward and inward life, Fox--from beginning to end. If I -do, it will be you who drive me to it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We now fully realize, my dear mother," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, seating -himself and crossing his legs, "Charlotte's character. At length she -has revealed her true nature."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have nourished a serpent in my bosom," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She would destroy the hope of my life," continued Mr. Fox-Cordery; -"she would blight my happiness forever. Knowing that I love the lady -she has named, and that it is the one wish of my heart to make her my -wife, she would deliberately blacken my character with her lies, and, -under the pretense of a womanly appeal to that lady's feelings, would -do her best to wreck my future."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If my cause is not a just one," said Charlotte, "no appeal of mine -will avail with Mrs. Grantham. God forbid that I should step between -you and her; but I have my future to look to, as you have yours, and I -am weary of the life I have led. A happier life is offered to me, and -I cannot relinquish it at your bidding without an effort. If I tamely -submitted to your will I should be unworthy of the gentleman who has -honored me with his love."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will leave that gentleman, as you call him, out of the question. -The contention lies between you and me, and I am free to confess that -you have the advantage of me. I am no match for you, Charlotte. You -are far too clever and cunning for me, and the feelings I entertain -for the lady whose name has been dragged into this unhappy discussion -place me at your mercy. I have made no secret of these feelings; I -have foolishly bared my breast to you and you tread upon it. I yield; -I hold out a flag of truce. You will give me time to consider your -proposition? It comes upon me as a surprise, you know. I was not -prepared for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Fox, I will give you time," said Charlotte, somewhat bewildered -at finding herself master of the situation. She had not expected so -sudden a victory. "But there is one thing I wish you would ask mother -to do at once."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is it, Charlotte?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me have my clothes that are in her wardrobe. I am wretched and -miserable in these."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will give them to her, mother," said Mr. Fox-Cordery; and his -mother, taking the cue, replied:</p> - -<p class="normal">"She can have them; I have only kept them in my room to take proper -care of them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There, Charlotte, you have nothing now to complain of."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But you have not answered me yet, Fox," said Charlotte, resolved not -to lose sight of the main point.</p> - -<p class="normal">"About the money you ask for? May I inquire if you are in a great -hurry to get married?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not in a great hurry, Fox," said Charlotte rather awkwardly. "It -rests with Mr. Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What does he say about it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He thinks we might get married in two or three months."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no particular hurry, then; we have time before us to conquer -the repugnance we feel toward him. After all, it will make you happier -if you marry with our sanction."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Much happier, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mother and I will talk over the matter together dispassionately, and -if we can bring ourselves to look upon him with friendly eyes we will -do so. That is fair speaking, is it not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Charlotte, hesitating a little, "I think so."</p> - -<p class="normal">She was drifting from the advantageous position she had gained, and -she was weakly sensible of it; but her brother's manner was so -conciliatory, and her own desire for peace so strong, that she could -scarcely help herself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The money you require is not required immediately, and just now I am -rather embarrassed with calls upon me. You would not wish to injure me -financially, Charlotte?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Fox; indeed I would not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Everything will come right," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "In a month or two -I hope to set myself straight. Meanwhile, as we have agreed, we will -enter into a truce. There shall be no more unpleasantnesses between -us. We have had a family disagreement, that is all; I blow it away." -He made a motion with his lips, as though he were blowing away a -cloud. "So, for two months, we will say nothing more concerning the -affair. If you have had something to complain of in the past, it is -perhaps due to the anxieties by which I have been overwhelmed. You do -not know what a man's troubles are, fighting with the world and with -people who are trying to get the advantage of him. Be thankful that -you are a woman, and are spared these trials. You shall have nothing -to complain of in the future."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have your promise, Charlotte, that the matter shall rest for two -months, when, no doubt, you will have everything you wish for."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I promise," said Charlotte, feeling rather helpless.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you will say nothing to Mrs. Grantham about our little -disagreement till that time has expired, when there will be no -occasion whatever to humiliate yourself and us? That, of course, is -agreed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a sacred promise, mind."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have given it, and I will keep to it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very well; we are good friends again, and always shall be. By the -way, Charlotte, I am going to take a house on the Thames for the -summer months."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I heard mother mention it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Partly to give you some pleasure and relaxation. We will have -pleasant times there."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope so, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mother," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, as if the idea had just occurred to -him, instead of having been in his mind for several weeks, "you might -invite Mrs. Grantham to pay us a visit there, and to remain with us a -little while. It will be company for Charlotte."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will write to-day if you wish, my love," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery, -responding to his suggestion immediately, as she always did. These two -perfectly understood each other.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not to-day, mother; we must wait till I have taken the house. The one -you spoke of will do capitally, if it answers to the description in -the letter. And, Charlotte, when mother writes to Mrs. Grantham, you -might write also, saying how glad you will be if she comes to us--a -nice letter, Charlotte, with as many pretty things in it as you can -think of. You see the confidence I place in you, my dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will write when you tell me, Fox. It will be a great pleasure to me -if she comes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is what I want--to give you as much pleasure as possible. Now, -my dear, go to your room. I am very glad our little misunderstanding -has ended so amicably."</p> - -<p class="normal">He smiled affection upon Charlotte, and she left mother and son -together. For a few moments there was silence--he chewing the cud of -savage reflection, she throbbing with affection for him and with anger -at her daughter's presumption.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What made you so smooth with her, Fox?" asked Mrs. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was the only way to muzzle her," he replied. "If she had done what -she threatened it would have ruined all."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She would never have dared," said Mrs. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She would have dared, egged on by that scoundrel Dixon, and by her -love for him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Love!" muttered Mrs. Fox-Cordery, contemptuously.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Or what she fancies is love; but I think she really loves the man, -and I know what love will dare."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For Heaven's sake," exclaimed Mrs. Fox-Cordery, "don't institute -comparisons between you and her! She is not fit to black your shoes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has polished them often enough," he remarked grimly; "but that is -coming to an end now. A good job; I'm sick of the sight of her; I'm -sick of myself; I'm sick of everything, and everybody."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not everybody, my love," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder -fondly.</p> - -<p class="normal">He shook her off, and she did not murmur. They resembled each other -most wonderfully, but there was a marked difference in the quality of -their affection. She--cold, hard, and ungenerous to all but him--was -nobler than he, for she was ready and willing to sacrifice herself for -him. It had been so from his birth, and her love had grown into a -passion which nothing could affect, not even ingratitude and -indifference from the son she adored. In her eyes he was a paragon; -his vices were virtues, his meanness commendable, his trickery the -proof of an ingenious mind. He could do no wrong. Quick to discover -the least sign of turpitude in others, she discerned none in him; she -was morally blind to his defects, and the last thing she would have -believed him capable of was the Judas kiss.</p> - -<p class="normal">Far different was it with him. He was conscious of all his mother's -faults, and he excused her for none. His absorbing vanity so clouded -his mind that it was only the baser qualities of those with whom he -was associated that forced themselves upon his attention, and these -being immediately accepted the door was closed upon the least -attribute which rendered them worthy of respect and esteem. His -chronic suspicion of his fellow-creatures did not spring from his -intellect, but from those lower conditions of the affections in which -the basest qualities of mankind occupy the prominent places. -Theophrastus says that the suspicious man imputes a fraudulent -intention to everyone with whom he has to do, and this was the case -with Mr. Fox-Cordery, who viewed his mother--the one being in the -world who, though he stood universally condemned and execrated, -would have shed the last drop of her blood in his defense and -vindication--in the same light as he viewed those who were as ready to -spurn him in the day of his prosperity as in the day of his downfall, -should such a day ever dawn upon him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Follow my lead," he said to his mother, "in your treatment of -Charlotte. She has declared war, and war it shall be, though she shall -not see it till the proper time. Just now she is necessary to me. -Strange as it may sound, her good word will be of assistance to me -with Mrs. Grantham. I cannot account for it, and I am not going to -trouble myself about it; the only thing that troubles me is that the -lady I have loved for so many years should still hold off, should -still refuse to speak the word that will make me happy. What am I -taking a country house for except to further the dearest wish of my -heart? I think of no one but her; I dream of no one but her. She was -snatched from me once, and I had to bear it; and then fortune declared -itself in my favor, and still I could not obtain the prize I have been -so long working for."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are a model of constancy, my love," said his mother, -affectionately and admiringly. "No woman in the world is good enough -for my dear son."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perhaps not, perhaps not," he muttered; "but I will die before I am -thwarted. When did I give up an object upon which I set my heart? -Never, and I will not give up this. Mark the hour that makes Mrs. -Grantham my wife, and you will see me a changed man. She shall be my -slave then, as I am hers now. During her visit to us I will conquer -her irresolution, her obstinacy. Let Charlotte understand that her -happiness depends upon mine; that will win her completely to my side. -I will be the most affectionate of brothers; you shall be the most -affectionate of mothers. Charlotte will say to herself, 'I have been -mistaken in them; it is I who have been at fault all these years.' -This will tell in my favor when she and Mrs. Grantham are talking -together confidentially. We rob her, you see, of her power of -detraction. You, I know, will do your best, and Charlotte shall do her -best instead of her worst. She has defied me; she shall be made to pay -for it. I have her promise for two months, and she is at my mercy. Do -you understand now why I was so smooth with her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my love. Depend upon me to do everything in my power."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Before those two months have gone Mrs. Grantham and I shall be man -and wife; and then, mother, Charlotte may go to the----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Exactly so, my love," said his mother.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<h5>In which John Dixon informs Mr. Fox-Cordery -that he has seen a Ghost.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">It is an article of belief that every Englishman's private residence -must include an apartment which, by a polite fiction, is denominated a -study. This apartment, which generally smells of musty bones, is, as a -rule, extremely small, extremely dark, and extremely useless. Dust -lies thick upon the shabby furniture, by reason of the housemaid never -being allowed to enter it with duster and broom; and the few volumes -on the shelves of the parody of a bookcase lean against each other at -a drunken angle, with a dissipated air of books that have lost all -respect for themselves. To add to the conspicuous cheerlessness of the -room, its one insufficient window looks out upon a dreary back wall, a -constant contemplation of which would be likely to drive a man's -thoughts in the direction of suicide. Provided with the necessary -cupboard, no more suitable hiding-place could be found for the -proverbial family skeleton, without which no well-regulated -establishment can be said to be complete.</p> - -<p class="normal">Into such an apartment was John Dixon shown when he was informed that -Mr. Fox-Cordery would receive him.</p> - -<p class="normal">This cold welcome was a sufficient indication that the master of the -house did not regard his visitor in the light of a friend; but, clear -as was the fact to John Dixon, it did not disturb him. With his -rubicund face, his bright eyes, and his genial manners, he presented -the appearance of a man not easily disturbed, of a man who accepted -the rubs of life with equanimity, and made the best of them. He was in -his prime, a well-built gentleman, with nothing particularly serious -on his conscience, and when Mr. Fox-Cordery entered the room the -advantage was on John Dixon's side, physically and morally.</p> - -<p class="normal">They glanced at each other inquiringly, and with a certain curiosity, -for it was long since they had met face to face. Mr. Fox-Cordery was -disappointed; he had hoped to see signs of wear and tear in his old -friend, in the shape of crows'-feet, wrinkles, and gray hairs, but -none were visible. On the contrary, there was an assertion of robust -youth and good health about John Dixon which gave positive pain to Mr. -Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-day, Fox," said John Dixon cordially.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery did not respond to the salutation. Stiffening his -little body--an action which brought a broad smile to John Dixon's -lips--he said in his iciest tone:</p> - -<p class="normal">"To what may I ascribe the----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The honor of this visit," broke in John Dixon heartily. "I'll come to -it soon. You don't seem comfortable, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whether I am comfortable or not," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, who would -have administered a dose of poison to his visitor with the greatest -pleasure in life, "cannot possibly concern or interest you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! but I beg your pardon. Everything appertaining to Charlotte's -brother must concern and interest me. It stands to reason. We shall -one day be brothers-in-law. Brothers-in-law! Good Lord! Don't shift -your legs so, Fox. Keep still and straight, as you were a moment ago. -To a little man like you repose is invaluable."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your familiarity, Mr. Dixon----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come, come," interrupted John Dixon, with a genial shake of his head; -"why not John? I shall not take offense at it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you paid me an unwelcome visit to force a quarrel upon me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"By no means. I know that my visit is an unwelcome one. You don't like -my company, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your room would be preferable."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a treat to hear something honest from you. There, there, man, -don't fume! You can't alter me any more than I can alter you. What is -bred in the bone, you know. And let me tell you, Fox, you can't expect -to have everything your own way. Who plays at bowls must be prepared -for rubbers."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me tell _you_, Mr. Dixon," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, becoming -suddenly calm, "that I will submit to none of your impertinence."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was about to continue in this strain when he suddenly recollected -that he had assumed a new attitude toward Charlotte, and that, if her -lover represented to her that he had been insulted by him, it might -interfere with his plans. It was advisable, therefore, that not a word -that passed at the present interview should reach Charlotte's ears, -and he saw a way to compass this. Changing front instantly, he said -slyly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should like to know if we are speaking in confidence?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In strict confidence," said John Dixon readily. "For your sake, Fox, -not for mine."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never mind for whose sake. You have your opinions, I have mine. I -take your word, and shall be outspoken with you. You had the -presumption to pay a visit to my sister this morning----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no, Fox, to you; though I must confess I was delighted to see -her, and have a chat with her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was for that purpose you came. As we have met in perfect -confidence, and as nothing that we say to each other will be repeated -by either of us outside this room--that is a perfectly honorable -engagement, is it not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is on my side," said John Dixon gravely.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have bound myself, Mr. Dixon, and am therefore free to warn you -that you must cease from persecuting Charlotte with your addresses. I -speak in her name."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not true, Fox; you speak in your own. Why, if she herself uttered -those words to me I should not believe they came from her heart; I -should know that you forced her to speak them. But there is no fear of -anything of that sort occurring. Charlotte and I understand each -other; and, oppressed and ground down as she has been in your house, -she has a higher courage than you give her credit for. I am proud of -having won her love, and I will make her a happy woman, as truly as I -stand here. However, it is not to tell you what you already know that -I have come to see you; it is for a different reason altogether."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You speak defiantly, Mr. Dixon. It is not the way to conciliate me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Conciliate you! I am not such an ass as to try. I will try my own -way. If I can manage it, you shall fear me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you can manage it!" said Mr. Fox-Cordery, a little uneasy at his -visitor's confident tone. "Yes, if you can manage it. I should imagine -you will find it a difficult task. If you think you can frighten me by -your bullying you are mistaken."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! I don't want to frighten you. I am going to play my cards openly, -knowing perfectly well that you will not expose one of yours. Shall we -proceed to business?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say what you have to say," exclaimed Mr. Fox-Cordery blandly, "and -the devil take you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">John Dixon laughed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"When you speak softly, Fox, you are most deadly. It was just the same -when you, I, and Robert Grantham were at school together in the -country. Poor Bob! What a careless, reckless, generous fellow he was! -What a tool he was in your hands, and how you worked him and played -upon him!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You lie," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, in a passionless voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">Few persons acquainted with him would have suspected how deeply he was -agitated by this reference to his old schoolmate.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The scapegoat of the school," proceeded John Dixon, as if Mr. -Fox-Cordery had not spoken. "As easily led as a fly in harness. We -three were differently circumstanced. My people were poor, and could -allow me very little pocket-money; Bob Grantham's people were rich, -and he had a liberal supply. What your people allowed you no one knew. -You kept your affairs very secret, Fox; you were always a sly, vain, -cautious customer. Poor Bob was the soul of frankness; he made no -secret of anything, not even of his weaknesses, which he laughed at as -freely as some others did. Regularly every fourth Monday his foolish -people sent him ten pounds, and quite as regularly on the very next -day he had not a penny of his ten pounds left. Where did his money go -to? Who, in the course of a few short hours, had got hold of it? Some -said he gave it away to any poor man or woman he happened to meet. -Some said he chucked it into the pond out of dare-devilry. When he was -questioned, he turned it off with a laugh. You used to be asked about -it, and you used to answer, 'How should I know?' It was a mystery, and -Bob never blabbed--nor did you, Fox!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"How could I supply information," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "upon a matter -so mysterious; and what is the meaning of all this rhodomontade?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I suppose," continued John Dixon, still as if Mr. Fox-Cordery had not -spoken, "that most boys set up for themselves a code of honor which -they stick to, more or less, according to their idea of things. I -remember I did; I am quite sure poor Bob Grantham did; I don't know -whether you did, because you were so secretive, so very secretive. I -leave you out, Fox, for a cogent reason. I guess, as our American -cousins say, you are not in it when I speak of honor; and in making -this observation you will perceive that I have no desire to conciliate -you or to win your favor. Now, old fellow, there were only three boys -in the whole of that school--and there were thirty-five of us--who -knew what became of Bob Grantham's money."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Three persons!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Just three persons, and no more. The first was poor Bob himself, the -second was Fox-Cordery, the third was John Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed! You?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I, on the honor of a gentleman."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery's lips curled in derision as he remarked:</p> - -<p class="normal">"No man in the world would give you the credit of being one. And pray, -where did Mr. Grantham's money go to?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Into your pockets, Fox, as regularly as a clockwork machine."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A precious secret, truly," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, flicking a speck of -dust off his sleeve, "and a most valuable one for you to have -preserved all these years. I presume if a man, or a schoolboy, is weak -enough to lend his money he has a right to receive it back."</p> - -<p class="normal">"An indubitable right; but in this case there is no question of -borrowing and paying back. Would you like to hear how I came into a -knowledge of this mystery?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no desire; it is quite immaterial to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was an accidental discovery. You and Bob Grantham were bosom -friends. It was touching to observe how deeply attached you were to -him; and, in these circumstances, any friendship he formed being on -his part sincere, it was natural that you should be much in each -other's society. Now, it was noticeable that every fourth Monday -evening you and he disappeared for an hour or two, and it was for this -reason that you used to be asked what Bob Grantham did with the ten -pounds he received regularly on that day. On one of these Monday -evenings I happened to be taking a lonely walk in a pretty bit of -forest about two miles from the schoolhouse. There was a nook in the -forest which was very secluded, and one had to go out of one's way to -get to it. I went out of my way on that particular Monday evening, not -because I wanted to reach this secluded nook, because I did not know -of it, but aimlessly and without any special purpose. I heard voices, -and peeping through a cluster of trees, I saw you and Bob sitting on -the grass, playing cards. A white handkerchief was spread between you, -and on this handkerchief were the stakes you were playing for--Bob's -money and your own. I waited, and observed. Sovereign after sovereign -went into your pocket. You were quiet, and cool, and bland, as you are -now, though I dare say something is passing inside of you. What a rare -power you have of concealing your feelings, Fox! Some people might -envy you; I don't. Bob Grantham, all the time he was losing, laughed -and joked, and bore his losses like a man; and he kept on losing till -he was cleaned out. Then he rose, and laughingly said: 'You will give -me my revenge, Fox?' 'When you like, old fellow,' you answered; 'what -bad luck you have.' 'Oh, it will turn,' he said; 'all you've got to do -is to stick to it.' That is how I discovered where poor Bob's money -went to, Fox."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, and what of it?" said Mr. Fox-Cordery, with a sneer. "He was -fond of a game of cards, and he played and lost. That there was -nothing wrong in it was proved by your silence. And that is what you -have come here to-day to tell me! You are a fool for your pains, John -Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was silent," said John Dixon, "because Bob pledged me to secrecy. -My intention was to expose you to the whole school, and so put an end -to--what shall we call it? Robbery?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You would not dare to make that charge against me in public. There -are no witnesses present, and you, therefore, know you are protected -against an action for libel."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are losing sight of your compact of silence, Fox. Tiled in as we -are, we can call each other what names we please, and there is no -obligation upon us to be choice in our language. Pull yourself -together, my little man; I have no desire to take you at a -disadvantage. What do you say, now, to our agreeing that this meeting -shall not be confidential, and that when we part we shall each of us -be free to reveal what passes?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My word once given," replied Mr. Fox-Cordery, putting on his loftiest -air, "I never depart from it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For all that," said John Dixon, "I will give you the opportunity of -challenging me in public, and of seeing whether I will not give you -the chance of bringing an action for libel against me. Having made up -my mind what to do I considered it right to tell Bob of my intention. -He turned white with anger; he called me a treacherous dog; he said -that I had sneaked my way into a secret which had nothing whatever to -do with me, and that I should be playing a base part by revealing it. -We had some warm words about you, Fox, and he defended you tooth and -nail. Upon my word, after our quarrel I had a greater admiration for -poor Bob than ever. The end of it was that he bound me down, upon -honor, to keep the secret from any but our three selves, and that is -why it never leaked out."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Grantham had his good points," observed Mr. Fox-Cordery; "there -was something of the gentleman in him; that is why I chummed with him. -May I inquire how it was that, entertaining such an opinion of me, -you, a good many years after we all left school, accepted the offer of -employment I made you--which never would have been made, I need hardly -say, if I had known you then as I know you now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was down in the world; things had gone badly with me, and it was -necessary for me to get something to do without delay. You are aware -that I have an old mother to support: and when needs must--I need not -finish the old saying. When, meeting by chance, as we did, you made me -the offer, I did not tell you I was in low water, or you would have -screwed me down without mercy. I intended to remain with you only long -enough to save a few pounds, but getting to know Charlotte, and -growing fond of her, I could not tear myself away from her. I will -continue the story of poor Bob. The discovery I made did not alter -things in the least; it rather improved them for you. Bob and you -became more and more attached to each other, and you left school firm -friends. I never could understand what he saw in you, but you have the -faculty of inspiring confidence in some people--worse luck for them in -the long run."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am waiting for your insults to come to an end," said Mr. -Fox-Cordery, "and to have the pleasure of hearing the street door -close on you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All in good time, Fox; I told you I should not try conciliatory -methods. Our school-days over, we lost sight of each other, that is to -say, I lost sight of you and Bob, and what I have now to speak of has -come to my knowledge in various ways. After leaving school a series of -family adventures befell Robert Grantham. His parents died, his elder -brother died, a rich uncle died, and to Bob's share fell a larger -fortune than he expected to inherit. His good luck must have -bewildered him, for he appointed you his agent. The next point of -interest to touch upon is the introduction of a lady in your lives. -Her maiden name, Lucy Sutherland. Correct me if I am making any -misstatement."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I decline to make myself responsible for any statement of yours, -whether it be correct or otherwise. Your introduction of this lady's -name is a gross impertinence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not at all; it belongs to the story, which, without it, is -incomplete. I have not the pleasure of this lady's acquaintance, and, -to my knowledge, have never seen her, but I have heard of her, through -you and Charlotte."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Through me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To be sure," continued John Dixon, "you never mentioned her to me by -that name, but by the name she now bears, Mrs. Grantham. Probably you -would never have mentioned her to me at all had it not been that she -was concerned in the business you set me to do during my service with -you. You had the management of her financial affairs, as you had the -management of her husband's. But I am running ahead of my story. As a -maiden lady she had many suitors, which is not to be wondered at, for -though she had terrible anxieties and trials she is still, as I learn -from Charlotte, very beautiful, and as good as she is beautiful. I -trust Charlotte's judgment in this as in all things. Only two of these -suitors for her hand did Miss Sutherland smile upon. One was poor Bob -Grantham, the other yourself. But you did not hold an equal place in -her regard. She smiled upon poor Bob because she loved him, she smiled -upon you because you were the bosom friend of the gentleman she loved. -Into the sincerity of your feelings for her I do not inquire; I pass -over what does not concern me, and I come to the commencement of an -important chapter in this lady's life, which opens with her marriage -with Robert Grantham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You pass over what does not concern you," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. -"What, then, is your object in dragging the lady's name into the -conversation?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will learn presently. The chapter opens brightly, but we have -only to turn a leaf and we see clouds gathering. Mark you; from all I -can gather these two loved each other with a very perfect love; but -poor Bob had one besetting vice which darkened his life and hers, and -which eventually ruined both. He was an inveterate gamester. The seeds -of this vice, which you helped to nourish in our school days, were -firmly implanted in him when he grew to manhood. He was, as I have -already said, weak, and easily led, and no doubt the harpies who are -always on the watch for such as he encouraged him and fattened upon -him. He had not the strength to withstand temptation, and he fell -lower and lower. Observe, Fox, that in the narration of the story I am -merely giving you a plain recital of facts."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Or what you suppose to be facts," interrupted Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A plain recital of facts," repeated John Dixon, "the truth of which -can be substantiated. I do not ask you whether you took a hand in poor -Bob's ruin, and profited by it. That some harpies did is not to be -doubted, because in the end poor Bob lost every penny of his fortune, -which all found its way into their pockets, as the weak schoolboy's -ten pounds found their way regularly every month into yours. I do not -seek to excuse poor Bob; there is a thin line which separates weakness -and folly from sin, and Bob was one of the many who stepped over this -line. I have reflected deeply upon his wretched history. Knowing the -goodness of his heart and the sweetness of his disposition, I have -wondered how he could have been so blind as not to see that he was -breaking the heart of the woman he loved and had sworn to protect; her -nature must also have been one of rare goodness that she did not force -it upon him, that she did not take the strongest means to show him the -miserable pit he was digging for them. I have wondered, too, how, -through another influence than that of his wife, he himself should not -have awakened from his fatal infatuation. They had a child, a little -girl, and his instinctive tenderness for children should have stepped -in to save him. I am not myself a gambler, and I cannot realize the -complete power which the vice obtains over a man's moral perception, -sapping all that is noble and worthy in him, and destroying all the -finer instincts of his nature. Happily Mrs. Grantham had a fortune in -her own right over which her husband had no control; some portion of -it went, I believe, to save him from disgrace--and then the end came. -I have related the story in its broad outlines; there must have been -scenes of agony between husband and wife of which I know nothing, but -it is not difficult to imagine them. During the whole of these -miserable years, Fox, you remained the close friend and associate of -this unhappy couple, and you know what the end of it was."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What I know I know," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and I do not propose to -enlist you in my confidence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not ask you to do so. It was probably during these years that -Mrs. Grantham learned to rely upon you and to trust to your counsel -and judgment. You have maintained your position to this day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In the course of the business I transacted for you I became somewhat -familiar with Mrs. Grantham's pecuniary affairs. You are, in a certain -sense, her trustee and guardian; you have the management of her little -fortune; it was partly with respect to the investments you made for -her that we severed our connection."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That I dismissed you from my service," corrected Mr. Fox-Cordery. -"You had the presumption to suppose that you had the right to -interfere in my management. I opened your eyes to your position, and -sent you packing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"As it suited me to accept employment when you offered it to me, so it -suited me to leave your service at the time I did. A better situation -was open to me, with the prospect of a future partnership. On the day -I left you I went to my new situation, and have been in it ever since. -In a short time I shall become a partner in the firm of Paxton and -Freshfield, solicitors, Bedford Row."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is not of the slightest interest to me, Mr. Dixon, whether you -become a partner in this firm or go to the dogs. I can forecast which -of the two is the more likely."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Had you the disposition of my future I know pretty well what it would -be; but I promise you disappointment. Although you take no interest in -the circumstances of my becoming a partner in Paxton and Freshfield I -will leave our address with you, in case you may wish to consult me."</p> - -<p class="normal">He laid a card upon the table, of which Mr. Fox-Cordery took no -notice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This, then," he said, "is the reason of your intrusion. To solicit my -patronage? You would have made a good commercial traveler."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are miles from the truth. I do not think we would undertake your -business. I leave my card for private, not for professional reasons. -What I have stated to you leads directly to the object of my visit. I -have hitherto asked you no questions; perhaps you will not object to -my asking you one or two now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say what you please. I can answer or not, at my discretion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Entirely so; and pray take it from me that I am not here in a -professional capacity, but solely as a private individual who will -certainly at no distant date be a member of your family, whether you -like it or not; or," he added, with a slight laugh, "whether I like it -or not. In conveying to you my regret that I shall have a relationship -thrust upon me which I would very gladly dispense with, my reference -is not to Charlotte. A relationship to you, apart from other -considerations, is no credit; but, so far as Charlotte and I are -concerned, I would prefer it without the additional drawback of a -public scandal. Many singular pieces of business fall into the hands -of Paxton and Freshfield. One of such a nature came into the office a -short time since, but it was not brought before my notice till to-day. -Have you seen the _Times_ this morning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I decline to answer idle questions."