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diff --git a/old/69494-0.txt b/old/69494-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9571ff8..0000000 --- a/old/69494-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10177 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The professor's experiment, Vol. 1 (of -3), by Margaret Wolfe Hungerford - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The professor's experiment, Vol. 1 (of 3) - A novel - -Author: Margaret Wolfe Hungerford - -Release Date: December 7, 2022 [eBook #69494] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PROFESSOR'S EXPERIMENT, -VOL. 1 (OF 3) *** - - - THE PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT - - - - - MRS. HUNGERFORD’S NOVELS - - ‘_Mrs. Hungerford has well deserved the title of being one of the most - fascinating novelists of the day. The stories written by her are the - airiest, lightest, and brightest imaginable, full of wit, spirit, and - gaiety; but they contain, nevertheless, touches of the most exquisite - pathos. There is something good in all of them._’—ACADEMY. - - =A MAIDEN ALL FORLORN=, and other Stories. Post 8vo., illustrated - boards, 2s.; cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= - -‘There is no guile in the novels of the authoress of “Molly Bawn,” nor -any consistency or analysis of character; but they exhibit a faculty -truly remarkable for reproducing the rapid small-talk, the shallow but -harmless “chaff” of certain strata of modern fashionable -society.’—_Spectator._ - - =IN DURANCE VILE=, and other Stories. Post 8vo., illustrated boards, - 2s.; cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= - -‘Mrs. Hungerford’s Irish girls have always been pleasant to meet upon -the dusty pathways of fiction. They are flippant, no doubt, and often -sentimental, and they certainly flirt, and their stories are told often -in rather ornamental phrase and with a profusion of the first person -singular. But they are charming all the same.’—_Academy._ - - =A MENTAL STRUGGLE.= Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, - =2s. 6d.= - -‘She can invent an interesting story, she can tell it well, and she -trusts to honest, natural, human emotions and interests of life for her -materials.’—_Spectator._ - - =A MODERN CIRCE.= Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, - =2s. 6d.= - -‘Mrs. Hungerford is a distinctly amusing author.... In all her books -there is a “healthy absenteeism” of ethical purpose, and we have derived -more genuine pleasure from them than probably the most earnest student -has ever obtained from a chapter of “Robert Elsmere.”’—_Saturday -Review._ - - =MARVEL.= Post 8vo., illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth, =2s. 6d.= - -‘The author has long since created an imaginary world, peopled with more -or less natural figures; but her many admirers acknowledge the easy -grace and inexhaustible _verve_ that characterize her scenes of -Hibernian life, and never tire of the type of national heroine she has -made her own.’—_Morning Post._ - - =LADY VERNER’S FLIGHT.= Crown 8vo., cloth extra, =3s. 6d.=; post 8vo., - illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp, =2s. 6d.= - -‘There are in “Lady Verner’s Flight” several of the bright young -people who are wont to make Mrs. Hungerford’s books such very -pleasant reading.... In all the novels by the author of “Molly Bawn” -there is a breezy freshness of treatment which makes them most -agreeable.’—_Spectator._ - - =THE RED-HOUSE MYSTERY.= Crown 8vo., cloth extra, =3s. 6d.= - -‘Mrs. Hungerford is never seen to the best advantage when not dealing -with the brighter sides of life, or seeming to enjoy as much as her -readers the ready sallies and laughing jests of her youthful personages. -In her present novel, however, the heroine, if not all smiles and mirth, -is quite as taking as her many predecessors, while the spirit of -uncontrolled mischief is typified in the American heiress.’—_Morning -Post._ - - =THE THREE GRACES.= 2 vols., crown 8vo., =10s.= net. - -‘It is impossible to deny that Mrs. Hungerford is capable of writing a -charming love-story, and that she proves her capacity to do so in “The -Three Graces.”’—_Academy._ - - LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY. - - - - - THE - PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT - =A Novel= - - - BY - - MRS. HUNGERFORD - - AUTHOR OF - ‘MOLLY BAWN,’ ‘THE RED-HOUSE MYSTERY,’ ‘THE THREE GRACES,’ ‘LADY - VERNER’S FLIGHT,’ ETC. - -[Illustration] - - IN THREE VOLUMES - - VOL. I. - - - =London= - CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY - 1895 - - - - - THE - - PROFESSOR’S EXPERIMENT - - - - - CHAPTER I. - - ‘Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried.’ - - -The lamp was beginning to burn low; so was the fire. But neither of the -two people in the room seemed to notice anything. The Professor had got -upon his discovery again, and once there, no man living could check him. -He had flung his arms across the table towards his companion, and the -hands, with the palms turned upwards, marked every word as he uttered -it, thumping the knuckles on the table here, shaking some imaginary -disbeliever there—and never for a moment quiet—such old, lean, -shrivelled, capable hands! - -He was talking eagerly, as though the words flowed to him faster than he -could utter them. This invention of his—this supreme discovery—would -make a revolution in the world of science. - -The young man looking back at him from the other side of the table -listened intently. He was a tall man of about eight-and-twenty, and if -not exactly handsome, very close to it. His eyes were dark, and somewhat -sombre, and his mouth was thin-lipped, but kind, and suggestive of a -nature that was just, beyond everything, if hardly sympathetic. It was a -beautiful mouth, at all events, and as he was clean-shaven, one could -see it as it was, without veiling of any kind. Perhaps the one -profession of all others that most fully declares itself in the face of -its sons is that of the law. A man who has been five years a barrister -is seldom mistaken for anything else. Paul Wyndham was a barrister, and -a rising one—a man who loved his profession for its own sake, and strove -and fought to make a name in it, though no such struggle was needful for -his existence, as from his cradle his lines had fallen to him in -pleasant places. He was master of a good fortune, and heir to a title -and ten thousand a year whenever it should please Providence to take his -uncle, old Lord Shangarry, to an even more comfortable home than that -which he enjoyed at present. - -The Professor had been his tutor years ago, and the affection that -existed between them in those far-off years had survived the changes of -time and circumstance. The Professor loved him—and him only on all this -wide earth. Wyndham had never known a father; the Professor came as near -as any parent could, and in this new wild theory of the old man’s he -placed implicit faith. It sounded wild, no doubt—it was wild—but there -was not in all Ireland a cleverer man than the Professor, and who was to -say but it might have some grand new meaning in it? - -‘You are sure of it?’ he said, looking at the Professor with anxious but -admiring eyes. - -‘Sure! I have gone into it, I have studied it for twenty years, I tell -you. What, man, d’ye think I’d speak of it even to you, if I weren’t -sure? I tell ye—I tell ye’—he grew agitated and intensely Irish here—‘it -will shake the world!’ - -The phrase seemed to please him; he drew his arms off the table and lay -back in his chair as if revelling in it—as if chewing the sweet cud of -it in fancy. He saw in his mind a day when in that old college of his -over there, only a few streets away—in Trinity College—he should rise, -and be greeted by his old chums and his new pupils, and the whole world -of Dublin, with cheers and acclamations. Nay! it would be more than -that—there would be London, and Vienna, and Berlin. He put Berlin last -because, perhaps, he longed most of all for its applause; but in these -dreamings he came back always to old Trinity, and found the greatest -sweetness in the laurels to be gained there. - -‘There can’t be a mistake,’ he went on, more now as if reasoning with -himself than with his visitor, who was watching him, and was growing a -little uneasy at the pallor that was showing itself round his nose and -mouth—a pallor he had noticed very often of late when the old man was -unduly excited or interested. ‘I have gone through it again and again. -There is nothing new, of course, under the sun, and there can be little -doubt but that it is an anæsthetic known to the Indians of Southern -America years ago, and the Peruvians. There are records, but nothing -sufficient to betray the secret. It was by the merest accident, as I -have told you, that I stumbled on it. I have made many experiments. I -have gone cautiously step by step, until now all is sure. So much for -one hour. So much for six, so much for twenty-four, so much’—his voice -rose almost to a scream, and he thumped his hand violently on the -table—‘for seven days—for seven months!’ - -His voice broke off, and he sank back in his chair. The young man went -quickly to a cupboard and poured out a glass of some white cordial. - -‘Thank you—thank you,’ said the Professor, swallowing the nauseous -mixture hurriedly, as though regretting the waste of time it took to -drink it. - -‘Why talk any more to-night?’ said the young man anxiously; ‘I am going -abroad in a few days, but I can come again to see you to-morrow. It is -late.’ He glanced at the clock, which pointed to ten minutes past -eleven. The movement he made in pointing pushed aside his overcoat and -showed that he was in evening dress. He had evidently been dining out, -and had dropped in to see the Professor—an old trick of his—on his way -home. - -‘I must talk while I can,’ said the Professor, smiling. The cordial, -whatever it was, had revived him, and he sat up and looked again at his -companion with eyes that were brilliant. ‘As for this pain here,’ -touching his side, ‘it is nothing—nothing. What I want to say, Paul, is -this’—he bent towards Wyndham, and his lips quivered again with -excitement: ‘If I could send a human creature to sleep for seven months, -then why not for seven years—for ever?’ - -Wyndham looked at him incredulously. - -‘But the last time——’ - -‘The last time you were here, I had not quite perfected my discovery. -But since then some of my experiments have led me to think—to be -absolutely certain—that life can be sustained, with all the appearance -of death upon the subject, for a full week at all events.’ - -‘And when consciousness returns?’ - -‘The subject treated wakes to life again in exactly the same condition -as when he or she fell asleep—without loss of brain or body power.’ - -‘Seven days! A long time!’ The young man smiled. ‘You bring back old -thoughts and dreams. Are you a second Friar Laurence? Even he, though he -could make the fair Juliet sleep till all believed her dead, could not -prolong that unfortunate deception beyond a certain limit. - - ‘“And in this borrowed likeness of shrunk death - Thou shalt continue two-and-forty hours.” - -‘Less than two days—and yet, thou conjurer’—he slapped the Professor’s -arm gaily—‘you would talk of keeping one in death’s bonds for years!’ - -‘Ay, years!’ The Professor looked back at him, and his eyes shone. Old -age seemed to slip from him, and for the moment a transient youth was -his again. ‘This is but a beginning—a mere start; but if it succeeds—if -life can be sustained by means of this drug alone for seven days, why -not for months and years?’ - -‘You forget one thing,’ said the young man. ‘Who would care for it? Why -should one care to lie asleep for years?’ - -‘Many!’ said the Professor slowly. - -He ceased, and a strange gloom shadowed his face. His thoughts had -evidently gone backward into a long-dead past—a past that still lived. -‘Have you no imagination?’ he said at last reproachfully. ‘Think, -boy—think! When affliction falls on one, when a grievous sorrow tears -the heart, who would not wish for an oblivion that would be longer than -a sleeping-draught could give, and less pernicious than suicide?’ - -‘The same refusal in both cases to meet and face one’s doom,’ said the -young man. ‘You would create a new generation of cowards.’ - -‘Pshaw! there will be cowards without me,’ said the Professor. ‘But -here, again, take another case. A man, we will say, has had his leg cut -off—well, let him sleep until the leg is well, and he will escape all -the twinges, the agonizing pains of the recovery. This is but one -instance; all surgical cases could be treated so, and so much pain saved -in this most painful world.’ - -‘Ah, I confess a charm lies there!’ said Wyndham. - -‘It does. And yet it is to the other thought I lean—to the dread of -memory where grief and shame lie.’ The Professor’s gaunt face lost again -its short return of youth, and grew grim, and aged, and white. ‘See,’ he -leant towards Wyndham, and pressed him into a chair beside the dying -fire, ‘to you—to you alone I have revealed this matter: not so much -because you have been my pupil, as that you have a hold on me. You think -me dry, and hard, and old. All that is true. But’—his voice grew if -possible harsher than ever—‘I have an affection for you.’ - -It seemed almost ludicrous to think of the Professor as having an -affection for anything beyond his science and his discovery, with his -bald head, and his bleared eyes, and his cold, forbidding face. The -young man gazed at him with pardonable astonishment. That the Professor -liked him, trusted him, was quite easy to understand—but the word -‘affection’! - -‘It surprises you,’ said the old man slowly, perhaps a little sadly. -‘Yet there was a time——’ He moved and poked the fire into a sullen -blaze. ‘I married,’ he said presently. ‘And she—well, I loved her, I -think. It seems hard to remember now, it is so long ago, but I believe I -had a heart then, and it was hers. She died.’ He poked the fire again, -and most of it fell into the grate—it was all cinders by this time, and -the younger man shivered. ‘It was well. Looking back upon it now,’ said -the Professor coldly, ‘I am glad she died. She would have interfered -with my studies. Her death left me free; but for that freedom, I should -never have found out this.’ He tapped some papers lying loosely on the -table—three or four pages, no more, with only a line or two upon -them—vague suggestions of the great discovery that was to shake the -world, so vague as to be useless to anyone but himself. - -‘You had no children, then?’ asked Wyndham, who had never even heard -that he was married until now. - -‘One.’ The Professor paused, and the silence grew almost insupportable. -‘He, too, is dead. And that, too, is well. He was of no use. He only -burdened the world.’ - -‘But——’ - -‘Not a question——’ The old man silenced him. ‘I cast him off.’ There was -something terrible in the indifference with which he said this. ‘He was -a fool—a criminal one. I heard later that he had married—no doubt as -great a fool as himself. I hope so. Set a thief to catch a thief, you -know.’ - -He laughed bitterly—the cruel, mirthless laugh of the embittered old. -‘For the rest, I know nothing,’ he said. - -‘You made no inquiries?’ - -‘None. Why should I?’ - -‘He was your son.’ - -‘Well, does that make a black thing white? No—no! My son—my child is -here!’ He touched the loose papers with a loving hand. - -Wyndham did not pursue the subject further, and as if to show that it -was ended, he stooped and threw some coals upon the fire that now seemed -to be at its last gasp. A tiny smoke flew up between the fresh lumps, -and after that came a little uncertain blaze. The fire had caught the -coals. - -The Professor had gone back to his heart’s desire. - -‘To see the blossom of my labour bear fruit—that is my sole, my last -demand from life. I have so short a time to live that I would hasten the -fulfilment of my hopes.’ - -‘You mean——’ - -‘That I want to see the drug used on a human being. I have approached -the matter with some of the authorities at Kilmainham, with a view to -getting a condemned criminal to experiment upon; but up to this I have -been refused, and in such a presumptuous manner as leads me to fear I -shall never receive a better answer. Surely a man respited for seven -days, as has been the case occasionally, might as well risk those seven -days in the cause of science.’ - -Wyndham shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have never met that man,’ said he. -But the Professor did not hear him. - -‘The most humane people in the world,’ said he, ‘refuse help to the man -who has devoted twenty years of his life to the cause of humanity. Such -an anæsthetic as mine would work a revolution in the world of medicine. -As I have told you, a man might not only be unconscious whilst a limb -was being lopped off, but might remain so until the wound was healed, -and then, made free of pain and perfectly well, be able to take his part -in the world again.’ - -‘It sounds like a fairy-tale,’ said Wyndham, smiling. ‘You have, I -suppose, made many experiments?’ - -‘On animals, yes—and of late without a single failure; but on a human -body, no. As yet no opportunity has been afforded me. Either jealousy or -fear has stopped my march, which I feel would be a triumphal one were -the road made clear. I tell you I have addressed many leading men of -science on the subject. I have asked them to be present. I would have -everything above board, as you who know me can testify. I would have all -men look on and bear witness to the splendour of my discovery.’ Here -again the Professor’s strange deep eyes grew brilliant, once again that -queer flash of a youth long ago departed was his. ‘I would have it shown -to all the world in a blaze of light. But no man will take heed or -listen. They laugh. They scoff. They will not countenance the chance of -my killing someone; as if’—violently—‘the loss of one poor human life -was to be counted, when the relief of millions is in the balance.’ - -He sank back as if exhausted, and then went on, his tone hard, yet -excited: - -‘Now it has come to this. If the chance were given me of trying my -discovery on man, woman, or child, I should take it, without the -sanction of the authorities, and with it that other chance of being -hanged afterwards if the experiment failed.’ - -‘You feel so sure as that?’ questioned Wyndham. The old man’s enthusiasm -had caught him. He too was looking eager and excited. - -‘Sure!’ The Professor rose, gaunt, haggard, and with eyes that flashed -fire beneath the pent brows that overhung them. ‘I would stake my -soul—nay, more, my reputation—on the success of my discovery. Oh for a -chance to prove it!’ - -At this moment there was a low knock at the door. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - - ‘Of all things tired thy lips look weariest.’ - * * * * * - ‘What shall I do to be for ever known?’ - - -The handle was turned, and the door opened with a considerable amount of -caution (the Professor did not permit interruptions). It was evidently, -however, the caution of one who was suppressing badly a wild desire to -make a rush into the room, and presently a man’s head appeared round the -corner of the door, and after it his body. He came a yard or two beyond -the threshold, and then stood still. His reddish hair was standing out a -little, and his small twinkling Irish eyes were blinking nervously. He -looked eagerly first at the younger man, who was his master, and then at -the Professor, and then back again at Wyndham. - -‘Well, Denis?’ said the latter, a little impatiently. - -‘If ye plaze, sir, there’s an unfortunate young faymale on the steps -below.’ - -The Professor frowned. As if such an ordinary occurrence as that should -be allowed to interfere with a discussion on the great discovery! -Wyndham spoke. - -‘If she is noisy or troublesome, you had better call a policeman,’ he -said indifferently. - -‘Noisy! Divil a sound out of her,’ said Denis. ‘She looks for all the -world, yer honour, as if there wasn’t a spark o’ life left in her. -Sthretched in the hall she is, an’ the colour o’ death.’ - -‘In the hall?’ said Wyndham quickly. ‘I thought you said she was on the -steps.’ - -‘She was. She’—cautiously—‘was. But——’ He paused and scanned anxiously -the two faces before him. ‘It’s bitther cowld outside to-night, so I tuk -her in.’ - -And, indeed, though the month was May, a searching wind was shaking the -city, and biting into the hearts of young and old. As often happens in -that ‘merrie month,’ a light fall of snow was whitening the tops of the -houses. - -‘I had better see to this,’ said the young man, rising. He left the -room, followed by Denis (who had stopped to throw a few more coals on -the now cheerful fire), and went down to the cold, bare, hideous hall -below. The light from the solitary gas-lamp scarcely lit it, and it took -him a few seconds to discern something that lay on the worn tarpaulin at -the lower end of it. At last he made it out, and, stepping nearer, saw -that it was the figure of a young and very slight girl. She was lying on -the ground, her back supported against a chair, and Wyndham could see -that Denis had folded an old coat of the Professor’s that usually hung -on the hat-stand, and placed it behind her head. - -The light was so dim that he could not see what she was like; but -stooping over her, he felt her hands, and found that they were cold as -ice. Instinct, however, told him that life still ran within her veins, -and lifting her quickly in his arms, he carried her upstairs to the room -he had just left, and where the Professor still sat, so lost in fresh -dreams of the experiment yet to be made that he started as Wyndham -re-entered the room with his strange burden; it was, indeed, with -difficulty that he brought his mind back to the present moment. He had -forgotten why the young man had left the room. - -‘She seems very ill,’ said Wyndham. His man had followed him, and now, -through a sign from his master, he pulled forward a huge armchair, in -which Wyndham placed the unconscious girl. - -The Professor came nearer and stared down at her. She was very -young—hardly eighteen—but already Misery or Want, or both, had seized -and laid their cruel hands upon her, dabbing in dark bistre shades -beneath her eyes, and making sad hollows in her pallid cheeks. The lips, -white now, were firmly closed as if in death, but something about the -formation of them suggested the idea that even in life they could be -firm too. - -It was a face that might be beautiful if health had warmed it, and if -joy had found a seat within the heart that now seemed at its last ebb. -The lashes lying on the white, cold cheek were singularly long and dark, -and Wyndham roused himself suddenly to find himself wondering what could -be the colour of the eyes that lay hidden behind that wonderful fringe. - -Her gown was of blue serge, neatly, even elegantly made, and the collar -and cuffs she wore were quite primitive in their whiteness and -simplicity. She had no hat or cloak with her, but a little gray woollen -shawl had been evidently twisted round her head. Now it had fallen back, -leaving all the glory of her rich chestnut hair revealed. - -Involuntarily the young man glanced at her left hand. - -There was no ring there. An intense wave of pity swept over him. -Another! Dear God! what cruel sorrows lie within this world of Yours! - -The face was so young, so free of hardness, vice, or taint of any kind, -that his very heart bled for her. Misery alone seemed to mark it. That -was deeply stamped. Looking at her, he almost hoped that she would never -wake again—that she was really dead; but even as this thought crossed -his mind, she stirred, sighed softly, and opened her eyes. - -For awhile she gazed at them—on the Professor, impassive, silent; on the -younger man, anxious, pained—and then with a sharp, quick movement she -released herself from the arm Wyndham had placed round her, and raised -herself to a sitting posture. There was such terror in her eyes as she -did this that the younger man hastened to reassure her. - -‘You are quite safe here,’ he said kindly. The girl looked at him, then -cast a frightened glance past him, and over his shoulder, as though -looking fearfully for some dreaded object. ‘My man found you on the -steps outside. You were ill—fainting, he said—so he brought you in here -to’—with a gesture towards the Professor—‘this gentleman’s house.’ - -The girl looked anxiously at the Professor, who nodded as in duty bound, -but who seemed unmistakably bored, for all that, and angry enough to -frighten her afresh. - -‘If you will tell us where you live,’ said Wyndham gently, ‘we shall see -that you are taken back there.’ - -The girl shrank visibly. She caught the little shawl that had slipped -from her, and drew it round her head once more, almost hiding her face. - -‘I can find my own way,’ she said. The voice was low, musical; it -trembled, and as she moved forward to pass Wyndham, so did she. She even -tottered, so much, indeed, that she was obliged to catch hold of a table -near to keep herself from falling. - -‘It is impossible for you to walk to-night,’ said the young man -earnestly. ‘And there is no necessity for it. My servant is at your -disposal; he can call a cab for you, and he is quite to be trusted; he -will see you to your home.’ - -The girl hesitated for a moment, then lifted her heavy eyes to his. - -‘I have no home,’ she said. - -It was a very forlorn answer, and it went to Wyndham’s heart. God help -her, poor girl! whoever she was. He glanced again at her clothes, which -were decidedly above the average of the extremely wretched, and he was -conscious of a certain curiosity with regard to her—a distinctly kindly -one. - -The girl caught the glance and turned away her head. - -‘You can at least say where you want to be driven,’ said he gravely, but -with sympathy; he hesitated for a moment, and then went on. ‘No -questions will be asked,’ he said. - -She made no answer to this, and while he waited for one the Professor -broke in impatiently: - -‘Come, girl, speak! Where do you want to go? Where do you live?’ - -On this followed another shorter silence, and then at last she spoke. - -‘I shall not go back,’ she said. Her tone was low, but defiant, and very -firm. - -‘That means you will not tell,’ said the Professor. ‘Then go—do you -hear—go! You are interrupting us here.’ He motioned towards the door, -where Denis stood mute as a sentinel; he was, indeed, an old soldier, -for the matter of that. - -The girl stepped quickly, eagerly forward, but Wyndham stopped her -imperatively, and standing between her and the door, he spoke to the -Professor. - -‘It is impossible to turn her out at this hour—in this weather.’ He -stopped, and now looked at the girl and spoke to her. - -‘Why can’t you trust us?’ he said, with angry reproach. ‘Why can’t you -let us do something for you? You must have a home somewhere, however -bad.’ - -The girl thus addressed turned upon him suddenly with miserable passion -shining in her large, dark eyes. - -‘I have not,’ she said. ‘Under the sky of God, there is no creature so -homeless as I am.’ - -Her passion was so great that it struck the listeners into silence. She -made a little gesture with her arms suggestive of awful weariness, then -spoke again: - -‘There was a place where I lived yesterday. It was not a home. I shall -not live there again. I have left it. I shall not go back.’ - -‘But where, then, are you going?’ asked Wyndham impulsively. - -‘I don’t know.’ She drew her breath slowly, heavily. It was hardly a -sigh. There was enough misery in it for ten sighs. But her passion was -all gone, and a terrible indifference had taken its place; and there was -such consummate despair in her tone as might have touched even the -Professor. But it did not. He had begun to study her. He was always -studying people, and now a curious expression had crept into his face. -He leaned forward and peered at her. There was no compassion in the -glance, no interest whatever in her as a suffering human thing; but -there was a sudden sharp interest in her as a means to a desired end. -Thought was in his glance, and a wild longing that was fast growing to a -hope. - -‘Have you no plans, then?’ asked the young man. His tone was sad. He had -looked into the depths of her dark eyes, and found there no guile at -all. - -‘None!’ She was silent awhile, and then very slowly she raised her head; -her brows contracted, and she looked past them both into vacancy. If she -was communing with her own heart, the results were very sad. Despair -itself gathered in her eyes. She turned presently and looked at Wyndham. -‘I wish,’ said she, with a forlorn look, ‘that I had the courage to -die.’ - -It was unutterably sad, this young creature, with all her life before -her, praying for courage to end it; craving for death in the midst of -life, wishing she had the courage to escape from a world that had -evidently given her but a sorry welcome. - -Wyndham looked round at the Professor as if expecting him to join in his -commiseration for this poor, unhappy child, but what he saw in the -Professor’s face checked him. It startled him, and stopped the tide of -sympathy for a time—as great floods will for the moment always catch and -carry with them the milder rushes of the rivers near. - -The Professor’s face was indeed a study. It was radiant—alight with a -strange and sudden hope. His piercing eyes were fixed immovably upon the -girl. They seemed to burn into her as though demanding and compelling an -answering glance from hers. - -She obeyed the call; slowly, languidly she lifted her head. - -‘So you would die?’ said he. - -‘Yes.’ The word fell listlessly from her lips; but she stared straight -at him as she said it, and her young unhappy face looked nearly as gray -as the old merciless one bending over it. - -‘Then why live?’ pursued he. ‘Death is easy.’ - -‘No, it is hard,’ she said. ‘And I am afraid of pain.’ - -‘If there were no pain, you would risk it, then?’ - -She hesitated. His glance was now, indeed, so wild, so full of frantic -eagerness, that it might readily have frightened one older in the -world’s ways. To Wyndham, waiting, watching, it occurred that the -Professor was like a spider creeping towards its prey. He shuddered. - -‘Speak, girl, speak!’ said the Professor. His agitation was intense, and -almost beyond control. Here—here to his hand was his chance. Was he to -have it at last, or lose it for ever? Wyndham could stand it no longer; -he went quickly forward, and, standing between the Professor and the -girl, took the former by the shoulders and pushed him gently backwards -and out of hearing. - -‘If this drug of yours possesses the lifegiving properties you speak -of,’ said he sternly, ‘why speak to her of death? Do you honestly -believe in this experiment? Or do you fear it—when you suggest this sort -of suicide to her?’ - -‘I fear nothing,’ said the old man. ‘But we are all mortal. We can all -err, even in our surest judgments. The very cleverest of us can be -deceived. The experiment—though I do not believe it—might fail.’ - -At the word ‘fail’ he roused. - -‘It will not! It cannot!’ he cried, with vehemence. ‘But in the meantime -I would give her her chance, too. She shall know the worst that may -befall her.’ - -‘Why not tell her all?’ said the young man anxiously. ‘It’—he hesitated -and coloured faintly—‘it would give her her chance perhaps in another -world if your experiment failed. It would take from her—in part—the sin -of deliberately destroying herself.’ - -The Professor shrugged his shoulders. He thought it waste of time, this -preparing for another world—another Judge. - -‘You think, then, that I should tell her?’ - -‘I do. I think, too,’ said Wyndham strongly, ‘that if your experiment -succeeds you should consider yourself indebted to her for ever.’ - -‘I shall see to her future, of course.’ - -‘If,’ said the young man gloomily, ‘anyone could see to the future of -such a one as she is!’ - -The Professor looked at him. - -‘You are out of sorts to-night,’ he said. ‘Your natural instinct is -deadened in you. That girl does not belong to the class of which you are -thinking. Whatever has driven her to her present desperate state of -mind, it is not impurity.’ - -‘You think that?’ Wyndham looked doubtful, but was still conscious of a -faint wave of relief; and the Professor, watching him, smiled, the -tolerant smile of one who understands the cranks and follies of poor -human nature. - -‘If so,’ said Wyndham quickly, ‘she should surely not be subjected to -this experiment at all. She——’ - -‘For all that, I shall not lose this chance,’ said the Professor -shortly. He turned and went back to the girl. - -She was sitting in the same attitude as when he left her—her hands -clenched upon her knees, her eyes staring into the fire. God alone knew -what she saw there. She did not change her position, but sat like that, -immovable as a statue, as the Professor expounded his experiment to her, -and then asked her the cold, unsympathetic question as to whether, now -she knew what the risk was, she would accept it. It might mean death, -but if not, it would mean safety and protection in the future. - -When he had finished, she turned her sombre eyes on his. - -‘I will take the risk,’ she said. - -Wyndham made a movement as if to speak, but the Professor checked him. - -‘Of course, if the experiment is successful,’ he said, ‘I shall provide -for you for life.’ - -‘I hope you will not have to provide for me,’ she said. - -At this, a little silence fell upon the room, that seemed to chill it. -The Professor broke it. - -‘You agree, then?’ - -‘I agree.’ She rose, and held out her hand. ‘Give me the draught.’ - -Wyndham started, his voice vibrating with horror. - -‘No, no!’ he cried. ‘She does not understand; and’—to the -Professor—‘neither do you. If this thing fails, it will mean murder. -Think, I entreat you, before it is too late to think. That -girl’—pointing to the young stranger, who was standing regarding him -with a dull curiosity—‘she is but a child. She cannot know her own mind. -She ought not to be allowed to settle so stupendous a question. Look at -her!’ His voice shook. ‘Many a happier girl at her age would still be in -her schoolroom. She is so young that, whatever her wrongs, her sorrows -may be, she has still time before her to conquer or live them down. -Professor, I implore you, do not go on with this.’ - -The Professor rested a contemptuous glance on him for a moment, then -swept it from him, and addressed the girl. - -‘You are willing?’ he said. - -‘Yes.’ She spoke quite firmly, but she was looking at Wyndham. It was a -strange look, made up of surprise and some other feeling hardly defined. - -‘She is not all,’ broke in Wyndham again, vehemently. ‘There is you to -be considered, too. If this sleep of your making terminates fatally, -have you considered the consequences to yourself?’ - -The Professor smiled. He pointed to the girl, who stood marble-white -beneath the dull gaslight. - -‘Like her, I take the risk,’ he said. ‘I think I told you a little while -ago that I would chance the hanging.’ His smile—a very unpleasant -one—faded suddenly, and his manner grew brusque and arrogant. -‘There—enough,’ he said. ‘Stand aside, man. Do you think that now—now -when at last my hour has come—I am likely to let it slip, though death -itself lay before me?’ - -‘For God’s sake, Professor, think yet a moment!’ said the younger man, -holding him in his grasp. ‘She is young—so young!... To take a life like -that!’ - -‘I am going to take no life’—coldly. ‘I see now that you never had any -faith in me at all.’ - -‘I believe in you as no other man does,’ rejoined Wyndham hotly. ‘But -surely at this supreme moment a doubt may be allowed me. If this thing -were done openly in the eye of day, in sight of all men, it were well; -but to try so deadly an experiment here, at midnight—with no witnesses, -as it were—great heavens! you must see the pitfall you are laying for -yourself. If this experiment fails——’ - -‘It will not fail,’ said the Professor coldly. ‘In the meantime’—he cast -a scornful glance at him—‘if you are afraid of being called as a -witness, it is’—pointing to the door—‘still open to you to avoid such a -disagreeability.’ - -Their eyes met. - -‘I don’t think I have deserved that,’ said the other proudly, and all at -once in this queer hour both men felt that the tie that had bound them -for years was stronger than they knew. - -‘Stay, then,’ said the Professor. - -He went into an inner room and returned with a phial and glass, and -advanced towards the girl with an almost buoyant step. There was, -indeed, an exhilaration in his whole air, that amounted almost to -madness. He looked wild—spectral, indeed—in the dim light of the -solitary lamp, with his white hair thrown back and his eyes shining -fiercely beneath the rugged brows. - -‘Are you ready?’ he asked. - -She made a slight gesture of assent, and went a step or two to meet him. -She was deadly pale, but she stood without support of any kind. The -Professor poured some of the pale fluid from the phial into the glass -with a hand that never faltered, and the girl took it with a hand that -faltered quite as little; but before she could raise it to her lips, -Wyndham caught her arm. - -‘Stop!’ cried he, as if choking. ‘Have you thought—have you considered -that there is no certainty in this drug?’ Her eyes rested for a moment -on his. - -‘I thought there was a certainty,’ she said slowly. - -‘A certainty of death, perhaps,’ said he, poignant fear in his tone. ‘At -this last moment I appeal to you, for your own sake. Don’t take it. If -you do, it is doubtful whether you will ever come back to life again.’ - -She looked at him steadily. - -‘I hope there is no doubt,’ she said. She raised the glass and drank its -contents to the dregs. - -As she did so, some clock in the silent city outside struck the midnight -hour. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - - ‘A land of darkness, as darkness itself, and of the shadow of death; - without any order, and where the light is as darkness.’ - - -Morning had broken through the sullen gloom of night, and still the two -men watched beside the couch on which the girl lay, seemingly, in all -the tranquillity of death. The Professor’s drug had been calculated to -keep her asleep for exactly six hours. So long a time would be a test. -If she lived, and woke at the right time, then he would try again. He -would make it worth her while. For the younger man, during this anxious -vigil, there had been passing lapses of memory, that he, however, would -have disdained to acknowledge as sleep; but with the old man there had -been no question of oblivion, and now, as the vital moment drew near -that should test the truth of the great discovery, even Wyndham grew -abnormally wide-awake, and with nervous heart-sinkings watched the pale, -death-like face of the girl. - -Could it be unreal? Wyndham rose once and bent over her. No faintest -breath came from her lips or nostrils; the whole face had taken the -pinched, ashen appearance of one who had lain for a full day dead. The -hands were waxen, and the forehead too. He shuddered and drew back. At -that moment he told himself that she was dead, and that he had -undoubtedly assisted at a form of murder. - -He turned to the Professor, who was sitting watch in hand, counting the -moments. He would have spoken, but the old man’s grim face forbade him. -He was waiting. At twelve o’clock the girl had sunk into a slumber so -profound, so representative of death, that Wyndham had uttered an -exclamation of despair, and had told himself she was indeed struck down -by the Destroyer, and now when six o’clock strikes she ought to rise -from her strange slumbers if the Professor’s drug possessed the powerful -properties attributed to it by its discoverer. - -As Wyndham stood watching the Professor, a sound smote upon his ear. -One! Again the city clock was tolling the hour. The Professor rose; his -face was ghastly. One, two, three, four, five, six! - -Six! The Professor bent down over the girl, and Wyndham went near to -him, to be ready to help him when the moment came—when the truth was -made clear to him that his discovery had failed. Wyndham himself had -long ago given up hope, but he feared for the old man, to whom his -discovery had been more than life or love for over twenty years. - -The Professor still stood peering into the calm face. Six, and no sign, -no change! - -Already the sun’s rays were beginning to peep sharply through the -window; there was a slight stir in the street below. Six-thirty, and -still the Professor stood gazing on the quiet figure, as motionless as -it. Seven o’clock, and still no movement. The face, now lovely in its -calm, was as marble, and the limbs lay rigid, the fingers lightly -locked. Death, death alone could look like that! - -Half-past seven! As the remorseless clock recorded the time, the -Professor suddenly threw up his arms. - -‘She is dead!’ he said. ‘Oh, my God!’ - -He reeled forward, and the young man caught him in his arms. He was -almost insensible, and was gasping for breath. Wyndham carried him into -an adjoining room and laid him on a bed, and, finding him cold, covered -him with blankets. This, so far as it went, was well enough for the -moment, but what was the next step to be? The old man lay gasping, and -evidently there was but a short step between his state and that of his -victim outside. Yet how to send for a doctor with that victim outside? -To the Professor, whose hours were numbered, it would mean little or -nothing; but to him, Wyndham, it would mean, if not death, eternal -disgrace. He drew a long breath and bent over the Professor, who was now -again sensible. - -‘Shall I send for Marks or Drewd?’ he asked, naming two of the leading -physicians in Dublin. - -The Professor grasped his arm; his face grew frightful. - -‘No one—no one!’ he gasped. ‘Are you mad? Do you think I would betray my -failure to the world? To have them laugh—deride——’ He fell back, gasping -still, but menacing the young man with his eye. By degrees the fury of -his glance relaxed, and he fell into a sort of slumber, always holding -Wyndham’s arm, however, as if fearing he should go. He seemed stronger, -and Wyndham knelt by the bed, wondering vaguely what was going to be the -end of it all, and whether it would be possible to remove the corpse -outside without detection. There was Denis—Denis was faithful, and could -be trusted. - -Presently the Professor roused from his fit of unconsciousness. He -looked up at the young man, and his expression was terrible. Despair in -its worse form disfigured his features. The dream of a life had been -extinguished. He tried to speak, but at first words failed him, then, -‘All the years—all the years!’ he mumbled. Wyndham understood, and his -heart bled. The old man had given the best years of his life to his -discovery, and now—— - -‘I have killed her!’ went on the Professor, after a minute or two. - -‘Science has killed her,’ said Wyndham. - -‘No; I, with my cursed pride of belief in myself—I have killed her,’ -persisted the old man. ‘I would to God it were not so!’ He did not -believe in anything but science, yet he appealed to the Creator -occasionally, as some moderns still do to Jove. His lean fingers beat -feebly on the blankets. ‘A failure—a failure,’ he kept muttering, his -eyes fixed on vacancy. ‘I go to my grave a failure! I set my soul on it. -I believed in it, and it was naught.’ He was rambling, but presently he -sprang into a sitting posture, his eyes afire once more. ‘I believe in -it still!’ he shouted. ‘Oh, for time, for life, to prove.... O God, if -there is a God, grant me a few more days!’ He fell into a violent fit of -shivering, and Wyndham gently laid him back in his bed, and covered him -again with the blankets, where he lay sullen, powerless. - -‘Try not to think,’ implored the young man. - -‘Think—think—what else is left to me? Oh, Paul!’ He stretched out his -arm and caught Wyndham. ‘That it should be a failure after all. I -wish——’ He paused, and then went on: ‘I wish I had not tried it upon -her; she was young. She was a pretty creature, too. She was like ... -someone——’ He broke off. - -‘She was a mere waif and stray,’ said Wyndham, trying to harden his -voice. - -‘She was no waif or stray of the sort you mean,’ said the Professor. -‘Her face—was not like that. There’—pointing to the room outside—‘go; -look on her for yourself, and read the truth of what I say.’ - -‘It is not necessary,’ said the young man, with a slight shudder. And -again a silence fell between them. It was again broken by the Professor. - -‘She was full of life,’ he said; ‘and I took it.’ - -‘She wished you to take it,’ said Wyndham, who felt choking. Her blood -seemed to lie heavily on him. Had he not seen, countenanced her murder? -The Professor did not seem to hear him; his head had fallen forward, and -he was muttering again. - -‘She is dead!’ he whispered to himself. He made a vague but tragic -gesture; and then, after a little while, ‘Dead!’ he said again. His head -had sunk upon his breast. It was a strange scene. Here the Professor -dying—out there the girl dead—and between them he, Paul Wyndham. What -lay before him? - -He roused himself with an effort from his horrible thoughts, and made a -faint effort to withdraw his hand from the Professor’s; but though the -latter had fallen into a doze, he still felt the attempt at withdrawal, -and tightened his clutch on Wyndham; and all at once it seemed to the -young man as though the years had rolled backward, and he was still the -pupil, and this old man his tutor, and the days were once more present -when he had been ordered here and there, and had taken his directions -from him, and loved and reverenced him, stern and repellent as he was, -as perhaps no tutor had ever been reverenced before. - -After a little while the Professor’s grasp relaxed, and Wyndham rose to -his feet. A shrinking from entering the room beyond was combated by a -wild desire to go there and look once again upon the slender form of the -girl lying in death’s sweet repose upon her couch. He went to the door, -hesitated involuntarily for a second or two, and then entered. - -How still is death! And how apart! Nothing can approach it or move it. -He looked at her long and earnestly, and all at once it came to him that -she was beautiful. He had not thought her beautiful last night, but now -the dignity of death had touched her, and her fear and her indifference -and her despair had dropped from her, and the face shone lovely—the -features chiselled, and a vague smile upon the small, closed lips. He -noticed one thing, and it struck him as strange—that pinched look about -the features that he had noticed an hour ago was gone now. The mouth was -soft, the rounded chin curved as if in life. Almost there seemed a -little bloom upon the pale, cold cheeks. - -With a heavy sigh he turned away, and, leaning his arm upon the -mantelshelf, gave himself up a prey to miserable thought. The fire had -died out long ago, and the morning was cold and raw, and from under the -ill-fitting door a little harsh wind was rushing. The Professor, though -actually a rich man, had never cared to change the undesirable house -that had sheltered him when first he tried a fall with fortune, and, -conquering it, came out at once to the front as a man not to be despised -in the world of science. - -What was to be done? The Professor would have to see a doctor, even if -the medical man were brought in without his knowledge. Would it be -possible to remove the—that girl—and trust to to-night for her removal -to——To where? Again he lost himself in a sea of agonized doubt and -uncertainty. - -Denis would still be here, of course; but what could Denis do? He fell -back upon all the old methods of concealing dead bodies he had ever -heard of, but everything seemed impossible. What fools all those others -must have been! Well, he could give himself up and explain matters; but -then the Professor—to have his great discovery derided and held up to -ridicule! The old man’s look, as he saw it a little while ago, seemed to -forbid his betrayal of his defeat. Great heavens! what was to be done? - -He drew himself up with a heavy sigh, and passed his hand across his -eyes, then turned to go back to the inner room to see if the Professor -was still sleeping. As he went he tried to avoid glancing at the couch -where the dead form lay, but when he got close, some force stronger than -his will compelled him to look at it. And as he looked he felt turned -into stone. He seemed frozen to the spot on which he stood; his eyes -refused to remove themselves from what they saw. Staring like one -benumbed, he told himself at last that he was going mad. How otherwise -could he see this thing? Sweat broke out on his forehead, and a cry -escaped him. The corpse was looking at him! - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - - ‘Look, then, into thine heart and write!’ - - -Very intently, too, and as if surprised or trying to remember. Her large -eyes seemed singularly brilliant, and for a while the only thing living -about her. But all at once, as though memory had returned, she sprang to -her feet and stood, strong, and utterly without support, and questioned -him with those eyes silently but eloquently. The queerest thing about it -all to Wyndham was that, instead of being enfeebled by the strange -draught she had drunk, she looked younger, more vigorous, and altogether -another person from the forlorn, poor child of eight hours ago. Her eyes -were now like stars, her lips red and warm; the drug had, beyond doubt, -a property that even the Professor had never dreamt of; it gave not only -rest, but renewed health and life to those who drank it. - -Seeing Wyndham did not or could not speak, she did. - -‘I am alive—alive!’ she cried, with young and happy exultation. Where -was the desire for death that lay so heavily on her only a few hours -ago? It was all gone. Now it was plain that she desired life—life only. -Her voice rang through the room fresh and clear, filling it with music -of a hope renewed, and so penetrating that it even pierced into the room -beyond. And as it reached it, another cry broke forth—a cry this time -old and feeble. - -Wyndham rushed to answer it, taking with him his last memory of the -girl, as she then stood, with her arms thrown out as if in quick -delight, and her whole strange, beautiful face one ray of gladness. - -The Professor was sitting up in bed a mere wreck, but with expectation -on every feature. He was trembling visibly. - -‘That voice!’ he whispered wildly—‘that voice! I know it. Long years ago -I knew it. Boy, speak—tell me, whose voice was that?’ - -Wyndham knelt down beside him, and took his hand in his. He, too, was -trembling excessively, and his eyes were full of tears. - -‘Sir,’ he said softly, ‘she is alive.’ - -‘She—she—who?’ asked the Professor. He bent forward; his features were -working. - -‘That girl ... last night.... She lives, sir. Your experiment has not -failed, after all.’ - -He feared to look at the Professor when he had said this, and bent his -head, leaning his forehead on the wrinkled hand he held. It quivered -slightly beneath him, but not much, and presently the old man spoke. - -‘She lives?’ His voice was stronger now. Wyndham looked up, and found -the Professor looking almost his normal self, and with that expression -in his eyes that the young man knew as meaning a sharp calculation. - -‘Yes; I have spoken to her. Will you see her?’ - -‘No.’ The Professor silenced him by a gesture. He was evidently in the -midst of a quick calculation now. - -‘The hour she woke?’ he asked presently, with such a vigorous ring in -his tone that Wyndham rose to his feet astonished. - -‘Two minutes ago.’ - -‘Hah!’ The Professor went back to his calculations. Presently a shout -broke from him. ‘I see it now!’ he cried victoriously; ‘I see where the -mistake lay! Fool that I was not to have seen it before! It was a -miscalculation, but one easy to be rectified. An hour or two will do it. -Here, help me up, Paul.’ - -‘But, Professor, it is impossible; you must rest; you——’ - -‘Not another moment, not one, I tell you!’ cried the Professor -furiously. He lunged out of bed. ‘This thing must be seen to at once. -What time can any man be sure of, that he should waste it? The discovery -must be assured. And what time have I?’ - -He fell forward; he had fainted. Wyndham laid him back, and rushed -frantically into the next room. - -The girl was standing just where he had left her. But her arms were -outstretched no longer; they were better employed—they were doing up her -hair. - -There was a glass on a wall opposite to him, and by this she was trying -to bring herself back to as perfect a state of respectability as -circumstances permitted her. - -‘You must go,’ said Wyndham, ‘and at once. Do you hear—at once?’ - -And, indeed, it was imperative that she should be out of the house -before the arrival of the doctor, for whom he was now about to go. - -She rose. And suddenly gladness died from her face, her arms dropped to -her sides; something of the old misery, but not all, settled down on her -once more. - -‘I can go,’ she said. ‘I—I am not so afraid now, when it is day; but—he -said——’ - -Poor child! she had remembered the bargain of the night before. She had -not thought it worthy of thought then, believing Death indeed lay before -her when she drank that draught; but when she woke, when memory returned -to her (and it always came quickly after such a draught as that), she -had gladly told herself that now all her troubles were at an end, that -the old man would provide for her, protect her. And now this young man, -so forbidding, so unkind, with his harsh voice and ways; and yet last -night he had seemed so kind! - -‘He is dying!’ said Wyndham shortly. ‘A doctor must be summoned without -delay. I shall arrange for your going—for your safety; but you must be -quick.’ He rang the bell for Denis, who was waiting for him below. The -Professor’s only servant was a charwoman, who left nightly at ten, and -did not return till the same time next morning. - -‘You need provide for nothing,’ said the girl. She caught up the little -shawl that had been wrapped round her last night, and moved towards the -door. - -‘Stay a moment; you can’t go like this,’ said the young man -distractedly. ‘I have a servant who will take you to some place -of safety. It is impossible that you should go like this. -Why’—awkwardly—‘you haven’t even got a bonnet.’ - -She stopped and looked at him. - -‘It is not you who are responsible,’ she said. ‘And’—she drew her breath -quickly—‘after all, no one is. I took that drug of my own accord, of my -own will, but he did promise to—to—— But if he is dying?’ She looked at -him anxiously, making the last speech a question. - -‘I am afraid so.’ - -‘Then that is at an end.’ She went towards the door. - -‘Wait for my servant,’ entreated he, following her and laying a hand -upon her arm. ‘I cannot allow you to go like this.’ - -‘I don’t see what it is to you,’ said she. - -‘It is much—a great deal. For one thing, the Professor, if he recovers, -would never forgive me for letting you go out of his life without -reparation—without the fulfilment of his promise to you. He is indebted -to you, remember. It’—eagerly—‘was a bargain. And, after all, if you -throw off his responsibility now, where will you go? You say you have no -home—no——’ - -‘Nothing! nothing!’ she said. He could see her face pale again, and -again that dreadful look of despair, of hopelessness, that had crowned -her last night, aged and made miserable her face. - -He turned gladly from the sad contemplation of it to address Denis, who -had entered the room, his small twinkling eyes as bright as ever; but, -then, he had slept tranquilly the whole night through by a kitchen fire -that would have been hard to rival in heat and brilliancy. Amongst all -Denis’s many virtues, one stood out: he could always be depended on to -look after himself. And really that is a great thing in a faithful -servant; so many of them like to pose as martyrs in the cause. - -Wyndham led his servant a little aside. - -‘You see this——’ He hesitated for a word, and then said, ‘young lady; -you will take her away at once. There is not a moment to be lost. Get -her out of the house directly. I am going for a doctor. The Professor is -seriously ill. Do you understand? You are to lose no time. You must take -her away at once.’ - -Denis stared at him in the appallingly nonunderstanding way that -belongs, I believe, to Irish servants alone. It doesn’t mean that they -don’t understand; it only means that they are taking it all in, with a -cleverness that few other servants can show at a moment’s notice. - -‘An’ where, yer honour?’ - -‘Anywhere out of this!’ - -This struck him as abominably unfeeling, and he added hastily: ‘To the -safest place you know—the very safest. I depend upon you, Denis. Treat -her as you would your own daughter.’ - - - - - CHAPTER V. - - ‘For the shades are about us that hover - When darkness is half withdrawn, - And the skirts of the dead Night cover - The face of the live new Dawn.’ - - -The doctors when they came could do nothing for him. The Professor, -though hardly an old man as the ordinary acceptation of the word goes, -being still within the seventies, had so burnt out his candle at both -ends that all the science in Europe could not have kept him alive for -another twenty-four hours. A spice of gruesome mirth seemed to fall into -the situation when their declaration was laid bare and one thought of -the great discovery. - -Wyndham was the one who thought of it, and a wild longing to rouse the -old man, who was now sunk into an oblivion that presaged death, and -compel him even in his death-throes to reveal the secret that might -bring even him back to life, seized upon him. But he felt it was -impossible, and presently the two great men went downstairs to consult -each other, and he was left alone with his dying friend. - -They had hardly gone when, watching as he incessantly did the face of -the Professor, he noticed a change. He bent over him. - -‘Why doesn’t she speak now,’ said the Professor. He was thinking of the -girl’s voice—a voice that had taken him back to his early days in some -strange way. - -‘Master,’ said Wyndham—he, too, had gone back to the old days—‘you are -thinking——’ - -‘Of her. They said she was dead.’ - -‘Who was dead?’ asked Wyndham. - -At this the old man roused. He had not known Wyndham’s voice the first -time, but now he did, and he turned and looked at him; and presently -consciousness once more grew within his eyes. - -‘It is you, boy. And where is she?’ - -‘She? The girl, you mean?’ - -‘Yes.... I promised her. You remember.... It is late now, very late ... -and I must sleep. But ... a word, boy.... I have left you all, and -she ... out of it ... you must give her ... give her....’ He sank back. - -‘All—all,’ said Wyndham eagerly. - -‘No ... no’—he rallied wonderfully—‘three hundred a year—that for a -girl.... The rest is yours.... But see to her.... I can trust you. You -are a good boy. But your Greek, boy—your Greek is bad—your aorists are -weak. You must mend—you must mend....’ - -His dying eyes tried to take the old stern look as they rested on -Wyndham, the look he used to give the boy when his Greek or his Latin -verses were hardly up to the mark, but presently it changed and softened -into a wider light. ‘The boy,’ in the last of all moments, was forgotten -for the love that was strongest of all. - -‘She was very like my wife,’ he gasped faintly, and fell back and died. - - * * * * * - -It was all over. The doctors had taken their departure, and the old -dismal house was very still. The Professor had died in the morning, and -it was quite night again before Wyndham had time to think of ordinary -matters. It was the presence of Denis, who had come up to see, probably, -how his master had continued to live so long without him, that brought -back the thought of the girl to Wyndham’s mind. - -‘Where did you take her?’ he asked listlessly. Even as the words passed -his lips he knew it was most important that she should be found again. -She was now the inheritress of three hundred a year—no mean thing for a -girl who only last night was ready and willing to die of want, amongst -other things, no doubt. - -‘To the Cottage, sir.’ - -‘To——’ Wyndham gazed at him as if too astonished to give way to the -words that evidently lay very near to his tongue. - -‘The Cottage, sir. Yer own place, sir.’ - -‘The Cottage,’ repeated Wyndham, now breaking forth in earnest. ‘What -the devil did you take her there for?’ - -His extreme anger would have cowed perhaps any other servant in Europe -save Denis. That good man stood to his guns without a flinch. - -‘Fegs, sir, ’tis you can answer that,’ said he, with quite an -encouraging air. - -‘What d’ye mean, Denis?’ demanded Wyndham almost violently. - -‘I’m manin’—what I’m manin’,’ said Denis, who certainly was not violent -at all. ‘Ye know yourself, sir, that the first thing ye said to me about -the crathur was to take her to the safest place ye knew.’ - -‘Well?’ said Wyndham, with anger he tried hard to stifle. - -‘Faix, yer honour, it seemed to me that the safest place I knew for the -young lady was the house that belonged to yer honour.’ - -This no doubt was distinctly flattering, but at the moment the flattery -did not appeal to Wyndham. The girl down there—and what the deuce was he -to do with her? And what would all the people round be thinking?—for the -most part country folk. The Cottage lay twenty miles outside Dublin. The -Rector, Mr. Barry, would for one be positively enraged. He would require -all sorts of explanations. - -Denis had waited for a reply, but finding none, now went on: - -‘Anything wrong, sir?’ - -‘Anything!’ said Wyndham. ‘Were you mad that you should take a—a person -like that down to my house? A girl found lying on the Professor’s -doorstep! Good heavens, man! what could you mean by it?’ - -He exaggerated a little when he said ‘my house.’ As a fact, he lived -very little in the Cottage, only using it when he felt tired and -overdone by work. His real home was to be found in rooms in -Dublin—pleasant rooms in Upper Merrion Street. There he entertained his -bachelor friends, and was highly regarded by his landlady. He was one of -those men—more usual than the coming young lady believes—who thought a -great deal more of their work, and their reading, and their golf, than -of the opposite sex. - -‘Well, sir, there’s this,’ said Denis, who had remained beautifully -calm. ‘Besides tellin’ me I was to take her to a safe place, ye -specially said as she was to be thrated as me own daughter. I remimber -the words well. Now, ye know well, sir, havin’ bin intimate with me an’ -Bridget since ye wur in yer first throusers, that we haven’t a child -between us; an’ yet for all that I tuck it for manin’ that the young -lady was to be given to Bridget.’ - -‘You took a great deal upon yourself then,’ said Wyndham. - -‘Maybe so,’ said Denis, pursing up his lips. ‘But ye said as how she was -to be thrated like that; an’ if a girl was my daughter—why, I’d take her -to Bridget.’ - -It was impossible to go into this involved affair. Wyndham dismissed him -with a gesture; but Denis dallied at the door. - -‘I suppose there’s something wrong, sir?’ persisted he. - -‘Nothing,’ said Wyndham, putting a match to his cigar, ‘except that you -are the most infernal ass I ever met.’ - -With a heavy heart Wyndham, assisted by a physician of great note, had -gone through the Professor’s papers. There were few of them, and with -regard to the experiment only a few useless notes here and there, -principally written on the backs of envelopes. There was nothing -connected—nothing that could be used. The Professor, it seemed, had been -in the habit of writing on his brain, and on that only. Alas! there was -nothing left wherewith to carry on the great discovery. - -Wyndham abandoned his search with a sigh. There was no doubt now that -the wonderful experiment was lost to all time. With this sad ending of -it he told himself he had closed one chapter in his life, but he made a -mistake there; the chapter was only beginning. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - - ‘In her is highe beauty without pride, - And youth withoute greenhood or folly. - To all her workes virtue is her guide. - Humbless hath slain in her all tyranny: - She is the mirror of all courtesy, - Her heart a very chamber of holiness, - Her hand minister of freedom for almess.’ - CHAUCER. - - -‘No!’ says Susan. The word is not a denial; it is merely an ejaculative -expression of the most extreme astonishment, largely mingled with -disbelief. - -The sun is glinting through the trees in the old orchard right down on -her head, striking a light from the glancing knitting-needles she has -now let fall into her lap. This old orchard is the happy hunting-ground -of the Barry children old and young—the place which they rush to in -their joyous moments, the place which they crawl to with their griefs -and woes. To-day neither joys nor griefs are near them, and it is out of -sheer love alone for its mossy old apple-trees and its sunlit corners -that Susan had tripped in here a while ago with a dilapidated old novel -tucked into her apron pocket, and the eternal sock with the heel half -turned between her pretty fingers. After her had straggled Betty, a -slender creature of sixteen, and Tom, the baby. Tom was five, but he was -always the baby, there having been no more babies after him, principally -because his mother died when he was born. And last of all came Bonnie, -the little cripple, hopping sadly on his crutches, until Susan saw him, -and ran back to him and caught him in her arms, and placed him beside -her on the warm soft grass, putting out her much-washed cotton skirt -that he might sit upon it, and so be protected from even an imaginary -damp, and had cuddled him up to her, to the many droppings of the -stitches of the long-suffering heel. - -Carew, who came between Betty and Susan, was away, fishing somewhere in -the Crosby river, and Jacky had not put in an appearance since -breakfast. How on earth his lessons are going to be prepared between -this—two o’clock—and five, makes Susan wonder anxiously. Why doesn’t he -come home? What can he be doing? - -She has hardly got further than this in her thoughts of the truant, when -suddenly he appears upon the scene, a very rosy, bright-eyed rascal, big -with news. Indeed, it was the coming of Jacky, and the astounding -revelation in his opening sentence—that he had sprung upon them in a -most unprincipled way, without a word of warning—that had drawn from -Susan that heavily emphasized ‘No!’ - -She speaks again now. - -‘I don’t believe it,’ she says. - -‘Oh, Susan, why not?’ asks Betty, who is sitting with her hands folded -behind her head, perhaps because if she brought them forward she might -find some knitting to do, too. Idle hands they are, only made for -mischief; so is the face to which they belong. - -‘Because it’s nonsense,’ says Susan, shrugging her shoulders, and -drawing Bonnie closer to her. ‘And, besides, I don’t want to believe -it.’ - -‘Oh, I do!’ says Betty, with a little grin from under her big sun-hat. -‘Go on, Jacky.’ - -‘I saw her, I saw her plain,’ says Jacky, his rosy round face fired with -joy at the thought of being for once the bearer of important news. ‘She -was walking about in the garden.’ - -‘In,’ from Susan, in a severe tone, ‘Mr. Wyndham’s garden?’ - -‘Yes, in there.’ Jacky now looks as though he is going to burst. ‘Why -don’t you believe me? I saw her, I tell you. I saw her quite plain. An’ -her hair is dark, a lot darker than yours, an she’s got a blue frock -like your Sunday one, only better.’ - -Susan interrupts him with dignity. - -‘I don’t see how Mrs. Denis’s——’ Denis’s wife was always called Mrs. -Denis; if she had any other name, it was sunk beneath insuperable -barriers. Mr. and Mrs. Denis she and her husband had been since the -priest poured his blessing down upon them and made them one in the old -chapel built on the rock at the end of the village. This rock gave the -parish priest a distinct crow over the Protestant clergyman. - -‘Ye would quote me the Scriptures, would ye?’ Father McFane would call -to Mr. Barry as the latter drove by the chapel in his Norwegian on his -way to the church beyond. ‘An’ what did St. Paul say? “Like a house -founded upon a rock.” Why, here’s the rock, man. Come in! come in! where -are ye going?’ - -It occurred every Sunday, and Mr. Barry would smile back at Father -McFane, and nod his head, for the two, indeed, were great friends, as -the Protestants and Roman Catholics often are in small places, until -someone comes in to them with wild news and absurd tidings from -incendiaries outside to upset the loving work of years. - -‘I don’t see how Mrs. Denis’s niece or cousin, or whatever she is, -should have a better gown than mine,’ says she. - -‘But she isn’t Mrs. Denis’s cousin, she’s too young,’ says Jacky. ‘She’s -a girl, and she was pulling the flowers like anything, and if she -belonged to Mrs. Denis she wouldn’t be let do that.’ - -Jacky’s English is always horrible. - -‘Oh, you’ve dreamt the whole thing!’ says Susan contemptuously. ‘Run -away and play.’ She has forgotten about the lessons. - -‘Oh, you are a marplot! I am going to believe in Jacky for once in my -life. Don’t go, Jacky! Jacky, come back! If you don’t, Aunt Jemima will -make you do your lessons.’ - -This has a magical effect. Jacky swerves round. - -‘She is there,’ says he indignantly. ‘I did see her.’ He seems to dwell -on this fact with gusto. ‘An’ she’s not Mrs. Denis’s niece. An’ old -Meany down by the mill says she’s been there for four weeks.’ - -‘The plot is thickening,’ says Betty lazily. ‘’Tis a clever villain, -whoever she is; fancy her being here for four weeks without the very -size of her shoes being known throughout the length and breadth of -Curraghcloyne! Four days ought to have done it. Go on, Jacky! Had she a -cloven foot by any chance?’ - -‘No; but’—and Jacky’s eyes widen, and he seems to swell—‘Meany says -she’s a prisoner.’ - -‘A what?’ - -‘Yes, a real prisoner. She’s not let go out of the place. Mrs. Denis -never opens the front-gate now, but comes out by the little green one we -can see from the hall-door, an’ even that’s locked when she comes out -an’ goes back again, Meany says.’ - -‘Mrs. Denis very seldom comes out by any other,’ says Susan. - -‘But she doesn’t always lock it behind her,’ puts in Betty, who is -evidently beginning to enjoy herself. - -‘Now she locks the front-gate too,’ says Jacky triumphantly. - -‘It’s perfectly thrilling,’ declares Betty, sitting up and growing -openly interested. Betty is frivolous. ‘A prisoner, and a young girl. -Can she be the long-lost princess of our infancy? And imprisoned by Mr. -Wyndham! Oh, the terrible man!’ - -‘She is of course a friend of Mrs. Denis’s,’ says Susan, with the grand -air of one who will have the truth at any price, and who is bent on -dismissing all theories save the practical one. ‘It’s the most natural -thing in the world. We all know Mr. Wyndham told her he wouldn’t come -down for a month or two, and so she is entertaining a niece or a cousin, -or something.’ - -‘She isn’t a niece of Mrs. Denis’s, any way,’ persists Jacky -obstinately; ‘she’—with a hopeful, yet doubtful glance at Betty, whose -latest idea has struck him—‘she is much more like a—a princess.’ Again -he looks at Betty, as if expecting her to bring him through this -difficulty of her own making; but Betty fails him, as she fails most -people. - -‘After all, I dismiss the romantic element,’ says she, nursing her knees -and swaying herself indolently to and fro in the warm sunshine. ‘I -incline now towards the supernatural. Susan,’ addressing her elder -sister with due solemnity, ‘perhaps she is a ghost.’ Her face thus -uplifted is sufficiently like Susan’s to let all the world know they are -of kin; but Betty’s face, piquante, provocative, as it is, lacks the -charm of Susan’s. Betty is pretty, nay, perhaps something more, for the -Barrys are a handsome race; but Susan—Susan is lovely. It is useless -saying her nose is not pure Greek, that her mouth wants this or that, -that her forehead is a trifle too low. Susan, when all is said, when -long argument has been used, remains what she was before—lovely. The -smiling, earnest lips, the liquid eyes, the rippling, sunny hair—all -these might be another girl’s, but yet that other girl would not be -Susan. Oh, beauteous Susan! with your youthful, starry eyes and tender, -mirthful, timid air, I would that a brush, and not a pen, might paint -you! - -‘A ghost! Nonsense,’ says she, now contemptuously. -‘But’—thoughtfully—‘what a queer story!’ And again, with a wrathful -glance at Jacky: ‘After all, I don’t believe a word of it.’ - -‘Oh, I do! I want to,’ says Betty, who revels in sensations. ‘And the -ghost development is beautiful. I’d rather see a ghost than anything. As -you looked, Jacky, did she vanish into thin air?’ - -‘No; only round the corner,’ says Jacky reluctantly. He would evidently -have liked the vanishing trick. - -‘Very disappointing! But perhaps that’s her way of doing it. Corners are -always so convenient.’ - -‘If the gates are all locked,’ says Susan, turning suddenly a -magisterial eye upon her brother, ‘may I ask how you saw her?’ - -‘Ah, that’s part of it! That,’ says Betty, ‘is where the fire and -brimstone come in. That’s what makes her a ghost. It isn’t everybody can -see through stone walls,’ says she, lowering her voice mysteriously, and -glancing at the staring Jacky. ‘She had evidently the power to turn Mrs. -Denis’s walls into glass! It’s very unlucky, Jacky, for ghosts to fall -in love with people, and I’m sorry to say I think this one has developed -a mad fancy for you.’ - -‘She hasn’t!’ says Jacky, who is now extremely pale. - -‘Circumstances point to it,’ says Betty, who is nothing if not a tease. -‘And when ghosts fall in love, they do dreadful things to people. Things -like this!’ She has risen, and is now advancing on the stricken Jacky -with her slender arms uplifted, and long fingers pointed downwards and -arranged like claws. She has taken to a sort of prance, a high-stepping -walk that brings her knees upwards and her toes outward, and she has -worked her face out of all recognition in an abominable grin. All this -taken together proves too much for Jacky, who, his face now visibly -paler, descends precipitately upon Susan. - -Susan has been seeing to the comfort of her little Bonnie, and has -therefore been ignorant of Betty’s flight of fancy until the moment when -Jacky stumbles somewhat heavily against her, and looking up, she sees -Betty’s diabolical pose. - -‘Betty, don’t!’ says she, glancing back to Jacky’s face, which is, -indeed, a mixture of pluck and abject terror. - -‘Would you not warn him, then?’ says Betty reproachfully, returning, -however, to her ordinary appearance, and making an aside at Bonnie, a -pretence at shooting him with her first finger and thumb, that sends the -delicate little creature into fits of laughter. ‘Poor old Jacky!’ -returning to the charge. ‘It isn’t for nothing that ghosts reveal -themselves. It is easy to see that this one has her eye on you!’ - -‘She hasn’t,’ says Jacky again, who is on the point of tears. He is -evidently not partial to ghosts. ‘And it wasn’t through a glass wall I -saw her—it was——’ He stops dead short. - -‘Yes?’ says Susan, still severely. ‘Do be quiet, Betty, and let him -speak. It was——’ - -‘Through the hole in the wall near the garden,’ confesses Jacky -doggedly, but somewhat shamefacedly. - -‘You see, it was through the wall, after all!’ says Betty, breaking into -a delighted laugh. ‘She’ll get you, Jacky—she’ll get you yet.’ - -‘I don’t think it is a very nice thing to peep through other people’s -walls into their grounds,’ says Susan, more from the point of view that -she is the eldest sister, and bound to say a word in season now and -then, than from any feeling of horror at the act. All boys peep through -holes in walls, when lucky enough to find them. ‘How would you like it,’ -says she, ‘if you were found doing it?’ - -‘But I wasn’t found,’ retorts Jacky sulkily. - -‘Susan,’ Betty breaks into the argument with a vivacity all her own, -‘you have no more morality than a cat. You are teaching him all wrong. -It isn’t the not being found out, Jacky, that is of importance, as Susan -is most erroneously bent on impressing upon you; it is the fact of -peeping in itself that makes you the’—shaking her finger at -him—‘miserable sinner that you are!’ - -‘Sinner yourself!’ says Jacky, now driven to desperation and the most -unreserved impertinence. ‘I often saw you look through the hole in the -wall yourself.’ - -At this, instead of being annoyed, both Susan and Betty give way to -inextinguishable mirth; whereupon Jacky, who had, perhaps, hoped that -his shot would take effect, prepares once more to march away. But Betty, -making a sudden grab at him, catches him by his trousers. - -‘Wait awhile,’ cries she, still shaking with laughter. ‘Susan, seize his -arm. Tell us the rest of it. Was she——’ - -‘I won’t tell you anything; and I’m sorry I told you a word at all. Let -me go, Betty. D’ye hear? You are tearing my breeches.’ - -‘And you are tearing our hearts,’ says Betty, ‘Jacky darling. Go on; -don’t be a cross cat, now. Was she——’ - -‘Twice as pretty as you, any way,’ says Jacky, with virulence. - -‘Is that all? Poor girl! says Betty, who is very hard to beat. ‘Prettier -than Susan?’ - -‘Yes, lots.’ - -‘She must be a real princess, then, and no ghost. I’d like to leave a -card upon her. Perhaps you would kindly push it through the hole in the -wall, Jacky.’ - -This is adding to the insult, and Jacky, with the loss of a button or -two, and serious injury to his suspenders, breaks away. - -‘There now!’ says he, beginning to cry. ‘Look what you’ve done; and no -one to mend it; and Aunt Maria will be angry, and father will give me -twenty lines——’ Sobs check his utterance. - -Susan rises hurriedly, and, with a whispered word to Bonnie, she passes -him on to Betty, who, in spite of her carelessness, receives the little -fragile creature with loving arms, hugging him to her, and beginning to -ransack her memory for a story to tell him, such as his soul loveth; -then Susan, slipping her arm round Jacky’s shoulder, whispers soft -comforts to him. He shall come in now and do his lessons with her, so -that father shall not be vexed this evening, and after dinner (the -Rector’s family dined at two, and had high tea at seven) she would take -him with her up to Crosby Park. - -Jacky’s recovery is swift; his sobs cease, and he graciously allows -himself to be kissed. To go to Crosby Park is always a joy—the big, -huge, handsome place, with its long gardens and glass houses, and, best -of all, its absentee landlord. - -It is, indeed, quite ten years since George Crosby has been at the Park, -and in all probability ten more years are likely to elapse before he -comes again. The last accounts of him were from Africa, where he had had -a most unpleasantly near interview with a lion, but had got off with a -whole skin and another not quite so whole: the lion had come to grief. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - - ‘Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there must also - be evil.’ - - -It is three o’clock as Susan, with Jacky in tow, leaves the Rectory gate -and goes up the village towards the broad road beyond that mounts -steepwards to Crosby Park. Curraghcloyne possesses but one street, and a -very small one, too; but as a set-off to that it teems with interest. - -This morning a pig-fair was held in the ‘fair-field,’ a square mass of -beaten earth, anything but ‘fair,’ and as unlike a field as possible; -and now that the ‘payers of the rint’ have been mercifully removed, -bought, or sold, the unsightly patch is covered by young colts, that are -being ridden up and down by their owners, with a view to showing them -off; whilst in the far part of the field, over there, cows, sheep, and -donkeys are changing owners. - -Here, in the main street, much lively conversation is going on. On the -right, Salter, the hardware man—a virulent Methodist, who calls himself -a Protestant—is retailing to a hushed and delighted group the very -latest ritualistic news of the curate just lately imported, and who, if -a most estimable man, is undoubtedly abominably ugly. Short and stout -and ill-made, poor Mr. Haldane has not proved a success amongst the -Protestants of the parish. His views are extreme, and so are his looks, -and, as Betty most unkindly put it, he should, on his ordination, have -been at once despatched by the Bishop of the diocese as a missionary to -the Cannibal Islands, with a view to getting rid of him as quickly as -possible. He is a sore trial to Mr. Barry, the Rector of the parish, and -Susan’s father. But he had to replace the last curate in a hurry, that -young man having resigned his charge at a moment’s notice, because the -Rector would not give his sanction to having matins at six a.m., he -said; but in reality because Susan had, the evening before, rejected him -with a haste that deprived him of all hope. - -Just now the excitement amongst the groups at Salter’s is growing -intense. The curate had been knocked down. No! But he had fallen—and so -on, and so on. A few shops lower down comes Mr. Murphy, the -undertaker’s. He, too, as indeed do all the shopkeepers in -Curraghcloyne, stands in the front of his shop-door, chatting to all who -come and go. A little, fat, jolly man, rather useless you would think in -a solemn business like his, and yet the best undertaker, for all that, -in the seven parishes round. Perhaps it is well to have a cheerful -person of that sort to dispel the dreadful gloom of death. However it -is, he is a universal favourite, and no wonder, when I tell you he is -the man in all Curraghcloyne who can tell you most about the babies!—the -ones come, the ones to come immediately, and those in the middle -distance! The gayest, happiest little man in the town, with a wife as -rosy as himself, and quite a crowd of embryo little undertakers swarming -round his knees. But these, and many more of the Curraghcloyne -celebrities, sink into insignificance before Ricketty, the proprietor of -the Crosby Arms Hotel. This name is painted on a swinging signboard, -with a huge boar beneath, the crest of the Crosbys from all time. - -Ricketty—his name was once Richards, but time and many devoted -friendships has brought it down to Ricketty—is a huge benign Irishman, -with the biggest jaw in Europe and the smallest eyes. To his bones flesh -has grown, until now he might have exhibited himself in the most -fastidious show in New York as the ‘Last of the race of Anak,’ or some -such attractive title. - -And as most big men are, so is he—the mildest-mannered man on earth; who -would have run away if he had been asked to scuttle a ship, and who -would have fainted if the idea of cutting the throat even of a mouse had -been suggested to him. One side of his hotel has the usual bar blind up -in it, behind which is a parlour, where on special occasions the -politicians congregate to air their eloquence. The other side is given -up to a fancy shop, kept by his sister, Miss Ricketty. - -Miss Ricketty is the wit, and therefore the scourge, of the village -(very little wit suffices for a village such as Curraghcloyne), and -though nearly stone-deaf, knows more of the ‘goings on’ of her -neighbours than anyone else in the small town. - -Of course there is a bank and a post-office in Curraghcloyne. And a -town-hall, where the future tenors and sopranos of the world sometimes -‘kindly consent’ to sing to the poor people round them. And there is the -draper’s shop called ‘The Emporium,’ very justly, of course; and there -is a market-place too, where everyone says the beef and mutton are both -bad and dear. But even the interest of all these fails before the -caustic tongue of Miss Ricketty. - -Just as Susan reaches the window of the hotel that holds Miss Ricketty’s -show of notepaper, ballads, bull’s-eyes, woollen mufflers, the latest -thing in veils ten years old, and the flotsam and jetsam of various -seasons past, she finds herself face to face with Wyndham. - -‘You have come back!’ says she involuntarily. She is glad to see him. He -is—well, scarcely an old friend, because the distances between his -comings and goings to the Cottage make such broad margins on the leaf of -time that he has hardly come into quite close contact with the family at -the Rectory. But they have known him for a long time, and they have -liked him, and there is a good deal of soft, pleasurable welcome in the -glance that Susan gives him. He has been away now, she tells herself, -quite two months. - -‘Yes,’ says Wyndham, smiling. His smile is a little preoccupied, -however. ‘And how are you, Jacky? My goodness, how we are grown! You’ll -be as big as Ricketty presently if you don’t put a weight on your head.’ - -Jacky sniggles, but, like Wyndham’s smile, his sniggles are a little -preoccupied. Having shaken hands with the latter, he retires behind -Susan, and wonders if Wyndham is going up to the Cottage, and if he is, -will the ghost catch him? He rather hopes it. It would leave -him—Jacky—free, any way, and Mr. Wyndham is a big man and would be a -better match for her. - -Susan, too, is thinking of the ghost. As Wyndham is facing now, the -Cottage lies before him. Is he going to see the mysterious ‘prisoner’? -Perhaps he is married to her! This seems delightful—like an old romance, -so much nicer than the commonplace marriages of to-day. She scans -Wyndham’s face swiftly with a view to saying something nice and kind to -him, if she sees anything there to help her to believe in this -sentimental marriage. But evidently she sees nothing, because she says -nothing. After all, she tells herself, it is of course a secret. - -‘I hope you will come in and see father,’ she says presently, when she -and Wyndham have discussed the town and its inhabitants, and she has -told him all the news. He is in the habit of sleeping at the Cottage -whenever he does come down, and in the habit, too, of spending his -evenings at the Rectory, which is only just over the way from the -Cottage. - -‘Not to-night, I’m afraid,’ says Wyndham. ‘I must go back to town by the -evening train.’ - -A slight frown gathers on his brow, but he dismisses it as he bids her -good-bye. - -‘Remember me to him,’ he says quickly, absently. He pinches Jacky’s ear, -and is gone. - -Susan, who has been inveigled into a promise concerning bull’s-eyes, is -now led triumphantly into Miss Ricketty’s shop, where that spinster is -discovered in an Old English attitude, her body being screwed out of all -shape in her endeavour to catch sight of someone going down the street. -Her window is quite blocked up by her shoulders, and her deafness -prevents her from knowing of Susan’s coming until Jacky, falling over -her left leg, which is sticking out behind in mid air, brings her back -to the perpendicular and a view of Susan. - -She is a small woman, thin to a fault, and shrewd-visaged, with a -quizzical eye and a bonnet. The latter is of the historic coal-scuttle -shape, and must have been a most admirable purchase when -bought—‘warranted to wear,’ in the truest sense of the word, as it has -lasted without a break for at least fifty years. As no one in -Curraghcloyne ever saw her ‘outside of it,’ and as she is popularly -supposed to sleep in it, it may safely be regarded as a sound article; -even her worst enemy had once been heard to say that, ‘no matther how -great an ould fool she was wid her tongue,’ she had made no mistake -about ‘the bonnet.’ - -‘An’ is that you, Miss Susan, me dear?’ says she, when Jacky has picked -himself up, and she has ceased to rub her ankle. ‘Ye’re as welcome as -the flowers in May, though divil a flower we had this year, wid the rain -an’ all. Ye’re not in a hurry, miss, are ye, now? Ye can spare a minute -to the ould maid? Come in, then.’ - -She opens the little gate that hinges on to her little counter, and -draws Susan inside, to her ‘parlour,’ as she calls the tiny space -within—a cosy spot in truth, where in the winter a fire burns briskly, -and with a wall lined with bottles that make glad the souls of children. -To Susan Barry the old maid has given all the heart that remains from -her worship of her giant brother. Perhaps it is the almost childish -sweetness of her manner that has won the old maid’s heart, or else the -young unconscious beauty of her—beauty being dear to the Irish heart. -However it is, she has a warm corner in Miss Ricketty’s. - -‘An’ how’s your good aunt?’ says the spinster, adjusting the bonnet with -one hand, whilst with the other she pulls out from under the counter a -huge ear-trumpet, half a yard long, and big enough at the speaking end -to engulf Susan’s small and shapely head. ‘She’s been expectin’ that -clutch o’ eggs I promised her, no doubt; but them hens o’ mine might as -well be cocks for all the eggs we get out of them.’ - -‘Aunt Jemima knows that eggs are scarce now,’ cries Susan, softly, into -the gulf. - -‘Scarce! ’Tis nothin’ them ungrateful hens is doin’ for us now, an’ we -who coddled ’em up all the winther. The saints forgive thim! Miss -Susan’—leaning towards the girl, and speaking with the suppressed -emotion of the born gossip—‘was that Misther Wyndham as wint up the -street just now?’ - -‘Yes,’ says Susan. ‘I was talking to him just before I came in here.’ - -‘No! Blessed Vargin!’ says Miss Ricketty, recoiling; she had, of course, -been the first to hear of the mysterious stranger at the Cottage, and -had, indeed, told the news to her brother, under promise of secrecy, -that she knew he would not keep. Nor did she want him to keep it. How -can you gossip unless you have someone to gossip with? That is why -people spread scandals. - -‘And what was he saying?’ asks she presently, when she has produced a -little box of figs and given them to Jacky, with a view to keeping him -quiet until she has got the last word of news out of Susan. - -‘Nothing, I think,’ says Susan, running over mentally her late -conversation with Wyndham. ‘He won’t have time to see father to-night, -because he is going back to town by the evening train.’ - -‘Is that what he says?’ Miss Ricketty gives her bonnet a push. ‘Faith, -he’s full of smartness. An’ did he tell ye nothin’ at all?’ - -‘Oh, it was I who told him everything,’ says Susan. ‘He wanted to know -how the new curate was going on, for one thing, and——’ - -‘If ’twas Misther Haldane he was askin’ afther so kindly, I could a’ -tould him somethin’,’ says Miss Ricketty. ‘But never mind him! What else -was Misther Wyndham sayin’?’ - -‘There was not time to say anything,’ says Susan, laughing. ‘He was in a -hurry, and so was I—at least, Jacky was; he wants you to give him two -pennyworth of bull’s-eyes. Though, really, after those figs——’ - -‘Miss Susan’—the old maid puts Susan’s last remark aside with an -eloquent gesture—‘have ye heard anything sthrange about the Cottage -lately?’ - -Susan starts, and Jacky comes to a dead set, the last fig between his -finger and thumb. Jacky must be far gone indeed when, having anything -edible between his fingers, he delays about putting it between his lips. - -‘Ye have, I see,’ says Miss Ricketty. ‘I’m tould, me dear,’ looking -behind her, and beside her, and to the door, and now, for even better -security, putting up her opened palm to one side of her mouth, ‘that -there’s a young—a’—she hesitates as if to choose a word, then comes to a -safe conclusion—‘a faymale there,’ she says. - -‘There’s a girl there, I think,’ says Susan nervously. ‘At least’—here -Jacky looks at her appealingly, and she changes her sentence—‘someone -says there is. A niece, or a friend of Mrs. Denis’s, I suppose.’ - -‘Arrah! Suppose!’ says Miss Ricketty with considerable eloquence, but -without committing herself. - -‘Well, if not that,’ says Susan, who is full of her late romantic idea -about a secret marriage between the unknown and Wyndham, -‘perhaps—perhaps Mr. Wyndham knows something about her.’ - -Miss Ricketty turns sharply, and looks at her. But the girl’s lovely, -open, tranquil face betrays nothing but a soft enthusiasm. A sense of -amusement fills Miss Ricketty’s breast. - -‘Fegs, I’m thinkin’ ye’re on the right thrack,’ says she evenly. - -‘You won’t say it again, Miss Ricketty, will you?’ says Susan; ‘but I -have thought—at least, it has occurred to me—that perhaps she’s Mr. -Wyndham’s wife.’ - -This is a little too much for Miss Ricketty. She gives way suddenly to a -fit of coughing, and, turning her back to Susan, dives under the -counter, whether to recover from a very proper confusion, or to indulge -in very improper laughter, can now, alas! never be known. When she -emerges, however, her face is a fine crimson. - -‘That would be very romantic, wouldn’t it?’ says Susan, looking at her -and speaking softly, yet with a pretty delight. ‘A marriage like that, -with nobody knowing anything except they two, you know; and I feel sure -she is lovely, and Mr. Wyndham is very nice-looking too, and after -awhile perhaps we shall know her. He will introduce us to her, and we -shall be friends, and——’ - -‘’Tis a beautiful story,’ says Miss Ricketty, breaking in with unction. -‘An’ beautiful stories, we all know, come thrue. I wish ye joy o’ the -bride at the Cottage, Miss Susan; but I wouldn’t be for intherferin’ wid -the young married people too soon if I were you, me dear.’ - -‘Of course, I shouldn’t do that,’ says Susan hastily, her fair face -growing earnest. ‘But I thought that if——’ - -‘Well, ye’d betther wait, I think,’ says Miss Ricketty. ‘’Tis bad bein’ -in a hurry, as Misther Haldane found out last night.’ - -‘Mr. Haldane! What has happened to him?’ - -‘Fegs, miss, it seems that last night, as he was descendin’ the steps -from the vesthry, he thripped, God help us! an’ fell on his ugly mug an’ -broke his front teeth.’ - -‘Oh, how dreadful!’ says Susan, real compassion in her tone, though the -new curate is rather farther beyond the range of her sympathy than even -the old. ‘I wonder father hasn’t heard of it.’ - -‘It seems the poor gintleman is keeping it dark,’ says Miss Ricketty, -‘wid the thought of gettin’ thim put in agin widout anyone knowin’. -But’—wrathfully—‘’twill be no use for him. I see that villain of a -Salter down there’—with a glance out of the window—‘tellin’ every wan of -it. Why, ye must have seen him yerself, miss, as ye come by.’ And -suddenly Susan does remember the crowd round Salter’s shop-door, with -Salter himself in its midst. ‘He’s got hould of it, for sure, and if he -has ’twill be short shrift for Misther Haldane.’ - -‘But why?’ asks Susan. - -‘Why, this, miss! He hates your clergy because he’s not in wid ye, like. -A Methody he is; an’ Mr. Haldane goes agin his grain, wid the candles -an’ the flowers an’ that, an’ he says how that Mr. Haldane had a dhrop -too much last night when he thripped on the vesthry stairs.’ - -‘What a shame!’ says Susan indignantly. ‘I know for a fact that Mr. -Haldane is——’ - -‘Yes, of course, miss. But that’s how thim Methodys does. An’ as for -that Salter himself, I don’t believe in him. ’Tis a power o’ whisky he -can get undher his own belt widout bein’ found out, until his timper is -up. I know for a fact that ’twas only a week ago that he bate his poor -wife until she let a screech out of her that would have waked Father -D’Arcy himself, only that the seven sleepers aren’t a patch on him.’ - -It appears she cannot even spare her parish priest! Susan, who has -risen, and who is now dragging Jacky from under the counter, where he -has been in hot pursuit of a kitten, bids her old friend good-bye for -the present. - -‘You’ll tell Miss Barry about the clutch,’ says the spinster; and ‘Yes!’ -shouts Susan into the terminus, a little louder than usual, perhaps, -because Miss Ricketty lifts up her hand and shakes it at her -reproachfully. - -‘Wan would think I was deaf,’ says she tragically, whereupon both she -and Susan laugh together. The girl’s happy mirth—seen if not -heard—delights the old maid behind the counter. - -‘Good-bye, me dear, an’ God bless you!’ says she, and, disdaining to -even see Susan’s pennies, she thrusts a big parcel of sweets into -Jacky’s small hands. - -‘Keep a few for Masther Bonnie,’ whispers she, as she kisses him and -sends him after his sister. - -At the door, however, Susan turns back, and once more calls down the -trumpet: - -‘You will contradict that thing about Mr. Haldane, won’t you?’ says she; -‘surely it is bad enough that he should have lost his front teeth, -without having scandalous stories spread about him. Besides, they will -make father very unhappy.’ - -‘I’ll look afther him,’ says Miss Ricketty, ‘if only to oblige ye, me -dear; though, I think, I’m not wantin’. Providence seems to have his eye -on that young man.’ - -‘Oh, poor man! I’m afraid not,’ says Susan; ‘he was ugly enough before, -and now