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whether you have seen it or not, an advertisement in its personal -columns has certainly escaped your attention, or you would not have -met this particular question so calmly. The advertisement, as you will -see--I have brought the paper with me--was inserted by my firm. It -will interest you to read it."</p> - -<p class="normal">He took the _Times_ from his pocket, and offered it to Mr. -Fox-Cordery, pointing to the advertisement of which he spoke; Mr. -Fox-Cordery hesitated a moment, and then, paper in hand, stepped to -the dusty window, and read the advertisement, which ran as follows:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">If Mr. Robert Grantham, born in Leamington, Warwickshire, will call -upon Messrs. Paxton and Freshfield, solicitors, Bedford Row, London, -he will hear of something to his advantage.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">To read so short an advertisement would occupy a man scarcely half a -minute, but Mr. Fox-Cordery stood for several minutes at the window, -with his back turned to John Dixon. Perhaps there was something in the -prospect of the dreary back wall that interested him, for he stood -quite still, and did not speak. His contemplation at an end, he faced -his visitor, and handed back the paper.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you anything to remark?" inquired John Dixon.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Close as wax, Fox, as usual. When I read the advertisement this -morning it gave me a strange turn, and I came direct to your house to -speak to you about it. Before I did so, I made myself acquainted with -the nature of the business concerning which our firm desires to see -Mr. Robert Grantham. It is a simple matter enough. An old lady has -died in Leamington; she was aunt to poor Bob, and she has left him a -small legacy of two hundred pounds. Not a fortune, but a useful sum to -a man in low water."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are talking rubbish," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "You know perfectly -well that it is throwing money away to put such an advertisement in -the papers. Is it in other papers as well as the _Times?_"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, ha, friend Fox!" said John Dixon. "Caught tripping for once. -Actually betraying interest in the object of my visit, when -indifference was your proper cue! No, it is not in other papers; the -whole of the small legacy must not be eaten up in expenses. Had I been -informed of this business before the insertion of the advertisement -even in one paper, I should have suggested to Paxton and Freshfield -the advisability of a little delay until I had made certain inquiries. -Lawyers are practical people, and they would have recognized the -absurdity of inviting by public proclamation a visit from a ghost. -There is no mistake, I suppose, about poor Bob being dead?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know he is dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Softly, Fox, softly. I know nothing of poor Bob except what I have -gathered from you. If Mrs. Grantham is a widow, why of course Robert -Grantham is a dead man; if she is not a widow, why of course Robert -Grantham is alive, and you stand small chance of stepping into his -shoes, which I believe you are eager to do. It is hardly likely that -she has seen the advertisement, but it must be brought to her notice -very soon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"By whom?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Naturally, in the first place, by you, as her business agent, -because, in the event of Bob being dead, the legacy will fall to his -heirs. Failing you, naturally by Paxton and Freshfield, who have this -inconsiderable business in hand, and whose duty it is to attend to it. -Probably we shall await some communication from you or Mrs. Grantham -upon the matter. It may be that Paxton and Freshfield will expect -something from you in the shape of a document, such, for instance, as -proof of poor Bob's death; and they might consider it advisable to ask -for certain particulars, such as the place and date of his death, -where buried, etcetera. All of which you will be able to supply, being -positive that Mrs. Grantham is a widow. Now, Fox, I have still a word -or two to say to you in private. Call it an adventure, an impression, -what you will; it occurred to me, and it would be unfair to keep it -from Charlotte's brother. Until to-day I have not mentioned it to a -soul. We have passed through a hard winter, as you know, and have -established a record in fogs. I do not remember a year in which we -have had so many foggy days and nights, and the month of March usurped -the especial privilege of the month of November. I cannot recall the -precise date, but it was about the middle of March when I walked from -the Strand into Regent Street by way of the Seven Dials. It was one of -the foggiest nights we had, and I had to be careful how I picked my -steps. Men walked a yard or two ahead of you, and you could not see -their faces, could scarcely distinguish their forms; but quite close, -elbow to elbow, as it were, you might by chance catch a momentary -glance of a face. A flash, and it was gone, swallowed up in Egyptian -darkness. Two men passed me arm-in-arm, and, looking up, I could have -sworn that I saw the face of Robert Grantham's ghost. I turned to -follow it, but it was gone. That is all, Fox; I thought you would like -to know."</p> - -<p class="normal">If a face of the pallid hue of Mr. Fox-Cordery's could be said to grow -white, it may be said of his at this revelation; otherwise he betrayed -no sign of agitation. He made no comment upon it, and asked no -questions; but the indefinite change of color did not escape John -Dixon's observation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a pleasure to know that you have emptied your budget," he said. -"Good-morning, Mr. Dixon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-morning, Fox," said John Dixon. "You will probably acknowledge -that I had a sufficient reason for paying you this visit."</p> - -<p class="normal">He did not wait for the acknowledgment, but took his departure without -another word.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery stood motionless by the window. There was writing on -the dreary back wall, invisible to all eyes but his.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he has betrayed me!" he muttered; "if he has betrayed me!" and -pursued his thought no further in spoken words.</p> - -<p class="normal">A quarter of an hour afterward he went to his mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you given Charlotte her clothes?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not yet, Fox," she replied. "What did that man want with you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That man is my enemy!" he said, with fury in his voice and face; "my -bitter enemy. Go, and give Charlotte her clothes immediately. And, -mother, take her out and buy her one or two nicknacks--a silver brooch -for a few shillings, a bit of ribbon. Be sweet to her. Curse her and -him! Be sweet to her, and say I gave you the money to buy the -presents. We need her on our side more than ever. Don't stop to argue -with me; do as I bid you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will obey you in everything, my love," she said, gazing at him -solicitously.</p> - -<p class="normal">He motioned her away, and she stole from the room, wishing she -possessed the malignant power to strike his enemy dead at her feet.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<h5>In which we make the acquaintance of Rathbeal.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">That same night, as Big Ben was striking the hour of nine, Mr. -Fox-Cordery, spick and span as usual, and with not a visible crease -upon him, crossed Westminster Bridge, Kennington way, bent on an -errand of importance, and plunged into the melancholy thoroughfares -which beset, but cannot be said to adorn, that sad-colored -neighborhood. In some quarters of London the houses have a peculiarly -forlorn appearance, as though life at its best were a poor thing, and -not worth troubling about. If general cheerlessness and despondency -had been the aim of the builders and speculators responsible for their -distinguishing characteristics, they may be complimented upon their -success, but certainly not upon their taste. It is as easy to make -houses pretty as to make them ugly, and curves are no more difficult -to compass than angles; facts which have not established themselves in -the consciousness of the average Englishman, who remains stupidly -content with dull, leaden-looking surfaces, and a pernicious -uniformity of front--which may account for the dejection of visage to -be met with in such streets as Mr. Fox-Cordery was traversing.</p> - -<p class="normal">He paid no attention to the typical signs, animate or inanimate, he -met with on his road, but walked straight on till he arrived at a -three-storied house, in the windows of which not a glimmer of light -was to be seen. Striking a match, he held it up to the knocker of the -street door, beneath which the number of the house was painted in -fast-fading figures; and convincing himself with some difficulty that -he had reached his destination, he put his hand to the knocker to -summon the inmates. But the knocker had seen its best days, and was -almost past knocking. Rust and age had so stiffened its joints that it -required a determined effort to move it from its cushion; and being -moved, there it stuck in mid-air, obstinately declining to perform its -office.</p> - -<p class="normal">Failing to produce a sound that would have any effect upon human ears, -Mr. Fox-Cordery turned his attention to the bells, of which there were -six or seven. As there was no indication of the particular bell which -would serve him, he pulled them all, one after the other. Some were -mute, some gave forth the faintest tinkle, and one remained in his -hand, refusing to come farther forward or to go back; the result of -his pulling being that not the slightest attention was paid to the -summons by anyone in the house. The appearance of a hobbledehoy -promised to be of assistance to him. This hobbledehoy was a stripling -of same thirteen summers; his shirt-sleeves turned(?) up, and he -carried in his hand a pewter pot of beer which he occasionally put his -lips, not daring to go deeper than the froth, from fear of -consequences from the lawful owner.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Rathbeal lives here, doesn't he?" inquired Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">The hobbledehoy surveyed the gentleman, and became instantly lost in -admiration. Such a vision of perfect dressing had probably never -presented itself to him before. Open-mouthed he gazed and worshiped. -Mr. Fox-Cordery aroused him from his dream by repeating the question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lots o' people lives 'ere," he replied. "Who's Mr. What's-his-name, -when he's at 'ome, and does 'is mother know he's out when he ain't?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery spelt the name, letter by letter--"R-a-t-h-b-e-a-l."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't know the gent," said the hobbledehoy. "Is he a sport?"</p> - -<p class="normal">No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say he was a sport.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is he a coster?"</p> - -<p class="normal">No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say he was a coster.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it sweeps?"</p> - -<p class="normal">No, Mr. Fox-Cordery could not say it was sweeps.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Give it up," said the hobbledehoy. "Arsk me another."</p> - -<p class="normal">Another did not readily present itself to Mr. Fox-Cordery's usually -fertile mind, and he stood irresolute.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I tell yer wot," suggested the hobbledehoy. "Give me tuppence, and -I'll go through the lot."</p> - -<p class="normal">With a wry face, Mr. Fox-Cordery produced the coppers, which the -hobbledehoy spun in the air, and pocketed. Then he conscientiously -went through the list of the inmates of the house from basement to -attic, Mr. Fox-Cordery shaking his head at each introduction.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's the gent with the 'air on," he said, in conclusion; "and that -finishes it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery's face lighted up.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Long gray hair?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied the hobbledehoy. "Could make a pair of wigs out of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Down to here?" asked Mr. Fox-Cordery, with his hand at his breast.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's the wery identical. Looks like the Wizard of the North. Long -legs and arms, face like a lion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is the person I want," said Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Third floor back," said the hobbledehoy; and, with the virtuous -feeling of a boy who has earned his pennies, he walked into the house, -with his head up; whereby Mr. Fox-Cordery learned that knockers and -bells were superfluities, and that anyone was free of the street door, -and could obtain entrance by a simple push. Following the instruction, -he mounted the stairs slowly, lighting matches as he ascended to save -himself from falling into a chance trap; a necessary precaution, for -the passages were pitch dark, and the balustrades and staircases -generally in a tumbledown, rickety condition. The third floor was the -top of the house, and comprised one front and one back room. He -knocked at the latter without eliciting a response, and knocked again -with the same result. Then he turned the handle, which yielded to his -pressure, and entered.</p> - -<p class="normal">The room was as dark as the passages, and Mr. Fox-Cordery, after -calling in vain, "Here, you, Rathbeal, you!" had recourse to his -matchbox again; and seeing the end of a candle in a tall candlestick -of curious shape upon the table, he lighted it and looked around. From -the moment of his entering the room he had been conscious of a faint -odor, rather disturbing to his senses, and now, as he looked around, -he satisfied himself as to the cause. On a quaintly carved bracket -were a bottle and a small box. The bottle was empty, but there was a -little opium in the box.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At his old game," he muttered. "Why doesn't it kill him? But I -wouldn't have him die yet. I must first screw the truth out of him."</p> - -<p class="normal">By "him" he meant the tenant of the room, who lay on a narrow bed -asleep. Before disturbing him, Mr. Fox-Cordery devoted attention to -the articles by which he was surrounded. The furniture of this humble -attic was extraordinary of its kind, and had probably been picked up -at odd times, in one auction-room and another. On the floor was an old -Oriental rug, worn quite threadbare; the two chairs were antiques; the -carved legs of the table represented the legs of fabulous animals; -even the fire-irons were old-fashioned. There were several brackets on -the walls, carved by the sleeping man, showing a quaint turn of fancy; -and on each bracket rested an article of taste, here a small Eastern -vase, here a twisted bottle, here the model of a serpent standing -upright on two human legs. A dealer in old curiosities would not have -given more than a sovereign or two for all the furniture and ornaments -in the room, for none of them were of any particular value. But the -collection was a remarkable one to be found in an attic in such a -neighborhood; and, if it denoted nothing else, was an indication that -the proprietor was not of the common order of English workingmen, such -as one would have expected to occupy the apartment; if, indeed, he was -an Englishman at all.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery was not a gentleman of artistic taste, and he turned -up his nose and shrugged his shoulders contemptuously at these -belongings. Then he devoted a few moments more to an examination of -the room, opening drawers without hesitation, and running his eyes -over some manuscripts on the table. The written characters of these -manuscripts were exquisite, albeit somewhat needlessly fantastic here -and there: and the manuscripts themselves furnished a clew to the -occupation of the tenant, which was that of a copyist. There were no -paintings or engravings on the walls, which, however, were not -entirely devoid of pictorial embellishment. Four neatly cut pieces -of drawing-paper were tacked thereon--north, south, east, and -west--bearing each a couplet beautifully written within an illuminated -scroll. The colors of the scrolls were green and gold, and the verses -were written in shining Indian ink.</p> - -<p class="normal">On the tablet on the north wall the lines ran:</p> - -<div style="font-size:9pt"> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-bottom:0px">He whose soul by love is quickened, never can to death be hurled;</p> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-top:0px;">Written is my life immortal in the records of the world.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">On the south wall:</p> - -<div style="font-size:9pt"> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-bottom:0px">Oh, heart! thy springtime has gone by, and at life's flowers has -failed thy aim.</p> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-top:0px">Gray-headed man, seek virtue now; gain honor and a spotless name.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">On the west wall:</p> - -<div style="font-size:9pt"> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-bottom:0px">Now on the rose's palm the cup with limpid wine is brimming,</p> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-top:0px">And with a hundred thousand tongues the bird her praise is hymning.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">On the east wall:</p> - - -<div style="font-size:9pt"> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-bottom:0px">If all upon the earth arise to injure myself or my friend,</p> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-top:0px">The Lord, who redresses wrong, shall avenge us all in the end.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery's judgment upon these couplets was that the writer's -brain was softening; and considering that he had wasted sufficient -time in making discoveries of no value, he stepped to the narrow bed, -and contemplated the sleeper. The contrast between the two men was -noteworthy, but it was the good or bad fortune of Mr. Fox-Cordery -always to furnish a contrast of more or less interest when he stood -side by side with his fellow-men. At this moment his clean, pallid -face, with its carefully arranged hair and drooping mustache, wore an -ugly expression singularly at odds with his diminutive stature.</p> - -<p class="normal">It is not pleasant for a man with a thorough belief in his own -supremacy to suspect that he has been tricked by one whom he gauges to -be of meaner capacity than himself; but this had been Mr. -Fox-Cordery's suspicion since his interview with John Dixon, and he -had come hither either to verify or falsify it. The sleeper's age -could not have been less than sixty years; he was a large-limbed man, -six feet in height, and proportionately broad and massive. His -full-fleshed eyelids with their shaggy eyebrows, his abundant tangled -hair, and the noble gray beard descending to his breast, denoted a -being of power and sensibility; and though he lay full length and -unconscious beneath the little man who was gazing wrathfully upon him, -he seemed to tower majestically above the pygmy form. Mr. Fox-Cordery -shook the sleeper violently, and called:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Rathbeal, you scoundrel; just you wake up! Do you hear? No shamming! -Wake up!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal slowly opened his eyes, which like his hair were gray, and -fixed them upon Mr. Fox-Cordery. Recognition of his unexpected visitor -did not immediately come to him, and he continued to gaze in silence -upon the intruder. Half asleep and half awake as he was, there was a -magnetic quality in his eyes which did not tend to put Mr. Fox-Cordery -at his ease; and in order to make a proper assertion of himself, he -said, in a bullying tone:</p> - -<p class="normal">"When you have had your stare out, perhaps you'll let me know."</p> - -<p class="normal">The voice assisted Rathbeal, who, closing his eyes and with a subtle -smile on his lips, murmured, in perfect English:</p> - - -<div style="font-size:9pt; margin-left:10%"> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-7%; margin-bottom:0px">"The enemy thy secret sought to gain:</p> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-top:0px">A hand unseen repelled the beast profane."</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">"Beast yourself!" retorted Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Here, no going off to -sleep again! You're wanted, particularly wanted; and I don't intend to -stand any of your infernal nonsense!"</p> - -<p class="normal">But these lordly words, peremptorily uttered, did not seem to produce -their intended effect, for Rathbeal, still with closed eyes, murmured:</p> - -<div style="font-size:9pt; margin-left:10%"> -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-7%; margin-bottom:0px">"Be my deeds or good or evil, look thou to thyself alone; -<p style="margin-left:5%; text-indent:-5%; margin-top:0px">All men, when their work is ended, reap the harvest they have -sown."</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">The couplet, being of the order of those affixed to the walls, -conveyed no definite idea, and certainly no satisfaction, to Mr. -Fox-Cordery's mind. He cried masterfully:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you going to get up or not? I've something to say to you; and -you've got to hear it, if I stay all night."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Rathbeal opened his eyes again, and there was recognition in -them, as he said courteously:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, Mr. Fox-Cordery, your pardon; I was scarcely awake. You have -taken me from the land of dreams. It is the first time you have -honored me in this apartment. To see you here is a surprise."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I dare say," chuckled Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and not an agreeable one -either. Eh, old man?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If it were not agreeable," said Rathbeal, spreading out his hands, -which were large and shapely, and in keeping with his general -appearance, "I should not confess it. You are my guest."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Guest be hanged!" exclaimed Mr. Fox-Cordery, resenting the suggestion -as claiming equality with him. "Do you think I have come to partake of -your hospitality? Not by a long way. Are you awake yet?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wide, very wide," replied Rathbeal, rising calmly from his bed. "I -have been in the spirit"--he consulted a silver watch--"nine hours. If -you had not aroused me I should have been by this time conscious. -Excuse me; I have no other apartment." There was a small shut-up -washstand in a corner, and he opened it, and pouring out water, laved -his hands. When he had dried them he combed out his noble beard with -his fingers, and said, "I am now ready for work."</p> - -<p class="normal">"People, as a rule, leave off at this hour," remarked Mr. Fox-Cordery, -who for reasons of his own, which had suggested themselves since he -entered the room, did not intend to rush into his grievance. Under any -circumstances he might not have done so, absorbing as it was, for it -was his method to lead up to a subject artfully in the endeavor to -gain some advantage beforehand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I commence at this hour," said Rathbeal, "and work through the night. -You have something to say to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good deal, and you'll need all your wits. I say, you, Rathbeal, -what are you?" His eyes wandered about the room, and gave point to his -inquiry. "I have known you a pretty long time, but I have never been -able to make up my mind about you. Not that I have troubled myself -particularly; but since I have been here I have grown curious. That's -frank, isn't it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very. What am I? You open up a vast field. What is man? Who has been -sufficiently wise to answer the question? What is man? What is life? -Some say a dream, and that it commences with death. Some say that the -soul of man exists long before the man is born, and that it is -enshrined in a human body for the purpose of overcoming the -temptations and debasing influences of the material life. Successful, -it earns its place in celestial abodes, Unsuccessful, it is forever -damned."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You think yourself precious clever," sneered Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I am an enigma to myself, as all reflective men must be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Reflective men!" exclaimed Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Hear him!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"One thing I know," said Rathbeal, ignoring the taunt. "You, I, and -all lesser and greater mortals, are part of a system."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hang your system, and your palaver with it! I'll tell you in a minute -or two what I came here for, but I shall be obliged if you will first -tell me something of yourself. I have the right to know your history."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no objection. You wish to learn my personal history. It is -soon told."</p> - -<p class="normal">"None of your lies, you know; I shall spot them if you try to deceive -me. I am as wide awake as you are."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wider, far wider. You have the wisdom of the serpent."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here, I say," cried Mr. Fox-Cordery, "none of your abuse. What do you -mean by that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You should receive it as a compliment." He pointed to the figure of a -serpent on human legs standing on a bracket. "I compare you to the -serpent in admiration. Shall I commence at the beginning of my life?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Commence where you like, only cut it short."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My father was a Persian; my mother also. They came to England to save -their lives. One week longer in Persia, and they would have been -slain."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A pity."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That they did not remain in their native land? That they were not -slain? Perhaps. Who shall say? But there is a fate. Who shall resist -it? Safe in England, where I was born a week after their arrival, my -parents lived till I was a youth. They imbued me with their spirit. As -you see." He waved his hand around. "I live by the art of my pen. That -is all."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite enough; it is plain there is no getting anything out of you. -Now, listen to me. You accepted a commission from me, which you led me -to believe you fulfilled. If it is not fulfilled you practiced a fraud -upon me for which the law can punish you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am acquainted with the English law. I have a perception of a -higher--the divine law. We will proceed fairly, for you have spoken of -a serious business. Many years ago you desired some parchments copied, -and, hearing I had some skill with the pen, you sought me out. I -performed the work you intrusted to me, and from time to time you -favored me with further orders. The engagement ended; you needed my -pen no more. But you deemed me worthy to undertake a commission of -another nature. You had a friend, or a foe, who was suffering, and -whose presence in England was inconvenient to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lie number one," said Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a true interpretation. You came to me and said, 'This man is -dying; I wish his last hours to be peaceful. There are memories here -that torture him. Make friends with him. Opium will relieve him; -ardent spirits will assuage his pain; travel will beguile his senses. -His constitution is broken. Go with him to Paris; I will allow you a -small monthly stipend, and, when his pain is over, you shall have a -certain sum for your labor.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lies, and lies, and yet more lies," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, watching -Rathbeal's face warily. "You have a fine stock of them, and of all -colors and shapes. Why, you would come out first in a competition."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You compliment me," said Rathbeal, with a gentle smile. "Did those -words exist only in my imagination? Yet, as you unfolded your wishes -to me, halting and hesitating with a coward's reserve, I thought I -heard them spoken. 'Do I know the unfortunate man?' I inquired, 'of -whom you are so considerate, toward whom you are so mercifully -inclined.' You replied that it was hardly likely, and you mentioned -him by name. No, I had never heard of the gentleman. 'I must see him -first,' I said, 'before giving you an answer.' You instructed me how -to find him, and I sought him out, and made the acquaintance of a -being racked with a mortal sorrow. You came to me the following day -for an answer; I informed you that you had come too soon, and that I -had not decided. 'Be speedy,' you urged. 'I am anxious to get the man -out of my sight.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still another lie," said Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Not a word you have quoted -was ever spoken by me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My imagination again," said Rathbeal, with the same gentle smile; -"and yet they are in my mind. Perhaps I translated your thoughts as -you went on. After a fortnight had passed I consented to your wishes, -and your friend, or your foe, left England for the Continent in my -company. It was expressly stipulated by you that no mention should be -made by me of your goodness, and that if he asked for the name of the -friend who was befriending him I was to answer guardedly that you -wished to preserve it secret. Only once did he refer to you, and then -not by name; but I understood him to say that he knew to whom he was -indebted, and that there was only one man in the world who had not -deserted him in his downfall."</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I inquire," asked Mr. Fox-Cordery, "whether your companion let -you into the secrets of his life--for we all have secrets, you know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, every man, high and low. He did not; he preserved absolute -silence respecting his history. We remained on the Continent a -considerable time, supporting ourselves partly by your benefactions, -partly by copying manuscripts, an art I taught him. I learned to love -the gentleman to whom you had introduced me for some evil purpose of -your own----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For an evil purpose! You are raving!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For some evil purpose of your own, which I could no more fathom than -I could the nature of the sorrow that was consuming him. 'Try opium,' -I said to him, 'it will help you to forget.' He refused. 'I will allow -myself no indulgence.' And this, indeed, was true to the letter. He -lived upon water and a bare crust. So did the monks of old, but their -lives were less holy than his, for it was only of themselves and their -own souls they thought, while he, with no concern for his own welfare, -temporal or spiritual, thought only of others, and applied every -leisure hour and every spare coin to their relief and consolation. He -was a singular mixture of qualities----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Spare me your moralizings," interrupted Mr. Fox-Cordery. "I knew what -he was, long before you set eyes on him. Keep to the main road."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In the life of every man," said Rathbeal, "though he be evil and -corrupt, there are byways wherein flowers may be found, and it was of -such byways I was about to speak in the life of this man of sorrow, -who was neither evil nor corrupt; but I perceive you do not care to -hear what I can say to his credit, so I will keep to the main road, as -you bid me. There dwelt in my mind during all the time we spent in -foreign lands the words you addressed to me: 'When you tell me that I -shall be troubled with him no more, you will lighten my heart.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"How many more versions are you going to give," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, -"of what I never said to you? You are a liar, self-confessed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that so? And yet, shrewd sir, I insist that the words are not of -my sole coining. At length I was in a position to inform you that your -desire was accomplished, and that your friend, or your foe, would -trouble you no more; and so, upon my return to England--with the -payment of a smaller sum than I expected from you, for you made -deductions--all business between us came to an end. Upon your entrance -into this room to-night I remarked that your presence was a surprise -to me. I did not expect you, and I am puzzled to know how you -discovered where I lodge."</p> - -<p class="normal">"When I weave a web, Rathbeal," chuckled Mr. Fox-Cordery, "nothing -ever escapes from it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"An unfortunate figure of speech," said Rathbeal impressively, "for -you liken yourself to a human spider. But there are other webs than -those that mortals weave. Fate is ever at work; it is at work now, -weaving a mesh for you, in spots invisible to you, in men and women -who are strangers to you, and you shall no more escape from it than -you shall escape from death when your allotted hour comes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, I daresay. Go and frighten babies with your balderdash. What I -have come to know is, whether you have obtained money from me under -false pretenses. It is an offense for which the law provides----"</p> - -<p class="normal">A movement on the part of his companion prevented him from finishing -the sentence. Rathbeal had risen from his chair, and was standing by -the door in the act of listening, and Mr. Fox-Cordery did not observe -that he had slipped the key out of the lock. He was about to rise and -throw open the door, in the hope of making a discovery which would -bring confusion upon Rathbeal, when the latter, by a sudden and rapid -movement, quitted the room. Mr. Fox-Cordery turned the handle of the -door, with the intention of following him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hanged if the beggar hasn't locked me in!" he cried, in -consternation. "Here, you, Rathbeal, you! Play me any of your tricks, -and I'll have the law of you! If you don't open the door this instant -I'll call the police!"</p> - -<p class="normal">No answer was made to the threat, and Mr. Fox-Cordery, seriously -alarmed that he had fallen into a trap, and unable to open the door, -though he shook it furiously, lifted the window-sash to call for help, -but the room was at the back of the house, and when he put his head -out of the window he could not pierce the dense darkness into which he -peered. He screamed out nevertheless, and was answered by a touch upon -his shoulder which caused him to tremble in every limb and to give -utterance to a cry of fear. Turning, he saw Rathbeal smiling upon him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My shrewd sir," said Rathbeal, "what alarms you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery recovered his courage instantly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Confound you!" he blustered. "What do you mean by locking me in?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Locking you in!" exclaimed Rathbeal, pointing to the key in the lock. -"You are dreaming. I thought I heard a visitor ascending the stairs, -and as I was sure you did not wish for the presence of a third party -till our interview was over I went out to dismiss him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Or her," suggested Mr. Fox-Cordery, with malicious emphasis.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Or her, if you will. Sit down and compose yourself. You were saying -when I left the room that I had obtained money from you on false -pretenses, and that it is an offense for which the law provides. It is -doubtless the case--not that I have obtained your money falsely, but -that the law could punish me if I had. Explain yourself. You came -hither to speak to me, and yet it is I who have chiefly spoken. You -have heard me; let me hear you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What I want to know," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and what I will know, is -whether you have given me false information."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon what subject, shrewd sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon the subject you have been speaking of."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must be more explicit. If I choose not to admit that I understand -you when you speak in vague terms it is because of the attitude you -have assumed toward me, which you will excuse me for remarking is -deficient in politeness. Speak clearly, shrewd sir, and you shall have -like for like. I will not be behindhand with you in frankness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All right. I wished to serve a friend who was in a bad way. He was -broken down, and needed change of air and scene; I provided the means, -and sent you with him as a companion who might have a beneficial -effect upon him. I did not expect him to recover; he was too far gone, -his health being completely shattered. As a matter of course I did not -wish the thing to go on forever, and I desired to be kept posted how -it progressed, and, if it came to the worst, to be informed at the -earliest moment. You informed me that all was over, that my poor -friend was dead, and I paid you handsomely for your personal attention -to the matter. Am I to understand that the information you gave me was -true?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I pin you to greater clearness, shrewd sir, or you will obtain no -answer from me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The devil seize you! Is it true that the man I speak of is dead?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did I so inform you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You did."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no recollection of it. You have my letter. Produce it. The -written words are--I can recall them--'Rest content. Your desire is -compassed; you will be troubled no more.' Pay a little attention now -to me, shrewd sir. You have spoken to me in unmannerly fashion; you -have threatened me with the law. I despise your threats; I despise -you. Profit by a lesson it will be well for you to learn in this -humble room. Never make an enemy of a man, not even of the meanest -man. You never know when he may help to strike you down. When I worked -for you as a copyist you formed an estimate of my character upon -grounds shaped by yourself for your own private purposes--purposes -into which, up to the present moment, I have made no active inquiry, -though I have pondered upon them. I do not engage myself to be in the -future so practically incurious and retiring."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bully away," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, inwardly boiling over with rage. -"I have nothing to fear from you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You said to yourself, 'Here is a man of foreign origin who will do -anything for money,' and this opinion emboldened you to proceed with a -scheme which needed an unscrupulous agent, such as you supposed me to -be, to insure success. Unsolicited you introduced your scheme to me, -not in plain words, for which you could be made directly accountable, -but in veiled allusions and metaphors which needed intellectual power -to comprehend. Intellect is required for the success of base as well -as of worthy ends. Your mock compassion amazed me, and I made a mental -study of you, as of something new--a confession which perhaps will -surprise you. Not I the dupe, shrewd sir, but you. Men of my nation -have a habit of expressing themselves in metaphor, and are taught to -grasp a meaning, not from what is said, but from what is not said; and -I, though I have never been in my parents' native land, acquired this -habit from them. I divined your wish, but saw not, and see not now, -the springs which prompted it. Plainly, it was a crime you proposed to -me, and left the means at my discretion; and after making the -acquaintance of the gentleman whose end you hired me to compass, I -accepted the commission, nothing being farther from my mind than to -assist in its accomplishment. Not I, but fortune, favored you. You -were troubled by a mortal's existence; you were released from your -trouble, and your end was attained. Thus much I tell you, and will -tell you no more. Be content, and go."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come now," said Mr. Fox-Cordery, drawing a long breath of relief, -"you have talked a lot of infernal bosh, and told any number of lies; -but I will excuse you for everything if you will inform me where it -took place."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not one word will I add to those I have already spoken."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hang it! I have a right to know. You could be forced to tell!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Make the attempt. For the second time, I bid you go."</p> - -<p class="normal">He threw open the door, and stood aside to give his visitor -unobstructed passage. Recognizing the uselessness of remaining any -longer, Mr. Fox-Cordery laughed insolently in Rathbeal's face, and, -feeling his way down the dark stairs, reached the lower landing in -safety, and passed into the street.</p> - -<p class="normal">Although he was not in the most amiable of humors, his mind was -greatly relieved. Robert Grantham was dead. Of that he had been -assured by Rathbeal; not, certainly, in such plain words as he would -have preferred to hear, but in terms that left no doubt in his mind.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I put his back up," he muttered, as he walked along, "and that is why -he wouldn't speak out. Besides, he wasn't going to criminate himself. -I was an idiot to take the trouble I did over the affair. Grantham was -quite broken down at the time, and couldn't have lasted long under any -circumstances. There isn't an office in England that would have taken -a year's insurance on his life. He was done for; death was in his -face. They have all played into my hands, every one of them."</p> - -<p class="normal">But notwithstanding the relief he experienced, the events of the day -were not of a nature to afford him pleasant reflection. He had been -three times defied. First by Charlotte, then by John Dixon, then by -Rathbeal. Charlotte he did not fear as an enemy; despite her outbreak, -he had been too long accustomed to dominate her to be apprehensive of -her. She was in his power, and had pledged herself to silence for two -months. John Dixon and Rathbeal stood on a different platform; but -even from them he had little if anything to fear. As to John Dixon's -account of having seen Robert Grantham's face in a fog, he snapped his -fingers at it. It was, at best, a clumsy invention; had he been in -Dixon's place, he would have done better. His enemies had put him on -his guard--that was all the good they had done for themselves.</p> - -<p class="normal">When he reached the middle of Westminster Bridge, he paused and looked -down into the water. The darkness had lifted a little, and a few stars -had come out and were reflected in the river. The lamps upon the banks -formed a long line of restless, shifting light, converging to a point -in the far distance. An imaginative mind could have woven rare fancies -out of the glimmering sheen in the river's heart, which seemed to -pulse with spiritual life. Cathedral aisles, with dusky processions -winding between, descending into the depths to make room for those -that crowded behind. Lights upon a distant battlefield, a confused -tangle of horses and fighting men, the wounded and dying crawling into -the deep shades. A wash of the waves, and a wild _mèlée_ of dancers -was created, lasting but a moment--as, indeed, did all the -pictures,--and separating into peaceable units with the broadening out -of the water. A ripple, almost musical in its poetic silence, bearing -bride and bridegroom to love and joy. A band of rioters, upheaving, -with waving limbs inextricably mingled, replaced by an orderly line of -hooded monks, gliding on with folded arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">None of these pictures presented themselves to Mr. Fox-Cordery's -imagination. He saw only two figures in the water: one of a dead man -floating onward to oblivion; the other of a woman with peaceful, -shining face, inviting him, with smiling eyes, to come to her embrace. -The wish was father to the thought, and the figures were there as he -had conjured them up. The face of the dead man brought no remorse to -his soul; he was susceptible only of those affections in which his own -personal safety and his own personal desires were concerned. It was -for the death of this man and the possession of this woman that he had -schemed and toiled. The man he hated, and had pursued to his ruin; the -woman he loved and would have bartered his soul for. His passion for -her had grown to such a pitch as to make him reckless of consequences; -or, more properly speaking, blind to them. Had she yielded to his -wooing in years gone by, he would have made a slave of her, and have -tyrannized over her as he did over all with whom he had dealings. But -she had not favored him, except in the way of friendship, and had -given herself to the man he hated and despised. It can scarcely be -said that a nature so mean and cruel as his was capable of pure and -honest love; but passion and baffled desire took the place of love, -and had obtained such complete possession of his senses that he was -not master of himself where she was concerned. At his age the fever of -the blood should have been cooled, but opposition and disappointment -had produced a kind of frenzy in him; and, in addition, he had always -been a law unto himself, ready to put his foot upon the neck of any -living creature who ventured to obstruct his lightest wish.</p> - -<p class="normal">A black cloud blotted out the stars; the beautiful face disappeared. -Awaking from his reverie, Mr. Fox-Cordery proceeded to cross the -bridge. Staggering toward him in the opposite direction was a lad in -the last stage of want and destitution; a large-eyed, white-faced lad -literally clothed in rags. His trousers were held up by a piece of -knotted string, crossing his breast and back; he had no cap on his -matted hair; his naked toes peeped out of his boots. That he was faint -and ill was evident from his staggering gait, and indeed he hardly -knew where he was going, so genuinely desperate was his forlorn -condition. It chanced that he stumbled against the dapper form of Mr. -Fox-Cordery, who, crying, "What's your game, you young ruffian?" gave -him a brutal push, and sent him reeling into the road. The lad had no -strength to save himself from falling. Gasping for breath, he clutched -at the air, and fell, spinning, upon the stones. Passing callously on, -Mr. Fox-Cordery did not observe, and was not observed by a man who, -seeing the lad fall, ran forward to assist him. Stooping and raising -the lad's head, the man looked into his face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, Billy!" cried the man compassionately.</p> - -<p class="normal">The lad opened his eyes, smiled faintly, and answered, "Yes, it's me, -Mr. Gran "; and then the dark clouds seemed to fall upon him, and he -lay limp and insensible in the man's arms.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<h5>Billy turns the Corner.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham for a moment was undecided what to do. No one was near -them; he and Billy were just then alone on the bridge. Resolving upon -his course of action, he raised Billy in his arms and walked with his -burden toward Rathbeal's lodging. Billy was nothing of a weight for a -man to carry, being but skin and bone, and Grantham experienced no -difficulty in the execution of the merciful task he had taken upon -himself. He was not troubled by inquiries from the few persons he -encountered. A policeman looked after them, but as Grantham made no -appeal to him, and there was no evidence of the law being broken, he -turned and resumed his beat. Robert Grantham was a quarter of an hour -walking to the house in which Rathbeal lodged. Without hesitating, he -pushed the street door open, and ascended the stairs. Rathbeal heard -him coming up, and waited for him on the landing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What have you got there?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A lump of misery," replied Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal made way for his friend, who entered the room and laid Billy -on the bed. Then he examined the lad to see if any bones were broken, -Rathbeal, better skilled than he, assisting him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where did you find him, Robert?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"On Westminster Bridge. He must have stumbled against someone who -pushed him off into the road, where he fell fainting. I have known the -poor little fellow for months, but I have not seen him for the last -three or four weeks. I wondered what had become of him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where do his people live?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Heaven knows! He has none, I believe; or at all events, none who care -to look after him. He is a waif of the streets, not an uncommon growth -in London."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have been good to him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have given him bread sometimes, when I had it to give; and the last -time I met him I took him home with me, and made up a bed on the floor -for him. He remained with me a week, and then he unaccountably -disappeared. What is to be done? He does not recover. He is not dead, -thank God! There is a faint beat of the heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal produced a bottle in which there was some brandy. He -moistened the lad's lips with the spirit, and poured a few drops, -diluted with water, down his throat. Still the lad did not open his -eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you anything to eat in the cupboard?" asked Robert Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a little bread and meat," said Rathbeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He looks scarcely strong enough to be able to masticate hard food. -Make some water hot, Rathbeal. I will go and get a packet of oatmeal; -a basin of gruel will be the best thing for him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wait a minute, Robert." Rathbeal devoted a few moments to the lad, -and added gravely: "On the opposite side of the road, half a dozen -doors down, there is a poor man's doctor. Ask him to come up at once -and see the boy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will;" and meeting Rathbeal's eyes, he said, "Do you fear there is -any danger?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. I have some medical skill, as you know; but I do not hold a -diploma. It will be advisable that a doctor should see the poor boy."</p> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham nodded, and took from his pocket all the money it -contained--one sixpence and a few coppers. Rathbeal handed him five -shillings.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, Rathbeal," said Grantham, and ran down the stairs. In less -than ten minutes he was back, with a packet of oatmeal, and -accompanied by the doctor. While the doctor examined the lad, Rathbeal -busied himself in the preparation of the gruel, the kettle, already -nearly boiling, standing on a little gas-stove.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said the doctor, noticing the preparation; "it will be the -proper food to give him when he comes to his senses. Put a teaspoonful -of brandy in it. A son of yours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," answered Grantham; "my friend, Mr. Rathbeal, has never seen him -before. I found him in this condition in the street."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where are his parents?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know, nor whether he has any."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But you must have had some previous knowledge of him," said the -doctor, looking with curiosity at Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes. I met him by chance some months since, when he was in want -of food, and we struck up an acquaintance. Is he in danger?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He may not live through the night." He put up his hand; Billy was -coughing, and a little pink foam gathered about his lips, which the -doctor wiped away. "Exposure and want have reduced him to this state. -He has been suffering a long time, and his strength is completely -wasted. Had he been attended to months ago, there would have been a -chance for him. Listen!" Billy was coughing again, a faint, wasting -cough, painful to hear. "I can do very little. I will send you a -bottle of medicine, which may give him temporary relief; and I will -come again about midnight, if you wish."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall feel obliged to you. We shall be here all night. Should he -have brandy after he has taken the gruel?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A few drops now and then will do him no harm. He needs all the -strength you can put into him. Endeavor to get from him some -information about his relatives, and go for them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Would it be best to take him to a hospital?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He should not be removed; he will not trouble you long."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is more a grief than a trouble."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I understand. See, he is coming to. How do you feel now, my little -man?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"_I_ don' know," murmured Billy. "There's somethink 'ere." He moved -his hand feebly to his chest. "Is that you, Mr. Gran? Where am I?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"With good friends, Billy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You've allus been that to me, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now try and eat a little of this," said Grantham, raising the lad -gently in his arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">Billy, with a grateful smile, managed to get two or three spoonfuls -down, and then sank back on the bed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not force him," said the doctor. "Where do you live, Billy?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know--anywhere."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But try and remember."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can't remember nothink--only Mr. Gran. It ain't likely I'll forgit -'im. Thank yer kindly, sir, for wot you've done for me; there ain't -many like yer."</p> - -<p class="normal">He closed his eyes, and appeared to sleep.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will see him again at midnight," said the doctor, and stepped -softly from the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal cleared the table, and arranged some manuscripts.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We may as well work while we watch, Robert. These must be copied by -the morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">He spoke in a whisper, and, sitting down, commenced to write. Grantham -lingered awhile by the bedside, and as Billy did not stir, presently -joined his friend, and proceeded with his copying. He did not observe -that Billy, when he left his side, slyly opened his eyes, and gazed -upon him with a look of grateful, pathetic love. Every time Grantham -turned to him he closed his eyes, in order that it should be supposed -he was sleeping. The writing proceeded almost in silence, the friends -only exchanging brief, necessary words relating to their work. Now and -then Grantham rose and went to the bedside, and when the bottle of -medicine arrived he laid his hand gently on Billy's shoulder.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Mr. Gran," said the lad, "I'm awake."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take this, Billy; it will do you good."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothink'll do me good, sir; but I'll take it. I _did_ want to see -you before I went where I'm going to."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There, there, my dear boy," said Robert Grantham, "you must not -exhaust yourself by talking too much. You have taken the medicine -bravely. Now try and swallow a spoonful of gruel."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had kept it hot for the lad on the gas-stove.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, Mr. Gran, I'll try; but I _should_ like to know where I'm -going to."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you do not get well, Billy, you will be in a better place than -this."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Glad to 'ear it, sir; though luck's agin me. Yer didn't think it bad -o' me to cut away from yer so sly, did yer?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, my lad, no; but what made you go?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll tell yer 'ow it was, sir. I didn't want to take the bread out of -yer mouth, and I found out I was doing it, without yer ever saying a -word about it. There was the last day I was with yer, Mr. Gran; you -'ad dry bread, I 'ad treacle on mine; yer give me a cup 'o broth, and -water was good enough for you. At supper you didn't take a bite of -anythink, while I was tucking away like one o'clock. 'It's time for -you to cut yer lucky, Billy,' I sed; and I did."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Foolish lad! foolish lad!" said Robert Grantham, smoothing Billy's -hair. "Where did you go to?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don' know, Mr. Gran--into the country somewhere; but I didn't 'ave -better luck there than 'ere, sir. I was took bad, and I was told I was -dying; but I got better, Mr. Gran, and strong enough to walk back to -London. I only come to-night, sir. When I was bad in the country, an -old woman sed I was done for, and that if I didn't pray for salvation -I should go to--you know where, sir. She give me a ha'penny, and sed, -'Now, you go away and pray as 'ard as yer can.' But I didn't think -that'd do me any good, and ses I to myself, 'I'll toss up for it. -Heads, salwation; tails, t'other.' I sent the ha'penny spinning, and -down it come--tails, t'other. Jest like my luck, wasn't it, Mr. Gran?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Billy," said Robert Grantham earnestly, "you must drive that notion -out of your head. We are all equal in the sight of God----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, are we, Mr. Gran? That's a 'ard notion, as yer call it, to drive -out o' my head, and I don't think I've got time for it. Beggin' yer -pardon, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal, pen in hand, stopped in his work, and listened to the -conversation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I tell you we are all equal in the eyes of God--rich and poor, high -and low. The prayers of a poor boy reach God's ears as readily as the -prayers of a rich man."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If _you_ prayed, Mr. Gran," said Billy, "Gawd'd listen to yer. -Per'aps yer wouldn't mind praying for me a bit."</p> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham covered his eyes with his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Ave I 'urt yer, sir?" moaned Billy. "Don't say I've 'urt yer!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, my boy, no. If I had as little to answer for as you----" He -paused awhile. "Your state is not of your own creating, Billy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, sir; I don't know as it is. I couldn't 'elp bein' wot I am."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are many who could not say as much, who walk into sin with -their eyes wide open--Billy!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The lad was seized with a sudden paroxysm of coughing, which lasted -several minutes. The fit over, he lay back exhausted, the red foam -issuing from his mouth. It was no time for exhortation. Robert -Grantham cleared the fatal sign from the sufferer's mouth, and patted -Billy's hand and stroked his face pitifully. Billy's lips touched the -consoling hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank yer, sir. Let me lay still a bit."</p> - -<p class="normal">The men resumed their work, and the boy was quiet. At midnight the -doctor called again.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I feared," he said, apart to Robert Grantham; "he will last but a -few hours."</p> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham asked him what his fee was. The doctor shook his head, -and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have done nothing; I could do nothing. Permit me to play my humble -part in your kind charity. Good-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">He shook hands with them, put Billy in an easy position, and left -them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It isn't altogether a bad world, Robert," observed Rathbeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is what we make it," replied Robert Grantham, with a heavy sigh.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That will not apply to the poor outcast lying there," said Rathbeal, -looking at Billy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"True, true," rejoined Grantham. "I was thinking of my own life."</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal had the intention, when Mr. Fox-Cordery left him, of saying -something about his visit, but this sad adventure had put it out of -his head. He thought of his intention now, when Robert Grantham said -the world was what we made it; and he resolved that before many days -had passed he would invite his friend's confidence in a direct way. In -the presence of death he could not do so, and he set the matter aside -for the present.</p> - -<p class="normal">Their copying was finished at three o'clock, and Rathbeal gathered the -pages, and put them in order. There had been no apparent change in the -lad, but the solemnity of the scene impressed the men deeply. The -house was very quiet, and no sound came to them from the street. They -had endeavored, without success, to obtain from Billy some information -of his relations. Either he did not or would not understand them, for -he gave them no intelligible replies to their questions. They decided -to make another effort during the next interval of consciousness, and, -sitting by his bedside, they watched their opportunity. It came as -Rathbeal's watch pointed to the hour of four. Billy raised his lids; -his hands moved feebly. The men inclined their ears. Rathbeal left it -to Robert Grantham to speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Billy!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Mr. Gran; yes, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I want you, for my sake, to try and remember. You had a father and -mother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Mr. Gran, a long time ago."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where are they?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don' know, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it very long since you saw them?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, ever so long!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"But there must be someone--an aunt or uncle."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nobody, nobody!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Try, Billy; try to recollect--for my sake, remember."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir; yes, Mr. Gran, I'll try."</p> - -<p class="normal">But he seemed to forget it immediately, for he said nothing more.</p> - -<p class="normal">It must have been half-an-hour after this that Rathbeal touched Robert -Grantham's arm impressively. The dews of death were on Billy's -forehead, and his lips were moving.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Prue, little Prue!" he murmured.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A girl's pet name, probably," whispered Rathbeal in Robert Grantham's -ear.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Billy, yes," prompted Grantham; "who is little Prue?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sweethearts we wos. Little Prue! little Prue!"</p> - -<p class="normal">At this dying boy's mouth Fate was weaving its web; and some miles -away Mr. Fox-Cordery was dreaming of the woman he loved and the friend -he had ruined.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where does she live, Billy?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We wos sweethearts. I liked little Prue."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Try and remember where she lives, Billy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that you speaking, Mr. Gran?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my boy. Do you understand what I say?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don' know. 'Now you go away and pray as 'ard as ever yer can,' the -old woman ses, and I goes away and tosses up for it. 'Eads, salwation; -tails, t'other. And down it comes--tails. Just like my luck. But -there's something I _do_ want to pray for! It's all I can do for 'im, -and he ses Gawd'll 'ear a pore boy. So 'ere goes. Where's my ha'penny -to toss with? No, I don't mean that. I mean Gawd, are yer listenin'?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say your prayer, Billy," whispered Grantham, seeing that the lad's -last moments had come; "God is listening to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"O Lawd Gawd!" prayed Billy, pausing painfully between each word; -"give Mr. Gran all he wants, and a bit over. Look out! I am going to -turn the corner."</p> - -<p class="normal">A few moments afterward Billy had turned the corner, and was traveling -on the road of Eternity, with angels smiling on him.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<h5>The Gambler's Confession.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"You have asked me two or three times lately, my dear Rathbeal," wrote -Robert Grantham, "to relate to you the story of my life, and you have -mysteriously hinted that it might be in your power to render me a -valuable service, and perhaps to restore the happiness which it was -evident to you I had lost. I did not respond to your friendly -advances, in which there was a note of affection which touched me -deeply; but it seems to me now churlish to refuse the confidence you -ask for. It was not because I doubt you that I remained silent. I have -long known that I possess in you a friend whose feelings for me are -truly sincere, and who would be only too willing to make any personal -sacrifice in his power to console and comfort me in my misery. That, -indeed, you have already done; and although I can never repay the debt -of gratitude I owe you, rest assured, dear friend, that I am deeply -sensible of your sympathetic offices. But you can go no farther than -this. All your wisdom and goodness would not avail to fulfill the -hopes you entertain for my future. So far as I am personally and -selfishly concerned I have no earthly future. I shaped my course, and -marched straight on--deaf to the dictates of conscience, blind to -virtue and suffering--so steeped in the vice that enslaved me, that it -was only when the fell destroyer Death took from me the treasures -which should have been my redemption, that the consciousness of my -wrong-doing rushed upon me, and stabbed me to the heart. It was then -too late for repentance, too late to fall upon my knees and pray for -mercy and forgiveness. I deserved my punishment, and I bowed my head -to it, not with meekness and resignation, but with a bitterness and -scorn for myself which words are powerless to portray.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot recall when it was that I first became a gamester, but it -was during my school-days that my evil genius obtained a mastery over -me that I did not shake off until it had compassed my ruin and the -ruin of innocent beings I should have cherished and protected. In the -school I went to I had a friend and comrade, a lad of amiable parts -and qualities, with whom I chiefly associated; and somehow it happened -that he and I fell into the habit of playing cards for our -pocket-money. I was not even then a fortunate player, but the loss of -my few shillings was amply repaid by the delight I took in these games -of chance. There were occasions when my friend reproved me for my -infatuation, but I would not listen to him, and I made it a point of -honor with him that he should give me opportunities of regaining the -money I had lost. Not that I had any great desire to win my money -back; it was play I craved for. He was much more concerned at my -losses than myself; and I remember once that he offered to return all -he had won, which, of course, I would not listen to.</p> - -<p class="normal">"When, school-days over, I commenced to live the life of a man, I -sought places and opportunities for pursuing my favorite pastime. I -became a member of private clubs established for the gratification of -enthusiasts like myself, and there I lost my money and enjoyed myself -to my heart's content. I never questioned myself as to the morality of -my passion, and whether I won or lost was almost a matter of -indifference to me, so far as the actual value of the money I left -behind me, or took away with me, was concerned. I had ample means, for -more than one fortune was bequeathed to me; and I continued on the -fatal road I had entered with so much zeal, and never once thought of -turning back. At this period of my life the vice harmed no one but -myself. If it had, I might have reflected; but how dare I make this -lame excuse for my sinful conduct when I know that in after times it -did affect others, and that even then I did not turn back?</p> - -<p class="normal">"My friendship and intimacy with my schoolmate continued, and he often -accompanied me to my favorite haunts, and gambled a little, but not to -the same extent as I did, and with better luck. He accompanied me to -France and Italy, where I found ample scope for indulgence in my -besetting vice. By this time my schoolmate and I were bosom friends -and inseparable; and when he remonstrated with me on my last night's -losses, I used to laugh at him, and to challenge him there and then to -sit down with me to a game of chance, saying, 'Someone must win my -money, why not you?' And our intimacy was of such a nature that he -could not refuse, though his compliance was not too readily given. At -the Continental gaming-tables he would be my banker when I was cleaned -out, and one day he suggested that he should act as a kind of steward -of my fortune, which was still considerable. I consented gladly -enough, for I had no head for figures, and he saved me a world of -trouble. Then something took place which ought to have saved me, had -not my besetting vice taken such absolute possession of me as to -deprive me completely of moral control. I met a young and beautiful -girl, and fell in love with her. My love was returned, and in a few -months afterward she became my wife.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Surely that should have opened my eyes to my folly, if anything -could. A sweet and pure influence was by my side; and it is true that -for a little while my mad course was checked. I was happy in my wife's -society, as no man could fail to be who enjoyed the heaven of her -love. A sweeter, nobler lady never drew breath. I tremble with shame -as I write of her; I shudder with remorse as I think of the fate to -which I brought her. For we had not been married many months before my -evil genius began to haunt and tempt me. Understand that I should not -then have spoken of my vice as an evil genius. I saw no evil in it, -and I thought I had a right to pursue my pleasure; and so I began -gradually to neglect my home, and to resume my old pursuit.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My angel wife did not complain; she bore my neglect with sweetness -and patience--smiling upon me when I left her side, smiling upon me -when I returned. She had no knowledge of my secret; she did not see -her fatal rival at my elbow wooing me away from her pure -companionship. Some unrecognized feeling of shame kept me from -exposing my degrading weakness to her. She devoted herself to her -child, and by a thousand innocent arts--they make my heart bleed as I -think of them--strove to win me more constantly to her side.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Rathbeal, we had a child, a sweet flower from heaven, whose -grace and beauty should have opened my eyes to my sin. Do not think -that I did not love them. When I was with them, when I held my sweet -little girl on my lap and felt her little hands upon my face, I -thanked God for giving me a treasure so lovely and fair. Then my wife -would timidly ask me whether I would not remain at home that night, -and my evil genius would tempt me so sorely that I had not the -strength to resist. It is a shameful confession, but having commenced -I will go through with it to the bitter end; and if it lose me your -friendship, if you turn from me in scorn for my folly and weakness, I -must accept it as a part of my punishment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My angel wife suffered, and her sufferings increased as time went on. -I did not see it then; I do now. She grew thin and pale, believing -that I no longer loved her, believing that I repented my union with -her. What else could she believe as she saw the ties of home weakening -day by day? There are women who, in such a strait, would have -challenged the man boldly, but she was not one of these. Her nature -was too pliant and gentle, and terrible must have been her grief as -she felt the rock she depended upon for protection and support -crumbling away at her touch.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My luck never varied. Occasionally, it is true, I won small sums, but -these were invariably counterbalanced shortly afterward by heavier -losses. The consequence was that the inroads upon my fortune became -too serious to be overlooked. I asked my friend and steward for a -large sum of money to pay a gambling debt; he looked grave. I inquired -why he was so serious, and he invited me to look over the accounts. I -did so; and though I could not understand the array of figures he -placed before me, I saw clearly that my large fortune was almost -entirely gone.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I have warned you,' said my friend, 'time after time; I could do no -more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Spare me your reproaches,' I said. 'You have been a good friend, and -I have paid no heed to your warnings. Wind up my affairs, and tell me -how much I have left.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"The following day he informed me that I still had three thousand -pounds I could call my own.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Would you like a check for it?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I answered, 'Yes,' and he gave it to me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'And here,' he said, 'my stewardship ends. You must give me a full -quittance of all accounts between us.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"I drew up the paper at his dictation. He preferred, he said, that the -quittance should be in my own handwriting; and when he had done I -added words of thanks for the services he had rendered me, and signed -the document.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That night he accompanied me to a club, and watched my play. I won -five hundred pounds, and we walked away together, late in the morning, -in the highest spirits. He parted from me at the door of my house.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Will you play to-morrow night?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Of course I shall play to-morrow night," I replied, 'and every night -after that. I will get back every shilling I have lost. Look at what I -have done already; I have won five hundred pounds.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It is your only chance of saving your wife and child from beggary,' -he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thought of his words as I stepped softly into the house: 'My only -chance of saving my wife and child from beggary.' It was true. It was -a duty I owed to them to continue to play and win back the fortune I -had lost. It was not my money; it was theirs. I was their only -dependence. Yes, they should not say in the future that I had ruined -their lives. Luck must change; it had commenced to smile upon me. -There entered into my soul that night, Rathbeal, the spirit of greed. -I had been too careless hitherto, too unmindful as to whether I won or -lost. Hereafter I would be more careful; I would be cunning, as the -men I played with were. I would invent a system which would break them -and every man I played with. Tired as I was, I sat down and began to -calculate chances. A newspaper was on the table, and when I had jotted -down some columns of figures, and, aided by my recollection of certain -bets I had made a night or two before, proved that had I played wisely -I ought to have won instead of lost, I took up the newspaper, and -carelessly ran my eyes down its columns. They stopped at an account of -an Englishman's marvelous winnings at Monte Carlo--forty thousand -pounds in three days. I pondered over it. If he, why not I? I would go -and get my money back there. Sometimes in the haunts I frequented -money ran short; men, winning, would leave with their gains, and there -was no one left to play with except the losers, and I knew from -experience how desperate that chance was. At Monte Carlo there was -unlimited money. You could continue playing as long as you liked, and -go away with your winnings in your pockets in hard cash. Witness this -Englishman with his forty thousand pounds in three days. But it would -be as well to take a large sum of money with me. I had over three -thousand pounds; I would make it into ten here, and then would go to -Monte Carlo to wrest back my fortune. My mind made up, I crept to my -bedroom. My wife was there, sleeping as I thought. In an adjoining -room slept my little girl, Clair. Standing at the bedside of my wife I -observed--shame upon me! for the first time with any consciousness -that I was the cause of the change--how white and thin she had become. -The sight of her wan face, and of her lovely lashes still moist with -the tears she had shed, cut me like a knife. I did not dare to kiss -her; I feared that she would awake and see my face, for I had looked -at it in the glass, and was shocked at my haggard appearance. I -stepped softly into the adjoining room where our little Clair was -sleeping. She was rosy with health and young life, her red lips -parted, showing her pearly teeth, her hair in clustering curls about -her brow. Her I did not fear that I should awake, her slumbers were so -profound, and I stooped and kissed her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Robert!' said my wife.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She had been awake when I entered her room, but had not opened her -eyes lest she should offend me. Hearing me go into our child's -bedroom, she had risen quietly and followed me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Lucy!' I replied, my hands upon her shoulders.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She fell into my arms, weeping, but no sound escaped her. Clair slept -and must not be disturbed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I drew her into our bedroom, and closed the door upon Clair.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'What is the matter, Lucy?' I asked. 'Are you not well?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"She lifted her wet eyes with a sad wonder in them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Did you not know, Robert?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Know! What?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'That the doctor has been attending me lately,' she answered. 'Do not -let it trouble you, dear. You also are not well. How changed you are! -how changed! There is something on your mind, my dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She did not say this in reproach, but in loving entreaty and pity; -and though she did not directly ask me to confide in her, I understood -her appeal. But I did not dare to confess my folly and my shame. I had -kept my secret well, and she did not suspect it. No, I would not -expose my degradation to her and my child. Perhaps, when I had won -back the fortune I had lost, when I could say, 'I have not completely -ruined your future,' then I might find courage to tell her all. But -now, when I was nearly beggared and fortune was in my grasp, I must be -silent; my secret must be kept from her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It is nothing, Lucy,' I said; 'nothing. What does the doctor say?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"She withdrew from my embrace, and said, coldly I thought:</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I am not very well; that is all, Robert.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing more passed between us that night. I believed--because I -wished to believe--that there was nothing serious the matter with her; -and if I was right in my conjecture that she was cold to me, it sprang -probably because I would not confess what was weighing on my mind.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How shall I describe the events of the next few weeks? Night after -night I went from my home and kept out, often till daylight, -endeavoring to wrest my losses from my fellow-gamesters. My wife did -not ask me now to remain with her; she did not complain, and no -further reference was made to the doctor. This was a comfort to me. If -there had been anything to be really alarmed at I should not have been -kept in ignorance of it. So I went blindly on, greedy now for money, -chafing at my losses, suspecting all around me, and yet continuing to -play till I had completely beggared myself. My companions did not -know. It was not likely I was going to confess to them that if I lost -I had not the means of paying. They continued to play with me, and I -got in their debt, inventing excuses for being short of money. It was -only temporary, I said; I should be in funds very soon. Do you see, -Rathbeal, how low I had fallen?</p> - -<p class="normal">"A sharper experience was to be mine. I lost a large sum and my paper -was out for two thousand pounds. It was a debt of honor and must be -paid. The misery of it was that I had perfected a system at roulette, -which, with money at my command, could not possibly fail; and I had no -means at my disposal to go to Monte Carlo, where unlimited wealth was -awaiting me. It would be necessary to break up my home, but even that -would not supply me with sufficient funds to pay my debts of honor and -go to Monte Carlo. There was but one course open to me. My wife had a -small private fortune of her own; I would ask her to advance me a -portion of it as a loan which I would soon repay. I broached the -subject to her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It is only temporary,' I said, annoyed with myself that they should -be the same words I had used to the men who held my paper.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You know how much I have, Robert,' she said, averting her eyes from -me. 'It is Clair's more than mine. She must not be left penniless. I -do not think you ought to ask me for so large a sum.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"I mentioned a lower sum, and she said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Yes, Robert, you can have that. Do not ask me for more.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"I felt humiliated at this bargaining, and angry with her for her -coldness and want of sympathy with me. I summoned up a false courage, -and said it was likely that I should have to break up our home. She -expressed no surprise.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'In a little while, Lucy,' I said,' I will provide you with a -better.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"She did not wish for a better, she said; she could be happy in the -humblest cottage, if---- And then she paused and sighed, and I saw the -tears in her eyes. I took her hand; she gently withdrew it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I intended to tell you something to-day,' she said. 'My health has -broken down. The doctor says I must leave England as soon as possible -if I wish to live. I do wish to live, for my dear Clair's sake.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Not for mine, Lucy?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"I saw a struggle going on within her, but she sighed heavily again, -and did not reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I am grieved to hear the doctor's report,' I said. 'May he not be -mistaken?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'He is not mistaken. If I remain here I shall die.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Where does he tell you to go to?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'To some village in the south of France, near the sea, where there is -perfect quiet, where there are few people and no excitement.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"Such a place, I thought, would be death to me, with the plan I had in -my head of my projected venture at Monte Carlo.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Very well, Lucy,' I said; 'if it must be, it must be. I will join -you there.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You cannot go with us?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Not immediately. I have something of the utmost importance to attend -to elsewhere. It will not occupy me long, and then I will come to -you.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I did not expect you would accompany us,' she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not once had she looked at me or turned toward me. The impression her -conduct made upon me was not so strong then as afterward, when I awoke -from my dream of wealth, and when Fate dealt me the fatal stroke.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We parted. I received the money I asked her to lend me from her -little fortune, and we parted. I stood on the platform with her and -our Clair; my faithful friend and once steward stood a little apart -from us. He had offered to go with them to Dover, and his services had -been accepted. It was impossible for me to go even so far. My -creditors were clamoring, and I had arranged to meet a broker at my -house, to sell him everything in it, and to get the money immediately -from him. If my debts of honor were not paid that evening, I was -threatened with public exposure. Therefore it was imperative that I -should stay in London. It was then my intention to proceed immediately -to Monte Carlo, to commence operations; and, my fortune restored to -me, to join my dear wife, and commence a new life.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of all this she, of course, knew nothing. Ignorant of the real cause -of my downfall, how could she have divined the truth? Had there been -that confidence between us which should exist between man and wife, I -might at this moment be different from what I am. I should not be, as -I am, bowed down with a sense of guilt from which my soul can never be -cleansed. It was not she who was at fault, but I. Had I confided to -her, had she been really aware where and in what company I spent my -nights, she would have been spared the agony of a belief which, out of -charity to me, she would not shame me and herself by revealing. So we -two stood on the platform bidding a cold farewell to each other, each -tortured by a secret we dared not confess. I kissed her, and kissed my -sweet Clair.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Do come with us, papa!' said Clair, nestling in my arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My wife looked up into my face appealingly. In that one moment, had I -seized the opportunity, there was still a chance of redemption.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Robert!' she said, involuntarily raising her hands and clasping -them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, if I had met her appeal! If I had said: 'Do not go by this train; -I will confess everything to you!' But the prompting did not come to -me; if it had, I should have disregarded it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I cannot come with you, Clair,' I said; 'I have such a deal to do -before I leave London.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Poor papa!' she said. 'That is why you keep out so late at night. -Poor papa!'</p> - -<p class="normal">"My wife turned her head from us, but I saw the scarlet blush on her -face, which I attributed to her displeasure at my refusal. Or was it -that she suspected my secret?</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You have not betrayed me?' I said apart to my friend. 'She does not -know how I have lost my fortune, and what has brought me to this?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'On my honor, no,' he answered. 'She has not the least suspicion of -your stupid infatuation.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You will not call it stupid in three or four weeks,' I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It is not possible for your system to fail?' he questioned.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'There isn't the remotest possibility of it,' I replied. 'Clever -people think that everything has been found out about figures and -chances. I am going to show them something new.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"The whistle sounded; the guard bade the passengers take their places. -I walked along the platform as the train moved away. Clair waved her -handkerchief to me; my friend nodded good-by; my wife did not raise -her head to look at me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hastened back to my house, and found the broker there. He was a -wealthy dealer, and was going through the rooms when I entered, -appraising everything and putting down figures. I accompanied him from -one room to another, and we smoked as he made his calculations. I was -impatient and unhappy, but he would not be hurried. He opened the door -of my wife's morning-room; I pulled him back.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Not this room?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Pshaw!' I said. 'Everything must go.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"There were some small things in the room which seemed to me to have -so close a personal relation to my wife that I was angry to see him -handle them. Why had she not taken these things away with her? She -might have spared me the reproach. I walked out of the room while he -valued them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At length his catalogue was ended.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You want the money immediately?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Immediately,' I replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'A check will do, of course.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'No, I must have cash.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'That will make a slight difference,' he said, and he named the -amount he was willing to give me. It was less than I anticipated, but -the business worried me, and I agreed. Saying he would return in an -hour and complete the bargain, he left me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was alone in the house to which I had brought my wife, a bride. All -the servants had been paid off, and had left. I had arranged this -because I could not endure that they should see the sacrifice I was -making. Memories of the past rushed upon me--of my young wife's -delight as I took her through the rooms, of the fond endearments at my -cleverness and forethought, of the happy evening we passed, sitting in -the gloaming and talking of the future. Alas, the future! How fearful -the contrast between my young bride's fond imaginings and the reality! -In solitary communing I strolled through the rooms and marked each -spot and each article hallowed by some cherished recollection. The -piano at which she used to sit and sing in the early days of our -marriage, the window from which we used to watch the sunset, the small -articles on her dressing-table--there seemed to be a living spirit in -them that greeted me reproachfully, and asked, 'Why have you done -this? Why have you blighted that fair young life?' Our Clair was born -in the house. The cot in which she slept was there, her favorite -child-pictures hung upon the wall. What pangs went through me as I -surveyed the wreck of bright hopes! 'But I will atone for it,' I said -inwardly. 'When fortune is mine once more I will confess all, and ask -my dear wife's forgiveness. Then, then for the happy future!' No -warning whispers reached me. No voice cried,' Sinner and fool! You -have done what can never be undone. Not only fortune, but love, is -lost forever!'</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I dwell upon these small matters, Rathbeal, it is because the -impressions of that lonely hour are as strong within me now as then, -and because they are pregnant with an awful lesson.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The hour over, the broker returned with wagons and men. As he paid me -the money his workmen commenced to remove the furniture. I left the -house to their mercies, and went to meet the men to whom I was -indebted. I paid them to the last shilling, and, honor satisfied, was -master of a sum sufficiently large, I thought, to carry on my -operations at Monte Carlo. I played at the club that night, and lost a -few pounds. It did not affect me; I was rather glad, indeed, for it -pointed to the road where wealth awaited me. I had taken a bed in a -hotel, but an impulse seized me to visit my house once more. It was -two in the morning when I turned the key and lit the hall gas. My -footsteps resounded on the dusky passages. The broker had been -expeditious; everything in the house was removed, and I seemed to be -walking through a hollow grave--but it was a grave, haunted by ghostly -shadows, eloquent with accusing voices. I shut my eyes, I put my hands -to my ears, but I still saw the ghostly shadows and heard the accusing -voices. I rushed from the house, conscience-stricken and appalled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The next morning my courage returned; the sun shone brightly, and I -had money, and my system, in my pocket. Away, then, to Monte Carlo, to -redeem the past!</p> - -<p class="normal">"I did not commence immediately; I studied the tables, the croupiers, -the players, and I spent several hours in going over the figures and -combinations I had prepared. Then I took the plunge.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As is frequently the case, I was successful at first; in four days I -doubled my capital. My friend came to see me, as I had requested him -to do, to give me news of my wife. She had not written to me, and I -asked him the reason; he said he was not acquainted with the reason, -and he asked me how I was progressing. I showed him, exultingly, what -I had done; he expressed surprise and satisfaction.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'How long will it take you to accomplish your aim?' he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'If I play as I am playing now," I replied, 'some two or three weeks. -If I play more boldly, a week may accomplish it.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Why not play boldly?' he suggested.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I had half intended to do so, and his words encouraged me. We went to -the tables together, and I began to plunge. Before I left the rooms I -had lost all I had won, and some part of the money I had brought with -me. I pretended to make light of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'These adverse combinations occasionally occur," I said, 'but they -right themselves infallibly if you hold on. It is only a temporary -repulse.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"But though I spoke confidently my heart was fainting within me. -Theory is one thing, practice another. We can be very bold on paper, -but when we are fighting with the enemy we feel his blows.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The next day my friend accompanied me again to the tables, With all -my boasting I had not the daring to risk my capital in half-a-dozen -bold coups; I put on much smaller sums, and I had the mortification of -learning that my want of courage prevented me from winning what I -ought to have done.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You see,' I said to my friend. 'Faint heart never succeeded yet. But -it is only a little time lost, and it proves the certainty of my -calculations.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"He had to leave me that evening, and he made me promise that I would -write to him daily of my progress. As he was going to see my wife, I -gave him a letter to her, in which I begged her to write to me at -Monte Carlo. He said he would deliver the letter, and it was not until -some time afterward that I recalled his manner as being somewhat -strained.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The story of the next few days is soon told. Hope, despair; hope -again, followed by despair. I came down to my last hundred pounds. -Over and over again, in the solitude of my room, I proved to myself -how weak I had been in not doing this or that at the right moment; -over and over again I proved to my own misery that it was due to my -own lack of courage that I had not won back my fortune. I conned the -numbers I had written down as they were called out. 'Fool, fool, -fool!' I cried, striking my forehead. 'Wretched, contemptible coward!' -I rose in the morning haggard and weary; I had not slept a moment all -the night. There was still a chance left: I had a hundred pounds; I -would play on a lower martingale, and as I won I would increase it. I -did so. That day I remained at the tables ten hours without rising -from the seat I had secured. I won, I lost, I won again, I lost again. -A few minutes before the rooms closed I had followed my system to a -point whereat, after a series of losses, it needed but a large amount -to be staked to get all back again. I had this amount before me. On -previous occasions I had drawn back at such a critical juncture, and -had suffered for it by hearing the number called which, in its various -winning chances, would have recouped, with large profit, all that had -been lost in the series. I would not be guilty of this cowardice -again. With a trembling hand I put every franc I had on the various -chances which were certain this time to win. The number was called. -Great God! I was beggared! Without a word I rose and went to my hotel.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can you imagine the torments of hell, Rathbeal? I suffered them then. -But there was worse in store for me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Figures, figures, figures, red and black, living figures that moved, -that spoke, that glared and mocked me--the voices of the croupiers, -the exclamations of the gamesters, the rattle of the money--curses and -benedictions--now surrounded by a blaze of light, now plunged into -black darkness--painted women, men with hideous faces, lips that -smiled and derided--these were the images that haunted me in the -night. I had drunk brandy, contrary to my usual habit, for I was never -fond of drink, and my brain was burning. From time to time I dozed, -and scarcely knew whether I was awake or asleep, whether what I saw -were phantoms or actual forms of things. Was that a knock at my door? -Was that the voice of a waiter speaking to me outside? I did not -answer; I did not move. What mattered anything now? If the door -opened, it could signify nothing to me; if some person entered and -went away, there was no interest in the movements to beguile me from -the tortures I was suffering. Ruin and I were company enough.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The sun was streaming into my room long before I rose; when I got out -of bed I staggered like a drunken man, though, except for the delirium -of my senses, I was perfectly sober. It was not till I had washed and -dressed that I observed a letter upon my table. Taking it up, I saw -that it was in the handwriting of my wife.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hardly dared to open it; by my own act I had destroyed any claim to -her affection. I had brought deep unhappiness upon her; I had -systematically neglected her; I had lost the home which should have -been hers; I had taken our child's money, and could not return it. But -the letter must be read. With trembling hands I unfastened the -envelope, and drew forth the sheet.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It bore neither date nor address. I have the letter by me now, and I -copy it word for word:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> - -<p class="normal">"I can bear my agony in silence no longer. I write to you, I speak to -you, for the last time. This is my last farewell to him I loved, to -the father of my child, to the husband who should have been my shield.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you remember the words you addressed to me when we were married? -'I love you,' you said, 'I am your husband and lover. Nothing shall -ever harm or wound you. I am your shield--the shield of love.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"With what fondness I used to repeat these words to myself! My shield! -My shield of love! Side by side with my worship of the Eternal did I -worship you, as the realization of a young girl's happiest dreams; my -joy, my hope, my shield of love!</p> - -<p class="normal">"Slowly, slowly did I awake from my dream. I would not, I could not, -believe what you were showing me day by day, but the terrible truth -forced itself upon me with power so resistless, with conviction so -absolute, that I could no longer refuse to believe. How bitter was the -knowledge, how bitter, how bitter!</p> - -<p class="normal">"I gave you all my love. But for your own actions it would never have -wavered. O Richard! if in a moment of temptation you had turned to me, -I might have been your shield, as you promised to be mine!</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know your secret. I have known it for years--for long, bitter -years. I cannot blame myself that I did not satisfy your expectations. -All that a loving woman could do I did to retain your love. I hid -nothing from you; I strove with all my might to make your home -pleasant and attractive to you; what power lay within me to keep you -faithful to the vows we pledged was exercised by me to the utmost of -my abilities. I used to say to myself, 'What can I do to win my -husband's society and confidence? How can I act so that he shall not -continue to grow weary of me?' You will never know how hard I strove, -you will never know the tears I shed as I slowly recognized that my -shield of love was a mockery, and that there was as little loving -meaning in your declaration as if it had been uttered by a deadly -enemy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Richard, I know your secret; I know that you have not been -faithful to me; I know that for years your heart has been given to -another. I cannot say that I hope you will be happy with her who -occupies my place. At this solemn moment I will not be guilty of a -subterfuge. The issue lies in God's hand, not in mine, nor in yours.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should not address this farewell to you if it were not that I feel -I have not long to live. It is grief that is killing me, not a mortal -disease which doctors can minister to.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is with distinct purpose that I put no address to this farewell. I -have left the place I went to when you bade me good-by in London, and -it is my desire that you shall not know where I am, that you shall not -come to me. Remorse may touch your soul, and you may wish to come; but -it would not be a sincere wish, springing, as it must, from a sudden -false feeling of compassion in which there is no truth or depth. How -could I believe what you said, after all the years of suffering I have -gone through? And as a wife I must preserve my self-respect. Coming to -me from a woman for whom you deserted me, I would not receive you. It -is long since I bade farewell to happiness. I now bid farewell to you."</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">"That was all. Many times did I pause to question myself, and to read -again, in doubt whether I had mistaken the words. That the accusation -my wife brought against me was untrue you may believe, Rathbeal. No -woman had won me from her side, and I was so far innocent. That, -ignorant of the true cause of my neglect, she may have had grounds for -suspicion, I could well believe, but she seemed to speak with -something more than suspicion. Who had maligned me? Who had played me -false? And for what purpose?</p> - -<p class="normal">"I could think of no one. At times during my degraded career in London -I had had disagreements with the men I played with, but I could not -convict one of them with any degree of certainty.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The postmark on the envelope was Paris, and there was but one means -of ascertaining my wife's address--through the only friend I had in -the world. To go to her, beggared as I was, would be adding shame to -shame. Besides, I could not pay my hotel bill. But still it impressed -itself upon me as an imperative duty that I should find her and make -full confession; and then to bid her farewell forever.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wrote to my friend, to his address in London; I made a strong -appeal to him, and informed him of the position I was in. He wrote -back after a delay of two days; he said he had something of a very -grave nature to attend to that would take him from England, and he -could not, therefore, come to me at once. When he saw me he would -inform me why he could not come earlier. I was to remain where I was -till he arrived; he would be responsible for my hotel bill; I was not -to trouble myself about that. I learned from the landlord that he had -received a letter from my friend, making himself responsible for my -debt to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You have had a turn of ill luck at the tables,' said the landlord. -'It is the way with most gentlemen; but sometimes a turn comes the -other way.' He appeared perfectly satisfied, but I could not help -feeling that he regarded me as a personal hostage for the amount of -the bill.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wrote again to my friend, imploring him not to delay, and this time -I received no answer to my letter. I supposed he had left England on -the business he referred to, and in my helpless position I was -compelled to wait and eat my heart away.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ten days elapsed before he came; he was dressed in mourning, and was -sad and anxious, as though he had passed through some deep trouble.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It was impossible for me to get here before,' he said gravely.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I nodded impatiently, and then, with an awkward, consciousness that -something was due to him, I touched his black coat.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You have had a loss," I said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You will hear sad news presently,' he answered, 'and you must -prepare yourself for it. But tell me first of your troubles here. I -was so harassed and grieved at the time your letter arrived that I -hardly understood it; and then I laid it aside and could not find it -again.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"Curbing my impatience, for he insisted upon my exposing the full -extent of my misfortunes, I related to him briefly the result of my -mad venture.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'And you are utterly ruined?' he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Utterly, utterly ruined,' I replied. 'Enough of myself for the -present. Tell me of my wife.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"His countenance fell. There was a significance in his manner which -profoundly agitated me. Eager for an answer, and dreading it, I asked -him why he did not speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It is cruel,' he murmured, his face still averted from me, 'at such -a time, when you have lost every hope in life, to say what I have come -to say. We will speak together to-morrow.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'We will speak together now!' I cried, seizing him by the arm, and -compelling him to turn toward me. 'Do you think that anything you can -say, any message you may bring from her, can add to the misery and -degradation of my position? Tell me of my wife!'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'How can I speak?' he murmured. 'What can I say?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Speak the truth,' I said, 'and do not spare me. I deserve no mercy. -I had none upon her; I cannot expect her to have any upon me. But an -imputation has been cast upon me, an infamous, revolting imputation, -and I must clear myself of it. That done, I shall not care what -becomes of me. I have not told you of the last letter I received from -her, the only letter she has written to me since we parted. In that -letter she brings a horrible charge against me, instigated by some -villain who bears me ill will, and I insist upon my right to defend -myself.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would have said more, but my emotion overpowered me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'She will not hear you,' said my friend sadly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'She has told me so in her letter,' I replied; 'but you can give me -her address, and I will write to her.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It will be useless,' he said, 'quite useless, I grieve to say.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You mean that she will return the letter to me unopened; but I will -not rest until she receives my denial of the crime of which she -believes me guilty.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'She will never receive it,' he said in a solemn tone. 'Cannot you -guess the truth?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Good God!' I cried, a despairing light breaking upon me.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I can keep it from you no longer,' said my friend; 'sooner or later -it must be spoken. She had been for a long time in bad health, as you -know; it was impossible to disguise it--her state was serious. The -only hope for her lay in a change of climate and in perfect freedom -from mental anxiety. In my answer to your letter informing me of your -misfortunes at this fatal place I told you I had something of a grave -nature to attend to. It concerned your wife. A secret sorrow which she -did not impart to me had aggravated her condition, which had become so -alarming that the doctor held out no hope of recovery. She had another -terrible grief to contend with. Your child--but I cannot go on.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You must go on. My wife--my Clair!----'</p> - -<p class="normal">"He assisted me to a seat; I was too weak to stand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Go on,' I muttered. 'Go on. All must be told--all, all! Do not -spare me. Let me know the worst.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Grave symptoms had developed themselves in Clair,' he continued, -'and it was feared that she would share the fate that awaited your -wife. In these distressing circumstances she called upon me, and I -went to her without delay. I was shocked at her appearance. Death was -in her face; death was in the face of your child! I begged her to let -me send for you. She would not hear of it; it terrified me to hear the -vehemence of her refusal. "He shall not look upon me again, dead or -alive!" she cried. "He shall not look upon my child! We are parted for -ever and ever!" The doctor, coming in at that moment, warned me that -opposition to anything upon which she had set her heart would snap the -frail cord that bound her to life. "She can survive but a short time," -he said. "In mercy to her, let her last moments be peaceful." What -could I say--what could I do but obey?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"My friend waited for my answer. 'You did what was right,' I murmured, -racked with anguish. 'Was she at this time in the village she went to -when we parted?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'She had removed from it without my knowledge, in order that you -should not find her. It grieves me to make these revelations to you, -but the time has gone by for concealment. Clair died first. Her death -was painless.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Did she not speak? Did she not ask for me?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'She spoke no word that I could hear. She passed away with her lips -to her mother's face. "I am glad my Clair has gone first," your wife -said. "It would have pained me to leave her alone in this cruel world. -She is safe now; she has not lived to have her heart broken. She is -waiting for me, and I shall join her soon--very soon!" I remained with -her to the last. Believe me when I say I would have written to you had -she not bound me by a solemn obligation which I dared not break. She -demanded an oath from me, and to ease her aching heart I gave it. I -could not, I could not refuse her. She died on the following day. Your -wife and child lie in one grave.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Where?' I found voice to ask.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'I dare not tell you. Not for any worldly consideration will I be -false to the dead. Again she made me swear that absolute secrecy -should be preserved as to her last resting-place. "I should not rest -in my grave," she said, "if my husband stood above it." I implore you -not to press me, for I will not, I cannot be false to my trust. Alas, -that I should be compelled to say this to the friend of my youth! You -know the worst now. There is nothing more to tell.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was just; it was what I had earned. Of what avail would tears have -been, shed over the cold earth that covered the forms of my wife and -child? I had tortured them for years, and I was justly punished.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'She sent me no message?' I asked, after a long pause.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'None; and she made no distinct complaint against you. All that she -said was that her heart was broken, and that she left the world -gladly. It is the saddest of news, but we reap as we sow.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"I acknowledged it. As I had sown, so had I reaped. What better -harvest could I have expected? Desolate and alone I stood upon the -shore, without kith or kin. It was with a stern satisfaction that I -thought I should not remain long on earth. It was truly my impression -at that time; I had the firmest belief that my hours were numbered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'You will make no attempt,' said my friend, 'to discover where they -are laid?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Her wishes shall be respected,' I said gloomily. 'I could have -brought no comfort to her or to my child had they lived. I will not -disturb them now they are gone.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'It is due from you, I think,' he said, and presently added, 'What -will you do now?'</p> - -<p class="normal">"'With my life?' I asked; and then I told him what I believed, that I -had not long to live. 'But for the short time that yet remains to me I -cut myself entirely away from all personal associations with men and -women whom I have known. I renounce even the name I bear, to avoid -recognition, and shall assume another. I am as one who has died, and -who commences life anew. If by my actions during the days that yet may -be mine I can atone in some small measure for the guilt that lies upon -my soul, such atonements shall be made. It is likely I may not reside -in England; the recollections that would force themselves upon me -there would be too painful to bear.'</p> - -<p class="normal">"He approved of my resolution, and offered to render me some small -regular assistance to assist me to live. I accepted it after some -hesitation; he had made money out of me while acting as my steward, -and I thought he could afford it. Should I find myself master of more -than would be requisite for the barest necessaries, I would devote it -to the children of misery in memory of my wife, who had a charitable -heart, and was always giving to the poor. But what sweet virtue could -be named that did not grace her soul?</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know now, Rathbeal, how it was that I did not bear my own name -when you first became acquainted with me. It was by chance that you -made this discovery, and it was partly because I felt that there was a -cowardice in the subterfuge, and that I was practicing it to avoid the -moral punishment I had earned, that when we were together abroad I -resumed my own. There was no need to make my friend acquainted with -this, and it is probable that he is in ignorance of it to this day. It -does not in any way concern him. I have cut myself away from him as I -have done from every person who knew me during my wife's lifetime. The -motive that induced me to request you to inform him that he would be -troubled with me no more was this: I had to some extent bound myself -to him not to return to England, and when I resolved to do so in your -company I felt that I was partially violating that understanding. -Consequently I determined to sever all personal relations between him -and myself. He has not sought me, nor shall I ever seek him. Our ways -of life lie widely apart, and it is hardly likely we shall ever meet -again. He believes me probably to be dead; let him rest in this -belief.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have nothing to add, Rathbeal, to this lengthy confession. You know -the worst of me. If you condemn me be silent, it will be charitable. -If I am still allowed to retain your friendship, it will ease my -heart.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"Robert Grantham."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<h5>Mr. Fox-Cordery is not easy in his mind.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">In a state of deep dissatisfaction with the world in general, Mr. -Fox-Cordery paced the lawn fronting the country house he had taken on -the banks of the Thames. He was smoking one of his fragrant cigars, -but it had no soothing effect upon him; a common weed of British make -would have afforded him as much gratification. He was perplexed and -annoyed, and was growing savage; and yet he had cause, if not for -gratitude--of which it may be doubted whether he was capable--at least -for self-congratulation.</p> - -<p class="normal">To commence with the credit side of his ledger, here he was -comfortably installed in the house facing the river of which we have -heard his mother speak, with its piece of meadow-land, and its lawn, -and its garden of fruit and flowers, and its rustic bridge stretching -to a bank on the opposite side. This bridge, being erected over an -inlet, did not interfere with the traffic of the river proper, and was -a decided attraction to the summer residence which Mr. Fox-Cordery -had taken to carry out a long cherished design. The arm of water it -spanned was deep, and upon it was floating a gayly-painted boat, -bearing in gilt letters the name, "Lucy and Clair." He had so -christened it in honor of the guests he was entertaining, Mrs. -Grantham and her little daughter. He had intended to call it simply -"Lucy"; but love is sometimes wanting in boldness, and for this -reason, or because he was not sure of his ground, he had associated -the names of mother and daughter, which he considered the lady he was -scheming to win could not but regard as a delicate mark of attention.</p> - -<p class="normal">To go on with, his mind was more at ease with respect to the fate of -the friend he had betrayed than it had been on the day of his -interviews with John Dixon and Rathbeal. Six weeks had passed by and -he had not seen or heard from John Dixon: a distinct proof that that -astute person had been gasconading when he spoke of having caught a -glimpse of Robert Grantham's face on a foggy night in March. Mr. -Fox-Cordery had arrived at the conclusion that the tale was a clumsy -invention, introduced for the purpose of winning compliance with John -Dixon's suit for the hand of his sister Charlotte.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dixon thought I would strike my flag," he reasoned, "and that I would -implore him to take Charlotte at once, and a handsome dowry with her, -as the price of his silence. A likely thing when he had nothing to -sell but an empty tale!" Of the legacy he had heard nothing more. Mrs. -Grantham had not seen the advertisement in the _Times_, the paper -being one which she did not read, nor had she been approached by the -lawyers with respect to it, as had been threatened by John Dixon. -"Lawyers don't part with money too readily," again reasoned Mr. -Fox-Cordery, "when once it gets into their clutches. I know their -tricks."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, Charlotte was behaving admirably. She and Mrs. Grantham and -Clair were constantly together, Mr. Fox-Cordery believed that his -sister was doing something--perhaps in an indirect way, but that was -of no account--to advance his cause. And yet that cause was making no -progress. It was unaccountable, and he was moodily reflecting upon -this as he paced the lawn and smoked his cigar.</p> - -<p class="normal">On the debit side of the ledger were some ridiculous, though -mysterious, eccentricities on the part of Rathbeal. Rathbeal did not -appear personally, but he kept himself in Mr. Fox-Cordery's mind by a -series of written and pictorial communications. These, carefully -sealed, were addressed to Mr. Fox-Cordery's London residence, and were -forwarded on to his suburban home. He destroyed them, wrathfully, -almost as soon as he received them, but it was an additional annoyance -that he could not forget them after they were destroyed; indeed, the -impression they produced was so strong that they were the cause of -many fantastic and disturbing dreams from which he would awake in -perturbation. The peculiar nature of these communications will be seen -from the following examples:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> - -<p class="normal">"When you weave a web, shrewd sir," wrote Rathbeal, quoting an -observation made by Mr. Fox-Cordery in the course of their recent -interview, "nothing ever escapes from it.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">(Signed) "Rathbeal."</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">Beneath these words was the picture of a large web, in a corner of -which lurked a spider, bearing an unmistakable likeness to Mr. -Fox-Cordery. A number of unfortunate creatures, with human faces, -struggled in the meshes. The face of one figure, designated Fate, was -hidden, purposely it seemed.</p> - -<p class="normal">Again, after an interval of a few days:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> - -<p class="normal">"There are other webs than those that mortals weave," wrote Rathbeal, -quoting his reply to Mr. Fox-Cordery's observation. "Fate is ever at -work.</p> -<p style="text-indent:50%">(Signed) "Rathbeal."</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">Beneath this was the same web, but this time Mr. Fox-Cordery was in -the meshes, struggling in terror to release himself; while in the -corner lurked the figure of Fate, still with its face hidden.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The man is crazy," was Mr. Fox-Cordery's comment, "or in his dotage."</p> - -<p class="normal">Nevertheless he could not banish these sketches from his mind, and he -found himself wondering who the figure with his hidden face was -intended to represent.</p> - -<p class="normal">At intervals came couplets of verse:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> - -<p style="margin-bottom:0px">The bark we steer has stranded. O breeze, auspicious swell:</p> -<p style="margin-top:0px">We yet may see once more the friend we love so well.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">"For auspicious," wrote Rathbeal, "read malefic. For love, read hate."</p> - -<p class="normal">At another time:</p> - -<div style="font-size:9pt; margin-left:5%"> - -<p style="margin-bottom:0px">Better the drunkard void of fraud and wiles</p> -<p style="margin-top:0px">Than virtue's braggart who by fraud beguiles.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">Another post brought:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt;"> - -<p style="margin-bottom:0px">What serves thy armor 'gainst Fate's arrows fierce?</p> -<p style="margin-top:0px">What serves thy shield if Destiny transpierce?</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">Had Mr. Fox-Cordery not been sensible of the advisability of silence -he might have taken fighting notice of these missives, which, in their -frequency, savored of persecution. He was tempted, as his eyes fell -upon the familiar writing on the envelope, to tear and burn it, -unopened, but he had not the nerve to do this; he was possessed with a -strange fear that it might contain some news of importance to himself, -and thus he was made to contribute to his own uneasiness.</p> - -<p class="normal">But these were small matters in comparison with the one desire of -which he had become the slave. In the retreat he had chosen he had -hoped to attain his wish, and to win from Mrs. Grantham a promise that -she would become his wife. Long as he had loved her, he had not had -the courage to speak to her openly. Many times had he approached the -boundary line which stood between friendship and love, and had never -dared to cross it. Something in her manner, which he could not define -or satisfactorily explain to himself, deterred him; and he lacked the -gamester's mettle to risk his all upon the hazard of the die. He -argued with himself that she could scarcely mistake the meaning of the -attentions he was paying her during this visit. Daily offerings of -flowers, a constant ministering to her pleasure, fulfillment of any -wish she expressed, the most careful attention to the adornment of his -small person, a display of amiability to her, to Charlotte and his -mother, and even to the servants who waited on them--all these efforts -seemed to be thrown away upon her. As has been stated, he was growing -savage to find his meaning thus misunderstood, his desire thus -frustrated. Had he seen her while he was restlessly and moodily pacing -the lawn and been able to read what was passing within her, he might -have arrived at a better understanding of the position of affairs; and -had he witnessed a scene which was presently to take place between -Mrs. Grantham and his sister Charlotte, it would not have assisted in -comforting him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Grantham was alone in her room. It was Charlotte's birthday, and -she was looking in her trunk for a gift she designed to give her -friend, a brooch of turquoise and pearls which she herself had worn as -a young girl. The brooch was in a desk which lay at the bottom of the -trunk, and it was seldom she opened it, for it contained mementos of -the past which it pained her to handle; but they were dear to her -despite the pain they caused her, and she would not have parted with -them for untold gold. Lifting the desk from the trunk, she rose with -it in her hands and seated herself at a table.</p> - -<p class="normal">The deep sorrow of her life had left its traces on her face, had -touched her eyes with an abiding sadness; but a delicate beauty dwelt -there still. Charlotte, who had insisted upon being her handmaiden, -and had begged to be allowed to attend her when she retired to bed, -would comment admiringly upon the graces of her person, comments which -Mrs. Grantham would receive with gentle deprecation. Until late years -Charlotte had known nothing of Mrs. Grantham, and was even now as -ignorant of her history as she was of the close association which had -existed between her and her brother. During the present visit a fond -confidence was established between the women, and each knew that in -the other she possessed a true and faithful friend. But Mrs. Grantham -had not admitted Charlotte into the secrets of her married life. The -anguish and indignation which had tortured her soul when she learned -from Mr. Fox-Cordery that her husband was unfaithful to her had long -since passed away. Death had consecrated her grief, and had robbed it -of its bitter sting.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Grantham unlocked her desk. In a small box, at the top of two or -three packets of letters, were the brooch and a few ornaments she used -to wear in happier days. She placed the brooch aside, and taking out -the other articles of jewelry, gazed at them with yearning tenderness. -They were chiefly gifts which her husband had given her during their -courtship and the first few months of their marriage. Since she had -received the news of her husband's death from the lips of Mr. -Fox-Cordery she had not worn an ornament he had given her; and the -only ring upon her fingers was her wedding ring, which had never been -removed. But she had preserved them all, even the smallest article, -and every letter he had written to her was in the desk, carefully -folded and preserved. An impulse stirred her to untie the packets and -read the endearing words he had addressed to her, and for a moment she -was inclined to yield to it, but she went no farther than to place her -fingers on the ribbon which held them together. With a sigh she -replaced the packets in the desk, but not before she had put her lips -to them. Her husband, living, had sorely wronged her, but when she -heard that he was dead she forgave him, and did not thereafter allow -her thoughts to dwell upon any remembrances of him that were not -tender and kind. He had sinned, and had suffered for his sin. She -could not carry resentment beyond the grave. And he was the father of -her child, the sweetest hope the world contained for her.</p> - -<p class="normal">When her trunk was repacked the turquoise and pearl brooch was not the -only ornament she had retained, There was a ring of gold set with one -black pearl which her husband used to wear. One day she had expressed -admiration of it, and he had had it made smaller for her. She put it -on her finger now, and pressed her lips to it. As she did so her eyes -filled with tears.</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I come in?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was Charlotte's voice, following a tap at the door.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, come in, dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte entered, a different young woman from the last occasion upon -which we saw her. She was neatly dressed, and her eyes were sparkling -and her face radiant.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A happy birthday to you, dear," said Mrs. Grantham. "Let me fasten -this on."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte had never possessed a gold ornament of any kind, and her -eyes fairly danced as she looked at herself in the glass.</p> - -<p class="normal">"For me, Mrs. Grantham? Really for me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, dear. It was one I used to wear when I was a girl, and I thought -you would like it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Like it! I shall love it all my life. Do you know, Mrs. Grantham, it -is the first brooch I have ever had!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You don't mean that? And you twenty-nine to-day!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I am not a girl, as you were when you wore it. I am not at all -sorry to be twenty-nine, for I think no one is happier than I am."</p> - -<p class="normal">The fact is Charlotte had received this morning the tenderest letter -from John Dixon, wishing her happiness and every good on earth, He had -bought a birthday gift for her (said John Dixon), but it had required -a little alteration, and to his annoyance the man who was making the -alteration had disappointed him; but he was after him like a tiger -(said John Dixon), and she should have the token that very morning, or -he would know the reason why. John Dixon always wrote to Charlotte in -good spirits, and in this birthday letter he was at his blithest.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It takes very little to make you happy," observed Mrs. Grantham, -looking rather thoughtfully at Charlotte, who was exhibiting, not the -pleasure of a woman at her gift, but the delight of a child.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you call this very little?" asked Charlotte, gayly. "I call it a -great deal."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charlotte," said Mrs. Grantham, "did not your mother or your brother -ever give you a brooch, or a bracelet, or any little thing of the -kind?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte was on her guard instantly. She had felt during the past few -weeks that much depended upon her mother and brother, and that they -expected her to speak of them at their best. Therefore she was -uncertain what to say in answer to Mrs. Grantham's straight question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But tell me, dear," urged Mrs. Grantham, "did you never have such a -gift?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not ask me," replied Charlotte. "I must not say anything unkind."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is an answer, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, with a pitying smile. "I -have noticed that you never wear the smallest ornament."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nor do you; only your wedding ring. And now I declare you have -another ring on! Is it a pearl?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Charlotte. It is a ring my husband gave me. I have not worn any -jewels since his death, but I have a number in my desk."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you have put it on to-day in remembrance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, dear, in remembrance."</p> - -<p class="normal">She was on the point of saying that she did not wish to continue the -subject, but she was reminded that this would afford Charlotte a valid -excuse for not giving her some information which she was now desirous -to obtain. She had not been quite oblivious of the attentions which -Mr. Fox-Cordery was paying her, and although she had marked out her -course of life, she had lately become not only curious concerning him, -but doubtful. Upon her first introduction to Charlotte she had -observed the menial dress the young woman wore, and the want of -affection displayed toward her in her home. Mr. Fox-Cordery and his -mother had not been careful to disguise their feelings in her -presence, and it was pity and sympathy for Charlotte which had -attracted her. She afterward learned to love Charlotte for her own -sake, and it was chiefly because of Charlotte's pleadings that she had -been induced to accept the invitation which led to her present visit. -And in this closer association she had grown to love the young woman -more.</p> - -<p class="normal">Never before had Charlotte the opportunity of unbosoming herself to -one of her own sex, to one in whom she felt she could confide. In -their walks together, she and her little Clair and Charlotte, constant -evidences of Charlotte's kindness of heart and humane instincts had -presented themselves to her, and she more than once suspected that -here was a well which never yet had had free play. The information -that this little brooch was the first gift of any value that Charlotte -could call her own caused her to reflect. That a being so tender and -kind should be treated with so much neglect gave her a shock.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dear Mrs. Grantham," said Charlotte, "how you must have suffered when -you lost your dear husband! I can imagine it. I should wish to die."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was my little Clair left to me, dear; and life means, not love -alone, but duty. I am glad I lived to take care of my child. Do you -expect to be married soon, Charlotte?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Some time this year, I think."</p> - -<p class="normal">"When in your position, dear, one thinks one generally knows. I should -not be a false prophet if I said for certain this year."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think it will be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have not seen your intended, dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is noble and good," said Charlotte, enthusiastically.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And loves you with his whole heart, as you love him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, it is truly so."</p> - -<p class="normal">The women kissed each other.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must introduce me to him," said Mrs. Grantham, "when he comes to -London."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, but he is in London," said Charlotte simply. "He lives here."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Grantham looked at her in astonishment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But why does he not visit you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte's face grew scarlet; she dared not answer the question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, pitying her confusion; "but -you understand that I wish to know him, for your sake."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I understand. Mrs. Grantham, I ought not to keep anything from you. -The reason why Mr. Dixon does not come to see me here, is that he and -my brother are not exactly friends. They had a disagreement in -business, and that is how the trouble occurred. Do not say anything to -my brother about it; it might make him angry."</p> - -<p class="normal">"With me, dear?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, no," said Charlotte, without thinking, "he could not be angry -with you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"With you, then?" said Mrs. Grantham, her mind half on Charlotte and -half on herself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know how it is," said Charlotte, in a tone of distress, "but -I seem to be saying things I ought not to speak of. If I were clever -it would not happen."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are clever, dear, and you are good; that is why I love you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I only thought that what I have said without intending it, and -what perhaps I have made you think without intending it, wouldn't make -you run away from us----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not run away, Charlotte. If you wish it, I will stay as long -as I have promised."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do wish it; with all my heart I wish it. I never had a friend like -you; I never had a sister----"</p> - -<p class="normal">But here Charlotte quite broke down; her sobs would not allow her to -proceed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There, there, dear," said Mrs. Grantham, soothing her. "Tears on your -birthday! Why, Charlotte, what are you thinking of? And with a true -friend by your side----!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know, I know," murmured Charlotte. "I am very ungrateful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are a dear, loveable young woman, and you have won my heart. And -who knows whether I may not be able to help you just where you most -need help? There is a knock at the door. Don't move; no one must catch -you crying, or they will have a bad opinion of me. I will go and see -who it is."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a maid with a little parcel for Charlotte.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was to give it to Miss Fox-Cordery at once, ma'am," said the maid, -"and I was told she was in your room."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is here," said Mrs. Grantham, "and she shall have it -immediately."</p> - -<p class="normal">The maid departed, and Mrs. Grantham locked the door, so as to be -secure from intrusion.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Something for you, dear. I guess a birthday present."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh!" cried Charlotte eagerly, starting to her feet and holding out -her hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The question is, from whom," said Mrs. Grantham, with tender -playfulness.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know!" said Charlotte, still more eagerly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"From your brother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte shook her head rather sadly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"From your mother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Another sad shake of Charlotte's head.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They have given you something already, perhaps!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Mrs. Grantham; I do not expect anything from them. They do not -make birthday presents."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't think I want to tease you; I only want to find out how I can -best serve you. I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Here it -is, dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte opened the packet clumsily, her fingers trembled so, and -disclosed a tiny note and a small jewel case. The note ran:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt;"> - -<p class="normal">My Dear Charlotte: Accept this, with my fond and constant love. Ever -yours, <span class="sc">John</span>.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">The jewel case contained a ring of diamonds. The tears that glistened -now in Charlotte's eyes were tears of joy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"An engagement ring, I should say," said Mrs. Grantham, gayly. "I want -more than ever to be friends with John. And it fits perfectly. Now, -how did John manage that?" Her mood changed from gayety to tender -solicitude. She drew Charlotte to her side. "I wish you a happy life, -dear. Take a piece of advice from a friend who has had experiences: -When you are married have no secrets from your husband. Trust him -unreservedly; conceal nothing from him. If you note any change in him -that causes you uneasiness do not brood over it in silence; ask him -frankly the reason, and if he is reluctant to give it, implore him to -confide in you. In married life there is no true happiness unless full -confidence exists between husband and wife. And if the man is true and -the woman is true, they should be to each other a shield of love, a -protection against evil, a solace in the hour of sorrow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will remember what you say, Mrs. Grantham. I hope Fox will not be -displeased. He is not friends with John, and I have never worn a ring; -and this is so grand and beautiful----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never meet trouble, dear. Perhaps I shall have an opportunity of -saying something to your brother to-day."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte looked at her and hesitated; there was something on her -tongue to which she did not venture to give utterance. Knowing it was -her brother's wish to make Mrs. Grantham his wife, she wondered -whether any words to that end had passed between them. To call Mrs. -Grantham sister would be a great happiness to her, but she trembled to -think of the price at which that happiness would be bought. The -oppression to which she herself had been subjected in her home since -her father's death rose before her. Was such a fate in store for Mrs. -Grantham? Was it not her duty to warn her? But she dared not speak; -she could only hope that nothing had been settled, and that her dear -friend would be spared unhappiness.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of what are you thinking, dear?" asked Mrs. Grantham, perceiving that -a struggle was going on in Charlotte's heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of nothing," Charlotte replied, and inwardly prayed for courage to -warn her before it was too late.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<h5>In which Mr. Fox-Cordery meets with a repulse.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Shortly afterward Mr. Fox-Cordery saw Mrs. Grantham issue from the -house and advance toward him. With conspicuous gallantry he went to -meet her, and raised his hat. He was careful to omit no form of -politeness and attention to establish himself in her regard.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have come especially to have a chat with you," said Mrs. Grantham, -declining the arm he offered her. "Such old friends as ourselves need -not stand upon ceremony."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery looked upon this as a promising opening.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is something I wish to say to you," he said boldly and -tenderly, "if you will listen to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Certainly I will listen to you. Is it about business?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is of far more importance than business," he replied, with a -significance of tone that could not fail to convey some perception of -his meaning.</p> - -<p class="normal">She paused awhile before she spoke again, and then seemed to have -arrived at a decision.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish to say a word about your sister."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dear Charlotte!" he murmured, and could not have said anything, nor -uttered what he said in a tone that would have been more fatal to his -cause, even if she were willing to listen to it favorably. He had been -his own enemy, and had forged the weapon that was to strike him down; -for it was Mrs. Grantham's insight into the life Charlotte must have -led with him and her mother that had made her reflect upon the true -nature of the man who had been for so many years her husband's friend -and her own. The closer intimacy of the last few weeks had served him -ill. Mrs. Grantham was a lady of much sweetness, but the trials she -had passed through had taught her to observe and sometimes to suspect.</p> - -<p class="normal">"To-day is Charlotte's birthday," she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charlotte's birthday!" he exclaimed. "How could we have overlooked -it? Charlotte's birthday! Why so it is! I must wish her every -happiness." He began to pick some flowers. "For Charlotte," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She will appreciate them. I have grown very fond of your sister."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You could not say anything to make me happier--except----"</p> - -<p class="normal">She nipped his tenderly suggested exception in the bud by continuing:</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has the most amiable nature in the world--"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no," he protested; "not the _most_ amiable nature in the world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And is so sweet-tempered and self-sacrificing--"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She shares the best qualities of our family," he managed to get in.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That I am as anxious for her happiness as you yourself can be. She -has had two birthday presents, which have given her great pleasure, -one especially." ("Confound her!" was Mr. Fox-Cordery's thought, as he -bent over a dwarf rose tree. "Who has been making her birthday -presents?") "I have given her a poor little brooch"--("That is one of -the presents," thought Mr. Fox-Cordery, "and Clair has given her the -other. Of course, of course." He was content that the gifts should -have come from Mrs. Grantham and her little girl)--"and Mr. Dixon," -continued Mrs. Grantham, "sent her an engagement ring."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery looked suddenly up.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Dixon!" he cried. "An engagement ring!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Mrs. Grantham, ignoring his surprise, "a very beautiful -ring. It is set with diamonds, and Charlotte, you may depend, put it -on her finger at once. She must never take it off, at least till she -is married. We foolish women, you know, have superstitions."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charlotte has been telling you a great deal about Mr. Dixon," said -Mr. Fox-Cordery, striving to speak amiably, and not succeeding.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not a great deal; very little, indeed. It is only because I would -have an answer to my questions that I learned anything at all. I have -a common failing of my sex: I am intensely curious. And I am really -annoyed, taking the interest I do in your sister, that I have not yet -been introduced to Mr. Dixon. How is it that I have not been -introduced to Mr. Dixon? Put a little forget-me-not in your posy; it -means remembrance."</p> - -<p class="normal">He obeyed her, and then took the bull by the horns.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mrs. Grantham," he said, "inspired by a hope I have entertained for -many years, you must not remain in ignorance of our family secrets. I -do not blame Charlotte for speaking to you about Mr. Dixon----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," she gently interposed, "you must not blame her. We chat together -every night before we retire, and little things come out in our -conversation. If you must blame anybody, blame me, for it is entirely -my fault that I know anything of her engagement. I teased it out of -her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I regarded it as a family secret," he said. "The fact is--it pains me -to make the statement--that neither my mother nor I quite approve of -Mr. Dixon. You do not know him, and I do not wish to say anything -against him. We are more likely to form a correct estimate of his -character than Charlotte. We have a wider experience of human nature."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Granted. But Charlotte has set her heart upon him, and he appears to -have a very sincere love for her. But I am wrong, perhaps, in -presuming to interfere in a matter which you say is a family secret. I -was not aware of it when I commenced to speak to you. Forgive me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dear Mrs. Grantham," he said, "do not distress me by saying that you -are wrong. You are right, entirely right, in everything you do. I only -wished to explain to you why it is that Mr. Dixon does not visit us. -We have Charlotte's interests at heart, and if she insists upon having -her way we shall not thwart her. Our hope will be that her marriage -will turn out better than we anticipate. It is true that we put her -upon probation for a time. We desired her--you can ask her for -confirmation of my statement--to wait for two months before she -finally committed herself, and she consented to do so. And now, Mrs. -Grantham----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Pardon me," interrupted Mrs. Grantham; "let me justify myself -completely. In speaking to you about your sister, I was prompted by my -affection for her; she is not a young girl, and can to some extent -judge for herself. We will not discuss Mr. Dixon, who is represented -to me in two opposite lights. Let us hope for the best, and that her -union with that gentleman will be a happy one. My own married life -taught me much that brought sadness to my heart; I will pray that no -shadow shall rest upon hers. But my sorrows have been softened by -time, and I have a heavenly consolation in the love of my child, to -whom, since I lost my husband, I have consecrated my life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let that life," he said grandiloquently, "be consecrated to make -another happy, as well as your darling child."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," she said firmly; "I am fixed in my resolve to form no other -ties. Mr. Fox-Cordery, it would be a mere pretense for me to say I do -not understand you. I beg you to go no farther--to say nothing more. -You were my husband's friend; you are mine. Let us remain friends."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But, dear Mrs. Grantham," he stammered, enraged and confounded at -this unexpected repulse, "surely you must have seen, you must have -known--the devotion of years----"</p> - -<p class="normal">Either inability to proceed, or an expression in her face, restrained -him here.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not say what cannot be unsaid or forgotten. It will be best for -both of us. Clair and I have been very happy during our visit. If you -wish to drive us away----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no!" he cried; "you are cruel to make the suggestion. I do not -deserve such a return. My mother would look upon it as an affront; and -Charlotte--you love Charlotte----"</p> - -<p class="normal">He hardly knew what to say in his confusion; but he felt it would be -quite fatal to his hopes if he lost his present hold upon her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You do not deserve such a return," she said; "and not for worlds -would I wound your mother's feelings or yours. It was only an hour ago -that I promised Charlotte not to curtail my visit; and I will promise -you, if you will engage not to reopen the subject. Let us forget what -has passed. Shall we exchange promises?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She held out her hand, and he deluded himself into the belief that he -saw signs of softening in her face. As he took her hand his native -cunning and coolness returned to him, and he was more than ever -determined that she should not slip from him. He would be her master -yet, and she should pay for her treatment of him. Even as he held her -hand in his, the skeleton of a scheme to force her compliance -presented itself to his mind, fertile in schemes and snares.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am almost inclined to be jealous of dear Clair," he said, in a -plaintive tone, "for she seems to stand in the way of my happiness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must not say that. If it were not for her, I might not be living -this day. Through her, I saw my duty clear before me. I live only for -her and for her happiness. It is an understanding, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he said, "it is an understanding. Excuse me now; I will go and -give these flowers to Charlotte."</p> - -<p class="normal">But he did nothing of the kind. He walked away, and when he was sure -that no one saw him he tore the posy to pieces, and trod savagely upon -the fragments, stamping at the same time upon every living thing -beneath him that caught his eye. Such acts of destruction and cruelty -always afforded him satisfaction, and after a few minutes so occupied -he devoted himself more calmly to the difficulties of his position. -Gradually a scheme formed itself in his mind, and he smiled at the -thought that it would lead him to victory. He recalled the words Mrs. -Grantham had spoken:</p> - -<p class="normal">"The love of her child is a heavenly consolation to her, and she has -consecrated her life to the brat. She lives only for Clair's -happiness. If I prove to her how that happiness is imperiled, and that -her infernal consecration will land her in the gutter .... Yes, I see -my way; I see my way!"</p> - -<p class="normal">But he saw not the Nemesis that was following his footsteps, born of a -base action he had committed without ruth or remorse. He thought it -was dead and buried, and that a woman he had wronged--not the only -one--was happily lost to him, if not to the world. Neither did he -bestow a thought upon Robert Grantham, nor upon the double deceit he -had practiced upon husband and wife. In fancied security he paced a -secluded path, meditating upon the new lie which would bring Mrs. -Grantham to her knees, for the sake of the child she loved so well.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<h5>Little Prue.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Who Roxy was, what was his occupation, and whether he lived in a -bygone age or was living at the present day, are matters which are not -pertinent to our story, the course of which brings us, in a remote and -indirect manner, to the knowledge that such a being once existed, or -exists now. That he was responsible for the miserable dozen tenements -known as "Roxy's Rents" may be accepted, as may be also the undoubted -reason for his giving them the eccentric name they bore; the rents of -the hovels he erected being lawfully his, if he could find tenants to -occupy them.</p> - -<p class="normal">A stranger to the wretched ways of life of thousands upon thousands of -poor people in such a city as London might reasonably have doubted the -wisdom of spending money in the erection of such hovels; but Roxy knew -what he was about when he went into the speculation. A comprehensive -knowledge of humanity's outcasts had taught him that the more dismal -and wretched the habitations, the more likely it was that there would -be numerous applicants for the shelter they afforded; and his wisdom -was proved by the result, not a room in Roxy's Rents ever being empty -longer than a day or two. The narrow blind alley lined by the hovels, -half a dozen on each side, may be found to-day in all its desolation -or wretchedness in the south of London, by any person with a leaning -to such explorations. It is well known to the police, who seldom have -occasion to go there, because, strangely enough, it is chiefly -tenanted by people who work hard for a living, often without obtaining -it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Roxy himself, or his agent, who collects the rents regularly every -Saturday night from eight o'clock till past midnight, is very -particular in his choice of tenants, which he is able to be by reason -of the delectable tenements being in demand. There are numbers of -landlords in more favored localities who would like to stand in Roxy's -shoes in this respect. The alley is some eight feet wide, and its one -architectural embellishment is a kind of hood at its entrance, the -only use of which is to deepen its darkness by day and night. There is -no public lamp in Roxy's Rents, nor near it in the street, very little -wider than the alley, in which it forms a slit; therefore the darkness -is very decided in its character on foggy days and moonless nights. -This has never been a subject of complaint on the part of the -residents or the parish authorities--officers who, as a rule, have an -objection to stir up muddy waters: by which inaction they show their -respect for an ancient proverb, the vulgar version of which is, "Let -sleeping dogs lie." To one of the hovels in Roxy's Rents the course of -our story takes us.</p> - -<p class="normal">The room is on the ground floor, the time is night, the persons -in it are a woman and her child. The woman's name is Flower; the name -of her child, a girl of eight or nine, is Prue, generally called -"Little Prue." The apartment is used for every kind of living -purpose--working, cooking, eating, and sleeping, It is furnished with -an ordinary stove, one bed on the floor in a corner (a bedstead being -a luxury beyond the means of the family), two wooden chairs, a child's -low chair, the seat of which once was cane but now is hollow, a deal -table, a few kitchen utensils, and very little else. On the -mantelshelf are two or three cracked cups and saucers, a penny, and a -much-faded photograph of two young women, with, their arms round each -other's waists. There is a family likeness in their faces, and one -bears a faint resemblance to Mrs. Flower. The paper on the walls hangs -loose, and the walls themselves reek with moisture; the plaster on the -ceiling has dropped in places, and bare rafters are visible. Not a -palatial abode, but the Flowers have lived there for years, and it -forms their Home--a mocking parody on a time-honored song. Mrs. Flower -is standing at the table, ironing clothes. She takes in washing when -she can get it to do, having but few garments of her own to wash.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Flower was working with a will, putting her whole soul into the -iron. The apartment was chiefly in shadow, the only light being that -from one tallow dip, twelve to the pound. The candle was on the table, -being necessary for the woman's work, and its rays did not reach -Little Prue, who sat in the low hollow-seated chair by the bed. Mrs. -Flower enlivened her toil by singing, or rather humming with bated -breath, a most lugubrious air for which she was famous in her maiden -days, but then it used to be given forth with more spirit than she put -into it now. Occasionally she turned to her child, who was sitting -quite still with her eyes closed. There was a faint sickly smell of -scorching in the room, proceeding from a wisp of carpet on the floor -before the fire, upon which Mrs. Flower tested her hot irons. It had -served this purpose so long that it was scorched almost to tinder. -Presently the woman broke off in her melancholy singing, and called -softly:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Prue!" No answer coming, she called again, "Prue!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, mother," said the child, opening her eyes. Her voice was weak, -as might have been expected from a child with a face so pale and limbs -so thin.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thought you were asleep, Prue."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So I was, mother. Why didn't you let me be?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dreaming of things?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, of sech things, mother! I was 'aving a feast of sheep's -trotters." Mrs. Flower sighed. "There was a 'ole pile of 'em, and the -'ot pie man was giving pies away. I was just reaching out my 'and for -one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never mind, never mind," said Mrs. Flower, rather fretfully. "You -talk as if I could get blood out of a stone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do I, mother? I didn't know. I _am_ 'ungry!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What's the use of worriting? Didn't I promise you should have some -supper? I'm going to ask Mrs. Fry to pay me for the washing when I -take it home. I do hope she won't say there's anything missing. She -always does; and when I ask her to look over the things again, she -sends word she can't till the morning. That's how she puts me off time -after time; but I'll be extra particular to-night. Three dozen at one -and nine--that's five and three. She don't often give out so much; -that's luck for us, Prue."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I say, mother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"D'yer think father'll come 'ome? I 'ope he won't."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He won't come home while he's got a copper in his pocket, that you -may depend on. Go to sleep again, child, till I've finished."</p> - -<p class="normal">But Little Prue, now wide awake, made no attempt to obey. Rising to -her feet, she stealthily drew one of the large wooden chairs to the -mantelshelf, and, mounting, craned her neck. The shelf was high, and -Prue was a very small child. It was only by tiptoeing, and running the -danger of tumbling into the fire, that she ascertained what she wished -to know. Stepping down like a cat, she crept to her mother's side.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's a penny on the mantelpiece, mother."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't worry; how can I get on with my work if you do? It's father's -penny, for his supper beer; he put it there before he went out, so -that he couldn't spend it till he came home." Aside she said, with a -sidelong look of pity at Prue, "I daren't touch it!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm so 'ungry, mother!" pleaded Prue, plucking her mother's gown. "My -inside's grinding away like one o'clock."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Flower was seized with a fit of irresolution, and she muttered, -"If I look sharp, I shall be back with the washing money before he -comes in." Stepping quickly to the fireplace, she took the penny from -the mantel, and thrust it into Prue's hand. "There; go and get a -penn'orth of peas-pudding."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, mother, mother!" cried Little Prue joyfully, and was running out, -when the door was blocked by the form of her father, who had returned -sooner than he was expected.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Flower was slightly intoxicated--his normal state. However much he -drank, he never got beyond a certain stage of drunkenness; by reason, -probably, of his being so thoroughly seasoned.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hallo, hallo!" he cried, grasping his little girl by the shoulder. -"Is the house on fire? Where are _you_ off to in such a hurry?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nowhere, father," replied Prue, slipping her hand with the penny in -it behind her back.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nowhere, eh? You're in a precious pelt to get there. What have you -got in your hand?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothink, father!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothink, father!" he mocked, eyeing Prue with something more than -suspicion.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, father. Wish I may die if I 'ave!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Without more ado, Mr. Flower seized the little hand and, wresting the -tightly-clenched fingers open, extracted the penny. Looking toward the -mantelshelf, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stealing my money, eh, you young rat? Who learnt you to tell lies?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You did!" replied Mrs. Flower, stepping between them. She had -finished her washing, and was putting it together while this scene was -proceeding. "You did, you drunken vagabond!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You shut up! As for you," he said, throwing Prue violently on the -bed; "you stop where you are, or I'll break every bone in your body!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lay a finger on her," cried Mrs. Flower fiercely, "and I'll throw the -iron at your head! Don't mind him, Prue; I'll soon be back."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, you'd better!" said Mr. Flower, with a brutal laugh at his wife, -who was looking at him in anger. "What are you staring at?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"At you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, and what do you make of me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What I've made of you ever since the day I married you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For better or worse, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For worse, every minute of my life," she retorted. "I wonder why the -Lord allows some people to live."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here, that's enough of your mag, with your Lord and your Lord! What's -your Lord done for me? Off you go, now!"</p> - -<p class="normal">But Mrs. Flower was not so easily disposed of.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you brought home any money?" she asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Money! How should I get money?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why work for it, like other men, you----" She repressed herself, and, -with a flaming face, arranged the clothes she had washed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Work for it!" he cried, with a laugh, and immediately afterward -turned savage. "Well, ain't I willing?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, you show yourself willing," said Mrs. Flower, bitterly; "hanging -round public-houses, and loafing from morning to night!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Think I'm going to work for a tanner an hour?" demanded Mr. Flower. -"Not me! I'll have my rights, I will!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"While we starve!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Starve! When you can get washing to do, and live on the fat of the -land! If I was a woman, I'd rejoice in such clean work."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And don't I do it? Haven't I sat up night after night, wearing my -fingers to the bone for you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For me? Oh, oh! I like that!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, for you," repeated Mrs. Flower, thoroughly roused. "And what's -the good of it all? You drink away every penny I earn, you sot; and -you call yourself a man!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll call you something, if you don't cut your stick! I wonder what I -married you for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll tell you. You married me to make me work for you; and you're not -the only one that speaks soft to a woman till he's got her in his -clutches. There ought to be a law for such as you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Law! Talk of what you understand. There was your sister Martha. Ah, -she was a girl! Such eyes--such skin--such lips!" He smacked his own, -in his desire to further aggravate her. "I was real nuts on her; and -I'd have had her instead of you, if she hadn't took up with a swell. I -hope she's found out her mistake by this time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I dare say she has. We all do, whether we're married or not." She -turned to Little Prue, who sat dumb during the scene, which presented -no features of novelty to her; from her earliest remembrance she had -been a witness of such. "I shan't be gone long," she whispered, -kissing the child, "and then you shall have some supper."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mind you get the money for the washing, and bring it straight -home!"--called Mr. Flower after her as she left the room. "Selfish -cat!" He slammed the door to. "Never thinks of anyone but -herself--never thinks of me! What are you sniveling at?" Prue, now -that her mother had gone, began to cry. "Come here; I've got something -to say to you. Ain't I your father?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And a good father?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And a kind father?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very well, then. How old are you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You don't know, father! You're old enough to get your own living, and -here you are passing your days in idleness and plenty. D'you see -these!" He pulled some boxes of matches from his pocket.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What are they?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Matches, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Count 'em. D'you hear me? Count 'em." The child was reeling, and he -shook her straight. "Count 'em."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One--two--three--four--five--six."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Six it is. Now, you've got to go out with these six boxes of matches, -and bring home tenpence for 'em. How are you going to do it, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't give me any more of your don't knows. You've got no more sense -than your mother; but I'm not going to let you grow up as idle and -selfish as she is--not if I know it, I ain't. Stop your blubbering, -and listen to me. You go to Charing Cross Station, you do, where all -the lights are, and where everybody's happy. What are you shaking your -head for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know--I mean, I can't find my way, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall have to take you there; I'm only fit to be a slave. There -you'll stand, with the lights shining on you. That'll be nice, won't -it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nice and warm; and you get it for nothing, all for nothing. There's a -treat I'm giving you! You stand in the gutter, mind that; and you -ain't to look happy and bright. You're to try all you know to look -miserable and hungry. Do you hear?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll try to, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, you'd better, or it'll be the worse for you! When an old gent or -an old lady gives you a penny, don't you offer 'em a box; there's a -lot of mean beasts that'd take it. You hold the boxes tight, and you -bring me back not less than a bob for the six--not less than a bob, -mind!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here, I'll give you a lesson. Blest if we don't have a rehearsal! -Stand there, in the gutter, and look miserable. I'm a gent. Hold out -your hand. 'Here's a penny for you, little girl.' Take it--quick! and -hold on tight to the matches. The gent goes away. I'm an old lady. 'My -poor child, what brings you out at such an hour?' What do you say to -the kind old lady?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Father sent me out, please; and told me to stand in the gutter----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Shut up! You're a born fool! What you say is this. Just you repeat -after me. 'Kind lady----'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Kind lady!'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Father's dead----'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'Father's dead!'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'And mother's laying ill of a fever----'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'And mother's laying ill of a fever!'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'And baby's dying----'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"'And baby's dying!'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"''Cause we ain't had nothing to eat since yesterday----'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"''Cause we ain't 'ad nothink to eat since yesterday!'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's more like it. And then you can begin to cry. Have you got that -in your head?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come along, then, and step out. I'll keep my eye on you to see how -you do it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Taking Little Prue by the hand, he led her out of Roxy's Rents into -the wider thoroughfares, to play her part in the sad drama of poverty -that runs its everlasting course from year's end to year's end in this -City of Unrest.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<h5>"Drip-Drip-Drip!"</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">As they issued from the hooded portal of Roxy's Rents, a woe-stricken -woman approached the alley, and looked wearily around. Dark as was the -night, and though years had passed since she had visited the locality, -she had found her way without inquiry; but her steps faltered at the -entrance to the narrow court, and her manner was that of one who was -uncertain of the errand she had undertaken. To resolve her doubts, she -accosted a young girl about to pass her:</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is Roxy's Rents, isn't it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied the girl.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can you tell me if Mrs. Flower lives here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, the last house but one on the right; front room, ground floor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is she at home, do you know?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you."</p> - -<p class="normal">The girl went her way, singing; she was in her spring. The woman -entered the alley, sighing; winter had come upon her too soon. When -she arrived at the last house but one on the right, she seemed to be -glad to see the glimmering of a light through the torn blind on the -front window. The street door stood open, and she stepped into the -dark passage, and paused before the door of the room in which Mrs. -Flower lived.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Janey!" she called, and listened for the answer. None reaching her -ear, she entered without further ceremony. The candle, which Mr. -Flower had inadvertently left alight, was burnt nearly to its socket, -and the woman shivered as she noted the unmistakable signs of -privation in the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It _is_ Janey's place, I suppose!" she said, and looking toward the -mantelshelf, saw there the faded photograph of herself and sister. -"Yes, it's all right." She took down the photograph, and gazed at it -with a curl of her lip as rueful as it was bitter. "Here we are -together, Janey and me, before . . . ." A shudder served to complete -the sentence. "How well I remember the day this was taken! We had a -week at the seaside, and stood together on the sands, as happy as -birds. The sun was shining, the children were playing and laughing. If -I had known--if I had known! I never see children laughing now, and I -sometimes wonder if the sun ever comes out. I was good-looking then, -and nicely dressed, and no one could say anything against me. But -what's the use of thinking about it? Thinking won't alter it."</p> - -<p class="normal">She had contracted a habit of speaking to herself, and was scarcely -conscious that she was uttering audible words.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't mean to stand it long," she said presently. "I've come to -London for something, and if he doesn't do what he ought to, I'll put -an end to it. As I'm a living woman, I'll put an end to it! I don't -care much which way it is. I've nothing to live for now!"</p> - -<p class="normal">She sat down and covered her face with her hands; the candle had been -spluttering and, being now at its last gasp, went out. The woman was -left in darkness. It suited her mood. The sound of water slowly -dropping outside attracted her attention. She removed her hands from -her face, and listened; as she listened she followed the rhythm with -the sound of her voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Drip, drip drip! Drip, drip, drip!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The pattering of the drops and her accompaniment fascinated her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Drip, drip, drip!" she continued to murmur, and did not stop till -another sound diverted her attention. The door of the room was sharply -opened, and Mrs. Flower entered. The woman stirred in her chair.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that you, Prue?" asked Mrs. Flower. "Stop a minute; I'll get a -light."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," replied the woman, "it isn't Prue."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My God!" cried Mrs. Flower, "whose voice is that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She groped for the end of a candle, and lit it; holding it up, she -looked at her visitor, who had risen, and was facing her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Martha!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Janey, it's me. You're not glad to see me, I dare say, after all -these years."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How can you say that? How long have you been here, and where's Prue?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've been here--I don't know how long, and there was no one in the -room when I came in. Who's Prue?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My little girl. Where can she have got to? I forgot, Janey. I didn't -have a baby when----" She paused.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Finish it," said Martha. "When I ran away and disgraced myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"O Martha!" said Mrs. Fowler, throwing her arms round her sister and -kissing her, "don't think I'm hard on you. God knows I've no call to -be hard on anyone, least of all on you. We all make mistakes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And have got to pay for them. Thank you for your welcome, Janey; it's -more than I deserve."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're my sister, and I love you, Martha. Sit down, sit down, and -tell me everything. How often I've wondered what had become of you! -But I'm worried about Prue. I left her here with her father when I -went out."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your husband's alive. That's a comfort."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it? You wouldn't say so if he was yours. I suppose he's taken her -into the streets with him. He's done it before, and got her to beg for -him, the brute! It's no use my going out to find her; I shouldn't know -where to look."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That tells a tale, and I am sorry for you, Janey. I mightn't have -come if I'd known; but I'd nowhere else to go to."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course you came here. What a time it is since we saw each other!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We haven't improved much, either of us," said Martha. "I was hoping -you were better off."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I might have been if my husband was a man. The truth must be told: I -couldn't be worse off than I am, I left my Prue hungry, and promised -her some supper. I take in washing, Martha, and there was five -shillings due to me, but the woman wouldn't pay me to-night; I've got -to wait till to-morrow, so Prue will have to go to sleep on an empty -stomach. It's hard lines on a sickly child, but what can I do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can't assist you, Janey. I've spent my last penny."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's no help for it, then; we're in the same boat. But tell me -where you've been all these years."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In Manchester. It's a puzzle to me how I got here, but I made up my -mind to come to London, to try and screw something out of the man who -took me away from home. I've got his address, and I went to his house -this afternoon. He was away in the country, they told me, but I -couldn't get them to tell me where. There was a man saw me standing at -his door after they'd shut it in my face, and he came up and asked if -he could do anything for me, and whether I would mind telling him what -I wanted with Mr. Fox-Cordery, for that's the name of the villain that -deceived me, but I said it was no business of his, and I walked away, -and left him looking after me. I wandered about till it was dark, and -then I thought I'd come and ask you to let me sleep here to-night. -Must I turn out?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"How can you ask such a thing? You're welcome to stop if you don't -mind. This is the only room we've got, and I can't give you anything -to eat because the cupboard's as empty as my pocket."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, I'm used to that! Your heart isn't changed, Janey."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I couldn't be hard to you if I tried; and I'm not going to -try. In Manchester you've been? You disappeared so suddenly and -mysteriously----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes; but we were carrying on together long before I went away. -He wanted to get me out of London, away from him, you know: he was -tired of me, and I wasn't in the best of tempers; he got frightened a -bit, I think, because I said if he threw me over I'd have him up at -the police court when my baby was born. He's a very respectable -man--oh, very respectable!--and looks as soft and speaks as soft as if -butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. But he's clever, and cunning, and -sly, for all that, and he talked me over. I was to go away from -London, and he was to allow me so much a week. He did for a little -while, and sent it on to me in Manchester. Janey, when he first -pretended to get fond of me he promised to marry me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, they all do that, and women are fools enough to believe em."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was, and I used to remind him of his promise. That was while I was -in London. When I was in Manchester he thought himself safe. Then my -baby came, and it cost him a little. I had to write to him for every -shilling almost, and he'd send me a postal order without a word of -writing to say who it came from. That made me wild, and I wrote and -said if he didn't write me proper letters I'd come back to London and -worry his life out of him. That pulled him up, and he did write, but -he never signed his name. He just put 'F.' at the bottom of his -letters; I've got them in my pocket, every one of them. Well, then I -got a situation as a shop-woman--they didn't know I had a baby, and I -didn't tell them, you may be sure--and I put by a shilling or two. It -was wanted, because his money dropped off. I lost my situation, and -then I frightened him into coming to Manchester to see me. He was as -soft and smooth as ever, and he swore to me that I should never want; -he took his oath on it, and I told him if he didn't keep it I'd make -it hot for him. Janey, you don't know the promises that man made to me -when we first came together; it was a long time before I could bring -myself to like him, but he spoke so fair that at last I gave way. And -he played me false, after all. Don't think that I wanted to sponge on -him; if I could have got my own living in an honest way.--and I never -intend to get it any other way; I'm not thoroughly bad, Janey--I -wouldn't have troubled him; but I couldn't. I have been in such -misery, that if it had not been for my child I should have made away -with myself long ago; but nothing keeps me back now. I have lost my -child; it was buried by the parish."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hush, Martha, hush!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's no use talking to me, Janey. I can't live this life any longer; -and if the man that's brought me to it won't help me, I've made up my -mind what to do. Nothing can change it--nothing. Look at me; I've -hardly a rag to my back. It's a rosy look-out, to-morrow is. If I had -decent clothes and a pound in my pocket, I might get into service; but -who'd take me as I am?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are changed from what you were, Martha; you used to be as merry -as a lark."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The lark's taken out of me long ago, and you haven't much of it left -in you that I can see. I don't know that you're any better off than -me, though you _are_ a respectable married woman; you've had to pay -for your respectability. Much comfort it brings you, according to your -own reckoning! What water is that dripping outside?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She asked this question in the dark; the candle had gone out, and Mrs. -Flower had no more.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The water-butt leaks."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Drip, drip, drip--and then it becomes a large pool--I see it -spreading out--large enough to drown one's self in!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Martha!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Which would be best, Janey? That or what I shall be forced into if no -one helps me? Supposing I'm alive! There it goes--drip, drip, drip! It -might be drops of blood. There isn't a sheet of water I've seen since -my child died that hasn't seemed to draw me to it, that hasn't -whispered, 'Come, and end it!' When you wake up of a morning -sometimes, aren't you sorry?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am, God help me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You've had a long sleep, and you've been happy; and you wake up--to -this! Wouldn't it be better never to wake up? Drip, drip, drip! It's -singing 'Come, come, come!' It drips just to that tune." She began to -sing softly, with a pause between each word, to keep time to the -water, "Come--come--come! Let me alone, Janey; don't lay hands on me. -I'm all right for a day or two--I won't say for how much longer. I'll -try and get some sleep."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<h5>In which Rathbeal makes a winning Move.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">On this same day Rathbeal had met with adventures. There was a coffee -shop in his neighborhood to which he was in the habit of going, two or -three times a week, to have a cup of coffee and play a game of chess -with the hoary proprietor.</p> - -<p class="normal">It belonged to a class of shops which once were a favorite resort for -working people, but are now fast dying out; they are only to be found -in second-class neighborhoods, and seem, as it were, to be striving to -keep themselves out of sight, with a painful consciousness that they -are relics of a bygone age, and have no business to be in existence. -It cannot be said that they die hard, for there is a patient and sad -resignation in their appearance, which in its humbleness and abasement -is almost pathetic. The interior of these shops is as shabby and -uninviting as their exterior. There are the narrow boxes which cramp -the legs to sit in, the tables are bare of covering, the knives and -forks are of ancient fashion, the crockery is in its last stage, and -the once brilliant luster of the dominoes has quite disappeared, -double one especially looking up with two hollow dead white eyes which -cannot but have an inexpressibly depressing influence upon the -players. The draughts and chessmen with their one wooden board are in -a like condition of decay, and the games played thereon are the -reverse of lively. There is another peculiarity which forces itself -upon the attention. All the newspapers are old, some dating back -several weeks, and they are allowed to lie about till they are in a -condition so disgraceful that they are fit for nothing but lighting -fires. These newspapers are never bought on the day of issue, but -considerably later on, at less than a quarter their original price. -Thus it was that in the coffee shop to which Rathbeal was in the habit -of resorting there were always to be found two or three copies of the -_Times_, of dates varying from one to two months ago.</p> - -<p class="normal">On the day in question, Rathbeal, while the hoary proprietor was -fetching the chessmen and board, happened to take up one of these -sheets and run his eyes down the columns. It was not news he was -glancing at, but advertisements, and he was conning the first page of -the newspaper. When the proprietor of the shop took his seat opposite -to him and arranged his men, Rathbeal, folding the paper neatly, laid -it beside him on the table. Then he proceeded to place his warriors, -and the game was commenced. The proprietor was a slow player, Rathbeal -moved very quickly; thus it was that he had plenty of leisure to -glance from time to time at the newspaper by his side. "Check," he -called, and turned his eyes upon the paper. A sudden color flushed -into his face, caused by an advertisement he had up to this time -overlooked. This was what he read:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> - -<p class="normal">If Mr. Robert Grantham, born in Leamington, Warwickshire, will call -upon Messrs. Paxton and Freshfield, solicitors, Bedford Row, London, -he will hear of something to his advantage.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">Rising hastily, he upset the chessboard. The proprietor looked up in -surprise.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your game," said Rathbeal, and then consulted the date of the -newspaper. It was nearly seven weeks old. Permission being given to -him to make a cutting from the paper, he cut out the advertisement -very neatly, and asked the proprietor whether he had a London -Directory in the shop.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have one," said the proprietor, "but it is twelve years old."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That will do," said Rathbeal. "Lawyers are rocks."</p> - -<p class="normal">Turning over the pages of the Directory, he found the number in -Bedford Row at which Paxton and Freshfield carried on their practice. -Wishing the proprietor good-day, he left the shop, and went straight -to Robert Grantham's lodging. Grantham was at home.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have something to ask you, Robert," he said, without beating about -the bush. "Were you born in Leamington?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Leamington in Warwickshire?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then this concerns you," said Rathbeal, and handed him the cutting.</p> - -<p class="normal">The expression on Robert Grantham's face was not one of pleasure; to -be thus publicly advertised for seemed to cause him discomfort. He -read the advertisement, and offered no remark upon it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was by chance," said Rathbeal, "using your own term, for I do not -admit that chance is a factor in our lives, that I came across it. The -paper I cut it from is nearly two months old. What are you going to do -about it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing," said Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Something to your advantage, it says. That sounds like money. You -cannot afford to neglect it, Robert."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would rather have nothing to do with it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Gently, friend. How much coin have you in your pocket at the present -moment?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Two small silver pieces and a few pennies. To be exact, one shilling -and tenpence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your rent is due to-morrow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall earn it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not be too sure. If this advertisement means money for you, it -becomes your duty to claim it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Remember the penance you imposed upon yourself. You would spend for -your own necessities only what was requisite for the plainest food; -any money you had remaining should be devoted to the children of -misery. You have nobly carried out your resolution. Do you consider -you have atoned for the sins and errors of the past?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I could not atone for them if I lived twice my allotted span."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then the right is not yours to throw away this money. It belongs, not -to you, but to the poor, whose sufferings it would alleviate. Neglect -of the opportunity which now presents itself would become a crime. And -why do you desire to let the matter rest? To save yourself a possible -personal annoyance, you shrink from publicity; you tremble at the idea -that some old friend or acquaintance may learn that you still live. I -did not think you capable of such weakness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am reproved, Rathbeal; but still I would rather not appear in the -matter until the last moment, until it is certain that my appearance -is necessary, and would benefit others. Will you take this office of -friendship upon yourself, and make inquiries for me at the lawyer's?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Willingly, if you will give me full powers. I must be prepared to -show that I am acting for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Draw up a paper, Rathbeal. I will sign whatever you write."</p> - -<p class="normal">In his neat handwriting Rathbeal drew out something in the shape of a -power of attorney, which Robert Grantham signed. Before he went upon -his mission Rathbeal made an appointment to meet Grantham at nine -o'clock that night; the appointment would have been made for an -earlier hour, but Grantham had some copying to finish and deliver, and -the work could not be neglected.</p> - -<p class="normal">When Rathbeal arrived at the offices of Paxton and Freshfield he asked -to see one of the principals, and he heard a clerk tell another to see -if Mr. Dixon was in. Mr. Dixon was not in, but Mr. Paxton was, and -would see Mr. Rathbeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have come about this advertisement," he said, showing the cutting -to an old gentleman wearing gold spectacles.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Paxton glanced at the advertisement, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Our partner, Mr. Dixon, has taken it in hand; he will return at four -o'clock."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will wait for him," said Rathbeal, "but meanwhile you can perhaps -give me some information concerning it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know very little about it," said the lawyer, cautiously. "Mr. Dixon -is in possession of the full particulars. You are not Mr. Grantham?" -He referred to the card Rathbeal had sent in.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I am Mr. Grantham's friend and agent. I have authority to act for -him." He produced the document Grantham had signed. "It is drawn out -and signed to-day, you see."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I see. How is it that so long a time has elapsed before answering the -advertisement?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It only came to Mr. Grantham's knowledge a couple of hours ago. Would -you object to inform me whether it is really something to his -advantage, whether it means money?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a small legacy left to Mr. Grantham, I believe, which he can -obtain if the proofs are clear."</p> - -<p class="normal">A clerk knocked at the door, and entered. "Mr. Dixon has come in, -sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Show this gentleman to his room."</p> - -<p class="normal">Being introduced to Mr. Dixon, Rathbeal opened up his business, and -observed signs of agitation in John Dixon's face, which he construed -unfavorably. With the signed document before him--which he examined, -Rathbeal thought, with suspicious attention--John Dixon schooled -himself presently to a more strictly professional method, but he did -not immediately make any observation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The document is genuine, sir," said Rathbeal. "It was signed in my -presence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon that point," said John Dixon, with studious brows, "I must be -quite certain. You are a stranger to me, and your name is strange; and -you bring me startling news, Mr. Rathbeal. Why did not Mr. Grantham -come himself? Are you aware that it is believed by his friends that he -is dead?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know that it was his wish to be thought so, and I am acquainted -with his reasons for a course of conduct which, without proper -explanation, must be viewed with mistrust. As to the trouble I am -taking, it is, I assure you, sir, not actuated by selfish motives. He -has a strong disinclination to appear personally in the matter, and -his motives could only be disclosed to friends in whom he has the most -thorough confidence. I can satisfy you as to my respectability----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I throw no doubt upon it, Mr. Rathbeal: you do not seem to understand -that the intervention of a second party is quite useless. The -principal must appear himself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I accept your word, sir, but I would ask you whether the affair could -not be conducted confidentially--without publicity, I mean. I have -learnt that a small legacy has been left to Mr. Grantham. However -small it is, it will be of great value to him: he is very poor, as I -am myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">John Dixon did a singular thing here. Motioning Rathbeal not to -proceed at present, he arranged the papers on his table, put others in -a desk, which he locked, opened a shut-up washstand and laved his -hands, brushed his hair, put on his hat, and then asked Rathbeal to -give him the favor of his company in his private chambers, which were -situated in Craven Street, Strand. Rathbeal consenting, they walked -together from the office, and John Dixon called a cab, in which they -rode to Craven Street. On the road Rathbeal would have continued to -speak of the mission he had undertaken, but John Dixon said, "Wait -till we get to my rooms; these confounded wheels make conversation -difficult." His voice, as he made this observation, was entirely -different from the professional voice he had adopted in the office; -there was a frank heartiness in it which attracted Rathbeal favorably, -and he deferred to his companion's wish and said nothing more till -they arrived at Craven Street.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sit down, Mr. Rathbeal," said John Dixon. "Let me offer you a cigar. -Now we can speak openly; I am no longer a lawyer; I am Robert -Grantham's friend. You look surprised. I have a very close interest in -the news you have brought me, and if you have spoken the truth--pardon -me for saying this; I am justified by the nature of the -circumstances--I may be able to serve him, and shall be glad to do so. -If I understand aright, you and he are intimate friends."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We have been intimate friends for years. There is no man living for -whom I have a greater affection."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You state that the signature to the document empowering you to act -for him is in his handwriting."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I saw him write it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"This very day?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"This very day. The date is on the paper."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Could you take me to him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I could, but I would not do so without his permission."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We are both on guard, as it were, Mr. Rathbeal. I was Robert -Grantham's schoolfellow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is a piece of news," said Rathbeal, and added significantly, "He -had other schoolfellows."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Shall we say one especially?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, we will say that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whose name you know?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whose name I know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am tempted to make a curious proposition to you, which if you -accede to, and it turns out successful, may satisfy each of us that we -may work together on behalf of one whose career has been unfortunate -and unhappy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Make your proposition, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One other of Robert Grantham's schoolfellows has been referred to. We -will each write down his name on separate pieces of paper, which we -will exchange. If the name is the same, we can proceed with our -conversation with less reserve."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I agree, sir," said Rathbeal, and wrote the name that was in his -mind.</p> - -<p class="normal">John Dixon did the same, and when they exchanged papers they saw that -the name they had penciled was "Fox-Cordery."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Could we exchange opinions of this gentleman on the same plan?" asked -John Dixon.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will give you mine, sir, byword of mouth. The gentleman, as you -call him, is a reptile in human shape. To touch his hand in friendship -is a degradation."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The terms are strong, but he has proved deserving of them. The -peculiar circumstances of my connection with him would have made the -expression of my opinion more temperate. You must be aware of the -imperative necessity of carrying the disclosure of the existence of -Robert Grantham to other ears, even though he persists in keeping -himself in concealment."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, sir, I am aware of no such necessity," said Rathbeal. "For -reasons best known to himself, Mr. Fox-Cordery desired the death of -Mr. Grantham. Some short time since, disturbed probably by something -that had come to his ears, he paid me a visit to assure himself that -Mr. Grantham was not of this world. I refused to betray the confidence -reposed in me by my friend, and Mr. Fox-Cordery went away no wiser, -for any information he received from me, than he came."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you quite honest," said John Dixon rather sternly, "in saying -that you are not aware of the necessity for Mr. Grantham making his -existence known to certain persons?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perfectly honest, sir. Mr. Grantham is alone in the world; no one has -the least claim upon him, and whatever judgment you may pass upon him, -he has a distinct right to do as he pleases with himself and his -identity."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you no thought for his wife and child?" asked John Dixon. "Do -you really maintain that a husband and a father has the right to -assist by his own premeditated action in the lie that his wife is a -widow and his child an orphan?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should be sorry to maintain an assumption so monstrous. We cannot -assist each other by playing at cross-purposes, which is what we -appear to be doing. Mr. Grantham, I repeat, is alone in the world. He -has no wife and child."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has no wife and child!" exclaimed John Dixon, in amazement.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Unhappily, he has lost them, and it is the distressing circumstances -of this sad loss that has made him what he is--an outcast on the face -of the earth. As we have gone so far, sir, I may tell you that Mr. -Grantham has no secrets from me. He has revealed to me all the -sorrowful circumstances of his life, and he has drained the bitter cup -of agony and remorse. I trust to you, sir, to keep this confidence -sacred. You have wrung it out of me, and it must go no farther. If Mr. -Grantham consents to see you, and if then he confides to you what he -has confided to me, you will receive from him a full verification of -my statements. Will you now, sir, give me the particulars of the -legacy that has been left to him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was impossible for John Dixon to doubt that Rathbeal was speaking -without guile or deceit. His manly, sympathetic voice, the frankness -of his manner, and his honest look carried conviction with them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will speak of the legacy presently," he said. "There is a mystery -here which must first be cleared up. From whom did you receive the -information that Mr. Robert Grantham's wife and child were dead?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"From his own lips."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How did he obtain the information?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It came through Mr. Fox-Cordery."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you tell me this seriously," asked John Dixon, pale with -excitement, "or are you inventing a fantastic and horrible tale for -some purpose of your own?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no purpose of my own to serve," replied Rathbeal. "I am here -to serve a noble and suffering man, who erred grievously in years gone -by, and who is now passing his life in the work of expiation. Your -words, your manner, point to a mystery indeed--a mystery it is out of -my power to pierce. I scarcely know what to say, what to think. You -could not demand from me a sacrifice I would be unwilling to make if I -could assist in bringing comfort to my friend's heart. Trust me, sir; -I am worthy of trust. Do not speak to me in metaphor; but explain to -me the meaning of words I cannot at present understand."</p> - -<p class="normal">During the last few moments there had dawned upon John Dixon a light -in which Mr. Fox-Cordery's villainous duplicity was to some extent -made clear, and he resolved to avail himself of Rathbeal's assistance -to bring him to justice. A husband who believed that those he loved -were in their grave, a wife who believed herself widowed, a child who -believed she was an orphan--the figures of these three wronged beings -rose before him, and appealed to him to take up their cause and bring -the truth to light.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I were to tell you," he said slowly, "that I have this day written -to Robert Grantham's wife, informing her of the legacy left to her -husband, and asking for her instructions thereon, what would you say?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Hitherto Rathbeal had preserved his calmness, but it was his turn now -to exhibit agitation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have written to Robert Grantham's wife!" he exclaimed. "To Robert -Grantham's wife, who is in her grave!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She lives," said John Dixon, "and is now, with her child, in Mr. -Fox-Cordery's house."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The child's name, Clair?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The child's name, Clair," said John Dixon. "The time for concealment -is over; plain-speaking is now the order of the day, and Justice our -watchword. Tell me all you know; you shall receive a like confidence -from me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Thereupon the men related to each other all they knew of husband, -wife, and child; and when their stories were told Mr. Fox-Cordery's -wiles were fully exposed. Uncertain on the spur of the moment what -action it was advisable to take, they pledged each other to secrecy -for two days, by which time they would have devised a plan to unmask -the traitor. Their reason for resolving not to communicate their -discoveries immediately to Robert Grantham was that they feared he -would do some rash action which would put Mr. Fox-Cordery on his -guard, and give him an opportunity to crawl out of the net he had -woven around these innocent beings, and which now was closing round -himself. Cooler brains than his should devise a fitting means of -exposure, and should bring retribution upon the traitor and schemer. -This decided, they talked of minor matters affecting the main issue. -John Dixon expressed a wish to see Robert Grantham without himself -being seen--for even now at odd moments a kind of wondering doubt -stole upon him whether all he had heard was true--and Rathbeal, ripe -in expedients, suggested the way to this.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At ten o'clock to-night," he said, "come to the entrance to Charing -Cross Station, and I will pass you in the company of Robert Grantham; -then you will have an opportunity of seeing him. Do not accost us; but -having satisfied yourself, take your departure. I can easily manage to -bring Grantham to the spot, and to-morrow I will call upon you at any -hour you name."</p> - -<p class="normal">Upon this understanding they separated, Rathbeal well satisfied with -his day's work, and glowing with anticipation of the enemy's -overthrow.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You do wrong to make enemies, shrewd sir" (thus his thoughts ran); -"they are more zealous against you, more determined for victory, when -they scent the coming battle. You are a fool, shrewd sir, for all your -cleverness. Your sun is setting, and you see not the shadows beyond. -But the veil shall soon be drawn by willing hands. With what truth -could Robert say:</p> -<div style="font-size:9pt"> - -<p style="margin-bottom:0pt; margin-left:5%;text-indent:-7%">"I, as thou knowest, went forth, and my heart with sorrow oppressed,</p> -<p style="margin-top:0pt; margin-left:5%;text-indent:-5%">Where ruthless Fate had bestowed what I needed for life and rest.</p> -</div> - -<p class="normal">We are but instruments in the hands of Fate. Sooner or later the ax -shall fall."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had an idle hour before his appointment with Robert Grantham, and -instinctively he had turned his steps in the direction of Mr. -Fox-Cordery's house. As he walked on the opposite side of the street -he saw a miserably-clad woman, whose face, equally with her dress, was -a melancholy index to her woeful state, standing at the door, -exchanging words with a servant who had responded to her knock. -Crossing the road, he heard something of what was passing between -them, and learned that Mr. Fox-Cordery was in the country. Closer -contact with the woman disclosed more plainly to him that she was -destitute and in sore trouble, and he was particularly struck at the -half-defiant and wholly reckless tone in which she spoke. The door was -shut upon her, and she was left standing in the street. Then he -observed that she directed a threatening and despairing look at the -house; and, as she was walking slowly away, he went up and asked her -if he could be of any assistance to her, and whether she would tell -him what she wanted with Mr. Fox-Cordery. It was Martha he accosted, -but she would have nothing to say to him. Bidding him sullenly to mind -his own business, she quickened her steps to a run and disappeared. He -reproached himself afterward for not hastening after her, and tempting -her with a bribe; for he felt that the woman had some bitter grievance -against Mr. Fox-Cordery, and that she could have been of assistance in -bringing him to bay. But he shrugged his shoulders, muttering "What -is, is; what will be, will be," and followed in the direction she had -taken, without, however, seeing her again.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<h5>Do you remember Billy's last prayer?</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">At ten o'clock that night Rathbeal and Robert Grantham were at Charing -Cross Station, as he had engaged they should be. He had no difficulty -in wooing Grantham to the neighborhood, in which they had taken many a -stroll on leisure nights. He had given his friend an unfaithful -version of his interview with the lawyers, saying there was a -difficulty in obtaining the information he required, and that he was -to call upon them again to-morrow.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a small sum of money attaching to the business," he said, -"but we must wait for the precise particulars. It is likely you will -have to put in an appearance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will do whatever you advise," said Grantham, "but assist in keeping -me out of it till the last moment."</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal promised, and they strolled to and fro, westward to Trafalgar -Square, eastward not farther than Buckingham Street, conversing, as -was their wont, on the typical signs of life that thronged this -limited space. Robert Grantham was always deeply impressed by these -signs which, in their contrasts of joy and misery, and of wealth and -poverty, furnish pregnant pictures of the extremes of human existence. -Grantham was saying something to this effect when he paused before a -white-faced, raggedly-dressed child--no other than Little Prue--who -had some boxes of matches in her hands, and was saying to a woman who -had also paused to observe her:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Kind lady! Father's dead, and mother's laying ill of a fever, and -baby's dying 'cause we ain't 'ad nothink to eat since yesterday!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The woman gave Little Prue a penny, and the next moment a man stepped -to her side and snatched the penny from her hand, the child making no -objection.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A suggestive scene," said Rathbeal. "The brute is the girl's father, -I suppose, and she stands there in the gutter by his directions, -probably repeating the speech he has drilled into her. Does not such a -picture tempt you not to give? Is it not almost a justification for -the existence of institutions which contend that beggary is a -preventable disease?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not in my eyes," replied Robert Grantham. "I have no sympathy with -anti-natural societies, organized for the suppression of benevolent -impulse. The endeavor to deaden charitable feeling, and to inculcate -into kindly-hearted people that pity must be guided by a kind of -mathematical teaching, is a deplorable mistake. Carry such a teaching -out to its natural end, and the sweetest influences of our nature -would be lost. Seeing what I have seen, I would not give to that poor -child, but I would take her away from the brute: and the first thing I -would do would be to set her down before a hot, wholesome meal. Poor -little waif! See, Rathbeal, the brute is on the watch on the opposite -side. Now, if Providence would take him in hand, and deal out to him -what he deserves, we might give the child a foretaste of heaven."</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal, looking to the opposite side of the road, saw John Dixon -approaching them, and in order that he should have a clear view of -Grantham he took his friend's arm, and proceeded onward a few yards to -a spot which was brilliantly lighted up. John Dixon passed them -slowly, and exchanged a look of recognition with Rathbeal, which -Grantham did not observe.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is time to get home," said Rathbeal, who, now that John Dixon was -gone, saw no reason to linger.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A moment, Rathbeal," said Grantham. "I can't get that child out of my -head. Is there no way of doing her an act of kindness without the -intervention of the brute?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Little Prue had just finished another appeal in a weak, languid voice, -addressed to no one in particular. She appeared to be dazed as the -words dropped slowly from her bloodless lips. She could scarcely keep -her eyes open; her frail body began to sway.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is fainting," said Rathbeal hurriedly; "the child is overpowered -by want and fatigue."</p> - -<p class="normal">The brute on the opposite side saw this also, and he started forward, -not impelled by pity, but with the intention of keeping Little Prue's -strength in her by means of threats. A judgment fell upon him. It was -as if Providence had heard what Robert Grantham said, and had taken -him in hand; for as he was crossing the road in haste he got tangled -in a conflict of cabs and omnibuses, and was knocked to the ground. -Rathbeal darted forward to see what had happened to him, while -Grantham, taking Little Prue's hand, said some gentle words to her, -which she was too exhausted to understand. A great crowd had assembled -on the spot where the brute had fallen, and Rathbeal, returning, -whispered to Grantham that he had been run over.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What are they doing with him?" asked Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are carrying him to Charing Cross Hospital."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will be all right there. If we want to inquire after him we can do -so to-morrow. Let us look after the child."</p> - -<p class="normal">She needed looking after; but for Grantham's sustaining arm she would -have sunk into the gutter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know the hospital to take her to," said Grantham, "and the medicine -she needs."</p> - -<p class="normal">With Little Prue in his arms, he plunged into a narrow street, -accompanied by Rathbeal, and entered a common restaurant, where he -ordered a pot of tea, bread and butter, and a chop. The swift motion -through the air had done something to revive Little Prue, the tea and -food did the rest; and presently she was eating and drinking as only -one who was famished could. The men looked on in wondering pity, and -did not interrupt her engrossing labors. It was not until nature was -satisfied that she thought of her father; a look of terror flashed -into her eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What's the matter, child?" asked Robert Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Father'll be the death of me!" she replied.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't be frightened; he will not hurt you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you sure, sir? You don't know father!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am quite sure; we have seen him."</p> - -<p class="normal">This satisfied Little Prue, and the look of terror changed to one of -gratitude.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank yer kindly, sir," she said. "I think I should 'ave died if I -'adn't 'ad somethink to eat. It's a long time since I had sech a -tuck-out. I couldn't eat another mouthful if I tried."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And now, child, tell us where you live, and whether you have a -mother."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, sir, I've got a mother; and I live in Roxy's Rents."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've heard of the place," said Rathbeal; "it's in Lambeth. We will -see the little one home."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank yer, sir. I don't think I could find my way without father. -Oh!" she cried, looking about distressfully, "where's my matches?"</p> - -<p class="normal">They had dropped from her hands when she was falling, and the friends -had not stopped to pick them up.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never mind your matches."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But father'll wollup me if I don't sell 'em before I go 'ome! I can't -go 'ome till I've got a shilling!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You shall have the shilling. Here it is. We will take care of it till -we get to Roxy's Rents, and you shall give it to your mother. What is -your name, child?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Prue, sir; Little Prue."</p> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham laid his hand on Rathbeal's arm.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Little Prue!" he said. "That is poor Billy's sweetheart, that he -spoke of with his dying breath."</p> - -<p class="normal">He addressed the child:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you know a poor boy called Billy?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, sir; we used to play together. He sed he'd marry me when he -grew up, if he could get a suit of clothes. What's become of Billy, -sir? I ain't seen 'im for a long time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is happier than he was, my child," said Grantham; "all his -troubles are over."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm glad to 'ear that, sir. I wish mine and mother's was."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They will be, one day. Now, child, we must be moving."</p> - -<p class="normal">Little Prue rose and put her hand in Grantham's and they left the -restaurant. They rode to Lambeth by 'bus and tram, and then, being in -streets familiar to her, Little Prue conducted them to Roxy's Rents. -Her mother's room was in darkness.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are yer coming in, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes; we will see your mother before we leave you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mother, mother!" cried Prue, opening the door.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Flower started up and, running to the door, caught her child in -her arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">"O Prue, Prue! where have you been? I was afraid you were lost!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should 'ave been, mother, if it 'adn't been for the gentlemen."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The gentlemen?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She could not see them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not be alarmed," said Robert Grantham. "Your little one was not -well, and we brought her home. She is all right now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're very good, sir; I'm ever so much obliged to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, mother, I've 'ad sech a supper! Did yer get the money for the -washing?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She was accustomed to take her part in these domestic matters, which -were, in a sense, vital.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't worry, child, before the gentlemen."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But did yer, mother?" persisted Little Prue, thinking of the chances -of food for to-morrow.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. There, child, let me alone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you a candle in the place?" asked Grantham, suspecting the state -of affairs.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, sir. I am really ashamed----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We owe your little one a shilling for some matches," said Grantham, -pitying her confusion, and slipping the money into her hand. "Is it -too late to buy some candles?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He would have taken his departure under these awkward circumstances, -but he considered it his duty to tell Mrs. Flower of the accident that -had happened to her husband.</p> - -<p class="normal">"One of the lodgers will sell me one, sir, if you don't mind waiting."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will wait."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Martha!" called Mrs. Flower; but Martha was asleep, and did not -speak. "It's my sister, sir; I thought she might be awake. I won't be -gone a minute."</p> - -<p class="normal">She ran to another room, and obtaining the candle, returned with it -alight. Her visitors sighed at the misery it displayed. Martha's arms -were spread upon the table, and her head rested upon them. Prue pulled -her mother's dress.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who is she, mother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your aunt Martha."</p> - -<p class="normal">Prue went to the sleeping woman, and tried to get a glimpse of her -face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have bad news to tell you about your husband," said Grantham, -speaking low, so that the child should not hear. "He has met with an -accident, and has been taken to Charing Cross Hospital."</p> - -<p class="normal">He broke the news to her in a gentle voice, and she received it -without emotion. Her husband had crushed all love for him from her -breast long since, and she had felt for years that it would be a happy -release if he were dead.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is he much hurt, sir?" she asked, with tearless eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know. He was knocked down by a cab, and was carried to the -hospital at once. He will be better cared for there than here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir; I have no money to pay for doctors. Did Prue see the -accident?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She knows nothing of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Drip--drip--drip! Oh, God! will it never stop?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was Martha who was speaking. The men were awed by the despairing -voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's my sister, sir; I told you, I think. She came upon me quite -sudden to-night. I haven't seen her for years. She's in trouble. -Martha, Martha!"</p> - -<p class="normal">She shook the woman, who started wildly to her feet and looked this -way and that with swift glances, more like a hunted animal than a -human creature.</p> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal uttered an exclamation. It was the woman he had seen that -afternoon standing at Mr. Fox-Cordery's door.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fate!" he said, and advanced toward her.</p> - -<p class="normal">A violent spasm of fear seized Martha, and shook her in every limb. -Crazed perhaps by her dreams, or terrified by the suspicion of a -hidden evil in the appearance of Rathbeal, whom she instantly -recognized, and who must have tracked her down for some new -oppression, she retreated as he advanced, and watching her -opportunity, rushed past him from the room, and flew into the dark -shelter of the streets. They gazed after her in astonishment, and then -followed her into the alley, and thence into the wider thoroughfare, -but they saw no trace of her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Her troubles have driven her mad," said Mrs. Flower, "and no wonder. -How she's lived through them is a mystery. She's in such a state that -I'm afraid she'll do herself a mischief."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I intended her no harm," said Rathbeal. "I saw her once before -to-day, and if my suspicions are well founded, it may be in my power -to render her a service, even to obtain some kind of justice for her, -if her troubles are caused by a man."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A man, you call him!" said Mrs. Flower, with bitter emphasis.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you know him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I heard his name for the first time to-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it Fox-Cordery?"</p> - -<p class="normal">In the dark he felt Robert Grantham give a start, and he pressed his -arm as a warning to be silent.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's the villain that's brought her to this; that took her away -from her home and disgraced her, and then left her to starve. If -there's justice in heaven, he ought to be made suffer for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's justice in heaven," said Rathbeal, "and it shall overtake -him. Your sister needs a man to champion her cause; I offer myself as -that man. Without a powerful defender, the reptile who has brought -this misery upon her will spurn and laugh at her. It is too late to -talk together to-night; your child is waiting for you, and your sister -may return at any moment. After a night's rest, she will listen to -me--will believe in me. May I call upon you to-morrow morning early?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir, as early as you like. I get up at six. You speak fair, and -you've been kind to Prue. God bless you for your goodness! I shall -have to go to the hospital in the morning, but I'll wait at home till -ten for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very well. Meanwhile, this may be of service to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">He gave her two shillings, and wishing her goodnight, the friends took -their departure.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What does all this mean, Rathbeal?" asked Robert Grantham. "I am -wrapt in mystery."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You trust me, Robert?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would trust you with my life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then believe that I have my reasons for keeping silence to-night. -Before long the mystery shall be explained to you. I am working for -your happiness, Robert."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For my happiness?" echoed Grantham, with a groan.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are not a skeptic? You believe in eternal mercy and justice?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do, God help me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hold fast to that belief. The clouds are breaking, and I see a light -shining on your life. Do you remember poor Billy's last prayer?' O -Lord God, give Mr. Gran all he wants, and a bit over!' The Lord of the -Universe heard that prayer. Ask me no questions, but before you go to -bed to-night pray with a thankful heart; for the age of miracles is -not yet over, Robert, my friend."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_15" href="#div1Ref_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> -<h5>Friends in Council.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Rathbeal presented himself at Mrs. Flower's room as the clock struck -nine. In anticipation of his visit, the woman had "tidied" up the -apartment, and Little Prue looked quite neat, with her hands and face -washed, and her hair properly combed and brushed. Rathbeal's two -shillings had enabled them to have a sufficient breakfast, and the -child, naturally shy, raised her eyes gratefully to her benefactor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, little one," he said, pinching her cheek, "do you feel better -this morning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, ever so much, sir!" replied Little Prue.</p> - -<p class="normal">He looked round for Martha, and Mrs. Flower told him sorrowfully that -her sister had not come back.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall be worried out of my life till I see her, sir," she said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will try and find her for you," he said. "And now tell me -everything you know concerning her."</p> - -<p class="normal">She related all that she had learned from Martha; and when she had -done he plied her with questions, which she answered freely. Having -obtained all the information it was in her power to give him, and -leaving his address with her, he rode to Craven Street, his -appointment with John Dixon having been made for an early hour. He was -received with cordiality all John Dixon's suspicions being now quite -dispelled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I recognized Robert Grantham the moment I saw him," he said, "thanks -to his wearing no hair on his face; but it bears the marks of deep -suffering."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has passed through the fire," said Rathbeal. "I have more news for -you. Another weapon against Mr. Fox-Cordery is placed in our hands."</p> - -<p class="normal">With that he gave an account of his adventures with Martha and Little -Prue, to which John Dixon listened with grave attention, and then said -he had also news to impart.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will be necessary, I think," he said, "to strike earlier than we -expected. You will be surprised to hear that I expect shortly to be -connected with Mr. Fox-Cordery by marriage. I have no wish to spare -him on that account, but for the sake of my intended wife I should -wish, if possible, to avoid a public exposure. Justice must be done to -Robert Grantham and his wife and child--that is imperative; and if we -can compel Mr. Fox-Cordery privately to make some reparation to the -poor woman who has so strangely been introduced into this bad -business, so much the better. It is likely, however, that she will -disappear from the scene; my opinion is that she will not return to -her sister. So far as she is concerned, there is no law to touch her -betrayer: her case, unhappily, is a common one, and he can snap his -fingers at her; and, moreover, if she personally annoy him, he can -prosecute her. But he may be willing to sacrifice something to prevent -his name being dragged into the papers. As for any punishment he may -have incurred for his infamous conduct toward the Granthams, the -choice of visiting it upon him must be left to your friend. Speaking -as a lawyer, we have no standing in the matter: it is not us he has -wronged; we are simple lookers on."</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I ask how you expect to be connected with Mr. Fox-Cordery by -marriage?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is now no secret about it. He has a sister, whom he has -oppressed after his own brutal fashion since she was a child. That two -natures so opposite as theirs should be born of the same parents is a -mystery beyond my comprehension, but so it is. She is the -personification of sweetness and charity, but I will not dilate upon -her virtues. It is enough that I am engaged to be married to her, and -that the engagement is viewed with intense dislike by her brother and -her mother, both of whom would, I have not the least doubt, he -rejoiced to hear that I had met my death in a railway accident or by -some equally agreeable means. It is, I believe, chiefly because of her -liking for my intended wife that Mrs. Grantham accepted the invitation -of Mr. Fox-Cordery to become a guest in the house by the river which -he has taken for the summer months. Besides, you must bear in mind -that he is Mrs. Grantham's business agent, and that she is ignorant of -his true character. I have an idea that her eyes are being opened, for -I have received a letter from my intended this morning in which she -informs me that Mrs. Grantham is in great trouble, and wishes to -consult me privately. She asks me to meet her to-night near her -brother's house, when I shall hear what the trouble is. I am prepared -for some fresh villainy on the part of Mr. Fox-Cordery, who has -entertained a passion for Mrs. Grantham for years. He knew her in her -maiden days, and would have paid open suit to her, but her love was -given to Robert Grantham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you tell me that he desires to marry her now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I understand from Charlotte--the name of my intended; I cannot speak -of her as Miss Fox-Cordery, there is something hateful in the -name--that it is his ardent wish, and that he has set his heart -upon it. That may be the reason for his taking the house by the river -and for his wish to make Mrs. Grantham his guest there. Part of a -plan--and his plans are generally well laid. He hoped to bring his -suit to a happy ending, for him, before the termination of her visit."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But Robert Grantham lives!" exclaimed Rathbeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He believes him to be dead, remember; you yourself told me so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes; I was forgetting for the moment. I see now why he came to -me; the motive of all his actions is clear. But this must not be -allowed to go on any longer. In justice to her, in justice to Robert, -the truth must no longer be withheld."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My own opinion: there has been but little time lost; it is only -yesterday that you and I first met. My idea is, to bring matters to a -conclusion this very night. I shall go to meet my intended, and hear -what she has to say. I am not sure whether Mrs. Grantham will be with -her. If she is not, I will not leave without an interview in which she -shall learn the solemn truth. It will be a difficult task to prepare -her for it, but it is a duty that must be performed. Meanwhile you -must prepare Robert Grantham for the wonderful happiness in store for -him. Do you think it advisable that we shall go down together?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will be best; and on our way we can determine upon our course of -action. I imagine that we shall have to keep in the background until -we receive an intimation from you to appear; but we can talk of all -that by-and-by. I have paved the way with Robert already, and he is -now impatiently awaiting me. Ah-ha! Mr. Fox-Cordery, when you weave a -web, nothing ever escapes from it! A stronger hand than yours has -woven for you a web, and scattered yours to the four winds of heaven. -I have tortured him already with letters, trusting to Fate to aid me, -and he stands, unmasked, defeated, disgraced for evermore."</p> - -<p class="normal">This outburst was enigmatical to John Dixon, but time was too valuable -for him to ask for an explanation. There was much to do, and every -minute of the day would be occupied. He made an appointment to meet -Rathbeal and Grantham in the evening, and they parted to go upon their -separate tasks.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_16" href="#div1Ref_16">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> -<h5>Mr. Fox-Cordery's Master-Stroke.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery had made the move he had thought of to insure success. -On the morning of the day that Charlotte wrote to John Dixon to come -to her, he sent word to Mrs. Grantham that he wished to see her upon -business of importance, either in his room or hers. She sent word back -that she would see him in her apartment, and he went there to deal a -master-stroke. Her child Clair was with her, and Charlotte also; and -he drew Clair to him, and spent a few moments in endearments which -manifestly did not give the girl any pleasure. He had not succeeded in -making himself a favorite with her, and as soon as she could she -escaped from him and ran to her mother's side. He was quite aware that -Clair was not fond of him, but he made no protest; the future should -pay him for all. Mrs. Grantham and Charlotte were both employed in -needlework, and they did not lay it aside when he entered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charlotte!" he said, sternly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Fox," she answered.</p> - -<p class="normal">He motioned with his head to the door, indicating that she was to -leave the room. Charlotte rose immediately.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where are you going, Charlotte?" asked Mrs. Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">He replied for her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish to speak to you alone," he said. "Take Clair with you, -Charlotte, and go and gather some flowers."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can speak before them," said Mrs. Grantham; "they will be very -quiet."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, mamma," said Clair, "we will be very quiet."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What I have to say is for your ears alone," he said, and he motioned -again to the door. The masterfulness of the order did not escape Mrs. -Grantham. She moved her chair to the window, which looked out upon the -lawn, and from which she could also see the bridge.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go with Charlotte, my dear," she said to Clair, "but keep on the -lawn, so that I can see you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, mamma."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear Mrs. Grantham," commenced Mr. Fox-Cordery, in a bland voice -of false pity, "I have deplorable news to convey to you. A short time -since, when I had the honor of making a proposal to you----"</p> - -<p class="normal">The look she gave him stopped him. "If you are about to renew that -proposal, Mr. Fox-Cordery, I must ask you to go no further. I gave you -my answer then; it would be my answer now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am unfortunate in my choice of words," he said, losing the guard he -had kept upon himself during her visit. "I did not wish to shock you -too suddenly by disclosing abruptly what it is my duty, as your man of -business, to disclose."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To shock me too suddenly!" she said, pausing in her work.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was my desire. Believe me, I am your friend, as I have ever been; -make any call you like upon me, and you will not find me unwilling to -respond. But to come down so low in the world, to lose one's all, to -be suddenly beggared----"</p> - -<p class="normal">He put his hand to his eyes, and watched slyly through his fingers. -Her work dropped into her lap; her mouth trembled, but she did not -speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It might have been borne with resignation," he continued, "if one did -not have a beloved child to care for and protect from the hardships of -a cruel world. In your place I can imagine how it would affect me, how -I should tremble at what is before me. Love is all-powerful, but there -are circumstances in which it brings inexpressible grief to the heart. -How shall I tell you? I cannot, I cannot!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He rose from his chair, and paced the room with downcast head, but he -kept his stealthy watch upon her face all the time. He was -disconcerted that she did not speak, that she uttered no cry of alarm. -He expected her to assist him through the scene he had acted to -himself a dozen times. He had put words into her mouth, natural words -which should by rights have been spoken in the broken periods of his -revelation; but she sat quite silent, waiting for him to proceed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still, it must be told, and should have been told before. I grieve to -say that you have lost your fortune, and that, unless you have -resources with which I am unacquainted--and with all my heart I hope -you have--your future and the future of your dear child is totally -unprovided for."</p> - -<p class="normal">And having come to this termination, he threw himself into his chair -with the air of a man whose own hopes and prospects were utterly -blighted. She found her voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How have I lost my fortune, sir?" she asked with dry lips. Her throat -was parched, and her husky voice had a note of pain in it which -satisfied him that he had succeeded in terrifying her. "You had the -sole control of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas, yes! How ardently do I wish that it had been in the control of -another man, to whom you were indifferent, and who could have told you -calmly what it shakes me to the soul to tell! I have also lost, but I -can afford it; it is only a portion of my fortune that has gone down -in wreck. I have still a competence left that makes me independent of -the buffets of the world, that enables me to provide a home for those -I love."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I fail to understand you, sir," she said, glancing from the window at -her child, who was walking on the lawn with Charlotte, and who, seeing -her mother looking at her, smiled and kissed her hand to her. "You -have not yet informed me how I have lost my fortune."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You made investments----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Acting upon your advice, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"True; I believed my advice to be good, and I invested part of my -money also in the same stocks and shares. Unhappily the papers you -have signed----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Always by your directions, sir. You informed me that the investments -were good, and that I need have no anxiety."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot deny it; I was wrong, foolishly, madly wrong. I thought your -fortune would be doubled, trebled. It has turned out disastrously, -every shilling you possessed is lost. And, unhappily, as I was saying, -the papers you have signed have involved you beyond the extent of your -means. It racks me to think of what is before you, unless you accept -the assistance which a friend is ready to tender you. A life of -poverty, of privation for you and your dear child--it maddens me to -think of it!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For how long have you known this?" she asked faintly.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was the question he wished her to put to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I knew it," he said humbly, "when I made the proposal which you -rejected. I knew then that you were ruined, and it was my desire to -spare you. Had you answered as my heart led me to hope you would have -done, I still should have kept the secret from your knowledge until -the day that made you mine, to love, to shelter, to protect. It is the -truth, dear Mrs. Grantham--it is the truth, on the word of an -honorable gentleman."</p> - -<p class="normal">He put his hand to his heart, and sighed heavily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot but believe you," said Mrs. Grantham, pondering more upon -his manner than the words he uttered; it seemed to her as if a light -had suddenly descended upon her, through which she saw for the first -time the true character of the man she had trusted. "I cannot but -believe you when you tell me I am ruined, and that starvation lies -before me and my child."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alas!" he put in here. "Your child, your dear Clair!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I had no understanding of business, and I relied implicitly upon you. -I never questioned, never for a moment doubted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nor I," he murmured. "Am I not a sufferer, like yourself? Does that -not prove how confident I was that I was acting for the best? Call me -foolish, headstrong, if you will; inflict any penance you please upon -me, and I am by your side to bear it."</p> - -<p class="normal">She shivered inwardly at the insidious tenderness he threw into his -voice, but she was at the same time careful to conceal this feeling. -She was in his power; her whole future was in his hands, and with it -the future of her beloved Clair. She had no other friend; she could -not think of another being in the world whom she could ask for help at -this critical juncture. It seemed as if the very bread she and her -child ate from this day forth might depend upon him who had brought -ruin upon them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he continued, "I will not desert you. A single word from your -lips, and your misfortune will become a blessing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is nothing left, sir?" she asked. "Have I really lost everything?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are cruel to make me repeat what I have said, what I have -endeavored to make clear to you. You have not only lost everything, -but are responsible for obligations it is, I am afraid, out of your -power to discharge. Mrs. Grantham, will you listen to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have listened patiently, sir. Have you any other misfortunes to -make clear to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"None, I am thankful to say. You know all; there is nothing to add to -the sad news I have been compelled to impart. Think only of yourself -and your dear child."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am thinking of her, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is not strong; she has not been accustomed to endure poverty. Can -we not save her from its stings? Is it not a duty?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To me, sir, a sacred duty, if I can see a way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me show you the way," he said eagerly. "Dear Mrs. Grantham, my -feelings are unchanged. Even in your maiden days I loved you, but -stifled my love and kept it buried in my breast when I saw that -another had taken the place it was the wish of my heart to occupy. You -gave to another the love for which I yearned, and I looked on and -suffered in silence. Is not my devotion worthy of a reward? It is in -your power to bestow it; it is in your power to save dear Clair from a -life of misery. I renew the offer I made you. Promise to become my -wife, and the grievous loss you have sustained need not give you a -moment's anxiety."</p> - -<p class="normal">The artificial modulation of his tones, his elaborate actions, and his -evident desire to impress her with a sense of the nobility of his -offer, filled her with a kind of loathing for him. It was as though he -held out an iron chain, and warned her that if she refused to be bound -she was condemning her child to poverty and despair. But agonizing as -was this reflection, she could not speak the words he wished to hear; -she felt that she _must_ have time to think.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What you have told me," she said, "is so unexpected, I was so little -prepared for it, that it would not be fair to answer you immediately. -My mind is confused; pray do not press me; in a little while I shall -be calmer, and then----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"And then," he said, taking up her words and thinking the battle won, -"you will see that it is the only road of happiness left open to you, -and you will give me a favorable answer. We will tread this road -together, and enjoy life's pleasures. Shall we say this evening?" She -shook her head. "To-morrow, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Give me another day," she pleaded.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Till the day after to-morrow, by all means," he said gayly. "It would -be ungallant to refuse. But, dear Mrs. Grantham--may I not rather say -dear Lucy?--it must be positively the day after to-morrow. I shall -count the minutes. To be long in your society in a state of suspense, -or in the knowledge that you refuse to be mine, would be more than I -can bear."</p> - -<p class="normal">She silently construed these words; they conveyed a threat. If in two -days she did not give him a favorable answer, she and Clair would have -to leave the house at once, and go forth into the world, stripped and -beggared.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And now I will leave you," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. -"Do not look at the cloud, dear Lucy--look only at the silver lining."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was about to go, when she said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Fox-Cordery, if I wish to speak to a friend, can I do so here, in -your house?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, surely here," he replied, wondering who the friend could be, and -feeling it would be best for him that the meeting should be an open -and not a secret one. "Where else but in the home in which you are -mistress?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She thanked him, and he kissed her hand again, and looked -languishingly at her lips, and then left her to her reflections.</p> - -<p class="normal">She locked her door, and devoted herself to a consideration of her -despairing position. She tried in vain to recollect what papers she -had signed; there had been many from time to time, and she had had -such confidence in the man who had managed her husband's affairs, and -since his death had managed hers, that when he said, "Put your name -here, where my finger is, Mrs. Grantham," she had grown into the habit -of obeying without reading what she signed. The longer she thought, -the more she grew confused. There was but little time for decision, -scarcely two days. Where could she turn for counsel? Where could she -find a friend who might be able to point out a way of escape? She -stood at the window as she asked these questions of herself, and as -her eyes wandered over the prospect they lighted upon Charlotte. The -moment they did so she thought of John Dixon. The questions were -answered. She would implore Charlotte to bring about an interview with -him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Under ordinary circumstances she would not have dreamt of asking a -sister of Mr. Fox-Cordery to assist her in opposing his wishes, but -the circumstances were not ordinary. These last few days Mr. -Fox-Cordery and his mother had thrown off the mask in their treatment -of Charlotte, and Mrs. Grantham had noticed with pain the complete -want of affection they displayed. She had spoken sympathetically to -Charlotte of this altered behavior, and Charlotte had answered wearily -that she had been accustomed to it all her life. The pitiful -confession made Mrs. Grantham very tender toward her, and she consoled -Charlotte with much feeling. Then Charlotte poured forth her full -heart, and it needed but little persuasion to cause her to relate the -story of her lifelong oppression. The bond of affection which united -the women was drawn still closer, and they exchanged confidences -without reserve. Now, in her own hour of trouble, Mrs. Grantham sought -Charlotte, and confided to her the full extent of the misfortune that -had overtaken her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I could see your John," she said, "he might be able to advise me -perhaps."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will write to him," said Charlotte impulsively; "he will come at -once."</p> - -<p class="normal">And so it was arranged. A little later, Mrs. Grantham said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must not anger your brother by meeting John secretly. You shall -meet him, and ask him to come and speak to me here in my own room."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But may he?" inquired Charlotte.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your brother has given me permission to receive in this house any -friend I wish to consult. There is no one else in the world whose -advice I can rely upon; I am sure your John is a true and sincere -gentleman. Will it make any difference to you, Charlotte, if your -brother discovers that you have assisted to bring about this meeting?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"None," replied Charlotte, in a decided tone. "I ought to know him by -this time. He made me a half-promise that he would give me a little -money to buy a few clothes, but the way he has behaved to me lately -proves that he has no intention of helping me. I shall have to go to -John as I am."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the women spent an hour in mutual consolation, and exchanged vows -that nothing should ever weaken their affection for each other.</p> - -<p class="normal">"John will be your true friend," said Charlotte, "remember that. You -may believe every word he says. Oh, my dear, I hope things will turn -out better than they look!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I put my trust in God," said Mrs. Grantham solemnly, and, clasping -her hands, raised her eyes in silent prayer.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_17" href="#div1Ref_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> -<h5>Retribution.</h5> -<br> - -<p class="normal">At five o'clock in the evening Robert Grantham and Rathbeal joined -John Dixon in his rooms in Craven Street. The revelation which -Rathbeal had made to Grantham had produced a marked change in him. -With wonder and incredulity had he listened at first to the strange -story, but his friend's impressive earnestness had gradually convinced -him that it was no fable which Rathbeal was relating. The first force -of his emotions spent, hope, humility, and thankfulness were expressed -in his face. It seemed to him that the meeting between him and his -wife, which Rathbeal had promised should take place that night, was -like the meeting of two spirits that had been wandering for ages in -darkness. It was not without fear that he looked forward to it. The -sense of the wrong he had inflicted upon the woman he had vowed to -cherish and protect was as strong within him now as it had been -through all these years, from the day upon which he heard that she was -dead. Would she accept his assurance that he had not been false to -her, would she believe in his repentance, would she forgive him?</p> - -<p class="normal">"I ask but that," he said to Rathbeal, "and then I shall be -content to go my way, and spend the rest of my life in the task of -self-purification."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hope for something better," Rathbeal replied: "for a reunion of -hearts, for a good woman's full forgiveness, and forgetfulness of the -errors of the past. The clouds have not lifted only to deceive. There -is a bright future before you, my friend."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My future is in God's hands," said Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will direct your wife aright. Hope and believe."</p> - -<p class="normal">In this spirit they wended their way to John Dixon's rooms.</p> - -<p class="normal">Grantham and he had not met since they left school, but he received -his old schoolfellow as though there had been no break in their early -association. They shook hands warmly, and the look that passed between -Rathbeal and John Dixon told the latter that the truth had been -revealed to the wronged man. They wasted no time in idle conversation, -but started immediately on their journey.</p> - -<p class="normal">For a reason which he did not divulge to his companions, John Dixon -had elected to drive to Mr. Fox-Cordery's summer residence; he had a -vague idea that occasion might arise to render it necessary that he -should run off with Charlotte that very night; if so, there was a -carriage, with a pair of smart horses, at his command. The coachman he -had engaged had received his instructions, and when they got out of -the tangle of the crowded thoroughfares the horses galloped freely -along the road. While they proceed upon their way some information -must be given of Martha's movements.</p> - -<p class="normal">She had rushed from her sister's room in a state of delirium. Her -privations and sufferings, and the conflicting emotions which tortured -her, had destroyed her mental balance, and she was not responsible for -her actions. She had no settled notion where she was going; the only -motive by which she was guided was her desire to escape from her -fellow-creatures. Instinctively she chose the least frequented roads, -and she stumbled blindly on till she was out of London streets. She -had no food, and no money to purchase it, but she scarcely felt her -hunger. One dominant idea possessed her--under the floating clouds and -with silence all around her, she heard the drip of water. It pierced -the air, it made itself felt as well as heard. Drip, drip, drip! The -sound wooed her on toward the valley of the Thames, and unconsciously -she pursued a route which had been familiar to her in her girlhood's -days. She walked all that night, and through the whole of the -following day, compelled to stop now and again for rest, but doing so -always when there was a danger of her being accosted by persons who -approached her from an opposite direction. Rathbeal, had he been -acquainted with her movements, would have answered the question -whether it was chance or fate that took her in the direction of Mr. -Fox-Cordery's house. When night came on again she was wandering along -the banks of the Thames, within a short distance of the man who had -wrecked her life. She knew that she had reached her haven, and she -only waited for the moment to put her desperate resolve into -execution. The water looked so peaceful and shining! The tide silently -lapped the shore, but she heard the drip, drip, drip of the water. -Death held out its arms to her, and invited her to its embrace. It was -a starlight night, but she saw no stars in heaven. The moon sailed on, -but she saw no light. "I shall soon be at rest." That was her thought, -if it can be said that she thought at all.</p> - -<p class="normal">The occupants of a carriage, drawn by a pair of smart horses, saw the -figure of a woman moving slowly on toward the little rustic bridge -which stretched from Mr. Fox-Cordery's lawn to the opposite bank. They -took no notice of her, being entirely occupied with the important -mission upon which they were engaged. They had remarked that it was -fortunate the night was so fine. Could they have heard the sound that -sounded like a death-knell in Martha's ears, they might have changed -their minds, and recognized that no night could be fine which bore so -despairing a message to a mortal's ears. Drip, drip, drip! "I am -coming," whispered Martha to her soul. "I am coming. The water is deep -beneath that bridge!"</p> - -<p class="normal">At nine o'clock Robert Grantham and his companions reached their -destination. The coachman drew up at an inn, and the men alighted.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," said John Dixon, as they strolled toward Mr. Fox-Cordery's -house, "we must be guided by Charlotte's instructions. The night is so -clear that we shall be able to see each other from a distance. You -must not be in sight when Charlotte comes; I must explain matters to -her. The bank by that bridge stands high. Go there and remain till you -hear from me. Before I enter the house I shall have a word to say as -to the method of our proceedings. Someone is coming toward us. Yes, it -is Charlotte. Go at once, and keep wide of her."</p> - -<p class="normal">They obeyed, and walked toward the bridge. Martha was on the opposite -side, and perceiving men approaching, she crouched down and waited.</p> - -<p class="normal">"John," said Charlotte, in a low, clear voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charlotte!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Only a moment for a loving embrace, and then they began to converse. -What they said to each other did not occupy many minutes. John Dixon -left her standing alone, and went to his friends.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am going to the house," he said, "and am to speak to Mrs. -Grantham"--how Robert trembled at the utterance of the name!--"in her -room. That is her window; there is a light in the room. If I come to -the window and wave a white handkerchief, follow me into the house -without question. Allow no one to stop you. I do not know how long I -may be there, but I will bring matters to an issue as soon as -possible."</p> - -<p class="normal">They nodded compliance, and Robert Grantham breathed a prayer. Then -John Dixon rejoined Charlotte, and they entered the house.</p> - -<p class="normal">Martha, crouching by the bridge, heard nothing of this. All she heard -was the drip of water; all she saw were the dark shadows of men on the -opposite side. They would soon be gone, and then, and then----</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother, being closeted together, were not -aware of the entrance of John Dixon. Unobstructed he ascended the -stairs to the first floor, and was conducted to the presence of Mrs. -Grantham.</p> - -<p class="normal">What she had to disclose to him, and what he had to disclose to her, -is already known to the reader. She told her story first, and John -Dixon said that, from his knowledge of Mr. Fox-Cordery, he was more -than inclined to believe that her agent had been false to his trust. -He informed her that he had gained an insight into her affairs during -the time he had served Mr. Fox-Cordery, and that their disagreement -had arisen partly from a remonstrance he had made as to his employer's -management of certain speculations.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My impression was then," said John Dixon, "that Mr. Fox-Cordery was -exceeding his powers, and that in case of a loss he could be made -responsible for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"God bless you for those words!" exclaimed Mrs. Grantham. "The thought -of being forced into marriage with him makes me shudder. But what can -I do? To see my child in want of food would break my heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no question of a marriage with him," said John Dixon -gravely; his own task was approaching. "It is impossible. I will tell -you why presently, Mrs. Grantham. You will need all your strength. It -is not on your affairs alone that I am here to-night. Before I say -what I am come to say, let us finish with Mr. Fox-Cordery. I am a -partner in a respectable firm of solicitors, and my advice is that you -place your business affairs in our hands. We shall demand papers, and -a strict investigation; and I think I can promise you that we shall be -able to save something substantial for you. Are you agreeable to this -course?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, dear friend, yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then I understand from this moment I am empowered to act for you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is so," she replied, and thanked Heaven for having sent her this -friend and comforter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank Charlotte also," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he began to speak of the important branch of his visit to her. -Delicately and gently he led up to it; with the tenderness of a true -and tender-hearted man he brought the solemn truth before her. With -dilating eyes and throbbing breast she listened to the wonderful -revelation, and to the description of the life her husband had led -since he had received the false news of her death. Much of this he had -learned from Rathbeal, who had armed him with the truth; and as he -went on the scales fell from her eyes, and she saw with the eyes of -her heart the man she had loved, weak, erring, and misguided, but now -truly repentant and reformed, and not the guilty being she had been -led by Mr. Fox-Cordery to believe he was. She had no thought for the -wretch who had worked out his infamous design; she thought only that -Robert was true to her, and that her dear child was not fatherless. -John Dixon gave her time for this to sink into her mind, and then told -her that her husband had accompanied him, and was waiting outside for -the signal of joy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will go to him! I will go to him!" she cried.</p> - -<p class="normal">But John Dixon restrained her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let him come into the house," he said. "Let your enemy know that he -is here, and that his schemes are foiled. Remember, I am your adviser. -Be guided by me."'</p> - -<p class="normal">Trembling in every limb, she went to the window and opened it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Shall I give him the signal?" asked John Dixon.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; I will do it," she replied, and, reaching forth, waved the white -flag of love and forgiveness.</p> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham, his eyes fixed in painful anxiety upon the window, -was the first to see the signal. With a gasp of joy he started for the -house, and Rathbeal, whose attention just then had been diverted by -the figure of Martha crouching by the bridge, hearing his footsteps, -turned to follow him. At the moment of his doing so, Martha, seeing -them walk away, crept on to the bridge and leaned over. Suddenly she -straightened herself, and raising her arms aloft, whispered softly, -"I'm coming--I'm coming!" and let herself fall into the water. The -heavy splash, accompanied by a muffled scream, reached Rathbeal's ears -before he had proceeded twenty yards. Turning to the bridge, and -missing the figure of the crouching woman, he instinctively divined -what had happened.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't stop for me," he cried hurriedly to Grantham. "I'll follow -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he ran back to the bridge.</p> - -<p class="normal">Robert Grantham did not hear him, so absorbed was he in the supreme -moment that was approaching. Had a storm burst upon him, he would -scarcely have been conscious of it. Who was that standing at the -window, waving the handkerchief! It was not John Dixon. His eyes were -dim, his heart palpitated violently, as he fancied he recognized the -form of his wife. If it were so, indeed his hope was answered. He was -met at the door by Charlotte, who led him to the room above. Standing -upon the threshold he saw his wife looking with wistful yearning -toward him--toward her husband who, after these long years, had come -to her, as it were, from the grave. They were spellbound for a few -moments, incapable of speech or motion, each gazing upon the other for -a sign.</p> - -<p class="normal">John Dixon stepped noiselessly to Charlotte's side, and the lovers -left the room hand in hand, closing the door gently behind them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Husband and wife, so strangely reunited, were alone.</p> - -<p class="normal">She was the first to move. Bending forward, she held out her arms, and -her eyes shone with ineffable love; with a sob he advanced, and fell -upon his knees before her. Sinking into a chair, she drew his head to -her breast and folded her arms around him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Let the veil fall upon those sacred minutes. Aching hearts were eased, -faith was restored, and Love shed its holy light upon Lucy and Robert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Our child!" he whispered. "Our Clair!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will take you to her," she said, and led him to the bed where Clair -was sleeping.</p> - -<p class="normal">Meanwhile Rathbeal, hastening to the bridge, saw his suspicions -confirmed by the death-bubbles rising to the surface of the water. -With the energy and rapidity of a young man, he tore off his coat and -waistcoat, and plunged into the river. He was a grand swimmer, and he -did not lose his self-possession. He had eyes in his hands and -fingers, and when, after some time had elapsed, he grasped a woman's -hair, he struck out for the bank, and reaching it in safety, drew the -woman after him. She lay inanimate upon the bank, and, clearing his -eyes of the water, he knelt down to ascertain if he had rescued her in -time to save her. He put his ear to her heart, his mouth to her mouth, -but she gave no sign of life. The moon, which had been hidden behind a -cloud, now sailed forth into the clearer space of heaven, and its -beams illumined the woman's face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is Martha!" he cried, and without a moment's hesitation he caught -her up in his arms and ran with her to the house.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery, closeted with his mother in a room on the ground -floor, heard sounds upon the stairs which had a disturbing effect upon -him. The sounds were those of strange footsteps and whispering voices. -Opening the door quickly he saw, by the light of the hall-lamp, John -Dixon and Charlotte coming down--John with his arm round Charlotte's -waist, she inclining tenderly toward the man she loved.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You here!" cried Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You behold no spirit," replied John Dixon, releasing Charlotte, and -placing her behind him; "I am honest flesh and blood."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery, his mother now by his side, looked from John Dixon to -Charlotte with a spiteful venom in his eyes which found vent in his -voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You drab!" he cried. "You low-minded hussy! And you, you sneak and -rogue! Have you conspired to rob the house? I'll have the law of you; -you shall stand in the dock together. Curse the pair of you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Easy, easy," said John Dixon, calm and composed. "Don't talk so -freely of law and docks. And don't forget that curses come home to -roost."</p> - -<p class="normal">Other sounds from the first floor distracted Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is there a gang of you here? Whose steps are those above? Mother, -alarm the house. Call up the servants, and send for the police."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Aye, do," said John Dixon, as Mrs. Fox-Cordery pulled the bell with -violence, "and let them see and hear what you shall see and hear. -Don't be frightened, Charlotte. The truth must out now."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Fox-Cordery's pallid lips quivered, and he started back with a -smothered shriek. Robert Grantham and his wife appeared at the top of -the stairs, and as they slowly descended he retreated step by step, -and seized his mother's arm.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Be quiet, can't you?" he hissed. "Go and send the servants away. We -do not want them. Say it was a mistake--a false alarm--anything--but -keep them in their rooms!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Retribution stared him in the face. The edifice he had built up with -so much care had toppled over, and he was entangled in the ruins. It -was well for them that he had no weapon in his hands, for coward as he -was, his frenzy would have impelled him to use it upon them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am here," said John Dixon, "by the permission you gave to Mrs. -Grantham, and I am armed with authority to act for her. You see, I -have not come alone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You devil! you devil!" muttered Mr. Fox-Cordery, through the foam -that gathered about his mouth.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say nothing more to him, Mr. Dixon," said Robert Grantham, who had -reached the foot of the stairs. "The truth has been brought to light, -and his unutterable villainy is fully exposed. Leave to the future -what is yet to be done. Lucy, go and dress our child. We quit this -house within the hour. Do not fear; no one shall follow you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Grantham went upstairs to Clair, and she had scarcely reached the -room when the street door was burst open, and Rathbeal appeared with -Martha in his arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This poor woman threw herself into the water," said Rathbeal. "Tired -of life, she sought the peace of death in the river. Give way, Mr. -Fox-Cordery; she must be attended to without delay. Obstruct us, and -the crime of murder will be on your soul!" He beat Mr. Fox-Cordery -back into the room, and laid his burden down on the floor. "You see -who it is!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is a stranger to me," muttered Mr. Fox-Cordery, his heart -quaking with fear.</p> - -<p class="normal">"False! You know her well. If she is dead you will be made -responsible; for you and no other drove her to her death!"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was no time to bandy further words. Assisted by Charlotte and John -Dixon, he set to work in the task of bringing respiration into the -inanimate form, Mr. Fox-Cordery and his mother standing silently by, -while Robert Grantham guarded the staircase. Their efforts were -successful. In a quarter of an hour Martha gave faint signs of life, -and they redoubled their efforts. Martha opened her eyes, and they -fell upon Mr. Fox-Cordery.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That man! that monster!" she murmured, and would have risen, but her -strength failed her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Rest--rest," said Rathbeal soothingly. "Justice shall be done. You -are with friends who will not desert you." Returned to Mr. -Fox-Cordery. "Have you no word to speak to your victim?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no knowledge of her," replied Mr. Fox-Cordery. "You are mad, -all of you, and are in a league against me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You ruined and betrayed her," said Rathbeal, "and then left her to -starve. Is it true, Martha?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is true," she moaned. "God have pity upon me, it is true!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Liars--liars!" cried Mr. Fox-Cordery. "Liars all!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She speaks God's truth, and it shall be made known to man," said -Rathbeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">He did not scruple to search the room for spirits, and he found some -in a sideboard.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Drink," he whispered to her, "and remember that you have met with -friends. You shall not be left to starve. We will take care of her, -will we not, Mr. Dixon?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I take the charge of her upon myself," said John Dixon. "She shall -have the chance of living a respectable life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Robert!" said Mrs. Grantham, in a gentle tone. She was standing by -his side, holding Clair by the hand. Seeing the woman on the floor she -started forward. "Oh, can I do anything? Poor creature! poor -creature!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We can do all that is required," said John Dixon. "She is getting -better already. Go with your husband and child to the inn where we put -up the horses. Mr. Grantham knows the way. We will join you there as -soon as possible."</p> - -<p class="normal">Charlotte whispered a few words in his ear.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take Charlotte with you, please. She must not sleep another night -beneath her brother's roof. Go, my dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Remain here!" cried Mrs. Fox-Cordery, speaking for the first time. "I -command you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">But Charlotte paid no heed to her. Accompanied by her friends, she -left her brother's home, never to return.</p> - -<h4 style="letter-spacing:5pt">* * * * * * * *</h4> - -<p class="normal">But little remains to be told. Baffled and defeated, Mr. Fox-Cordery -was compelled to sue for mercy, and it was granted to him under -certain conditions, in which, be sure, Martha was not forgotten. His -accounts were submitted to a searching investigation, and, as John -Dixon had anticipated, it was discovered that only a portion of Mrs. -Grantham's fortune was lost. Sufficient was left to enable her and her -husband and child to live in comfort. Purified by his sufferings, -Robert Grantham was the tenderest of husbands and fathers, and he and -those dear to him commenced their new life of love and joy, humbly -grateful to God for the blessings he had in store for them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Neither were Little Prue and her mother forgotten. Each of those who -are worthy of our esteem contributed something toward a fund which -helped them on in the hard battle they were fighting.</p> - -<p class="normal">A month later our friends were assembled at the wedding of Charlotte -and John Dixon. The ceremony over, the newly-married couple bade their -friends good-by for a little while. They were to start at once upon -their honeymoon.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a comfort," said Rathbeal, shaking John heartily by the hand, -"in our travels through life to meet with a man. I have met with two."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall never forget," said John, apart to Mrs. Grantham, "nor will -Charlotte, some words of affection you once addressed to her. We know -them by heart: 'If the man is true,' you said, 'and the woman is true, -they should be to each other a shield of love, a protection against -evil, a solace in the hour of sorrow.' Charlotte and I will be to each -other a Shield of Love. Thank you for those words, and God bless you -and yours."</p> - -<p class="normal">The last kisses were exchanged.</p> - -<p class="normal">"God protect you, dear Charlotte," said Mrs. Grantham, pressing the -bride to her heart. "A happy life is before you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And before you, dear Mrs. Grantham," said Charlotte, hardly able to -see for the tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my dear. The clouds have passed away. Come, my child; come, dear -Robert!"</p> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Shield of Love, by B. L. 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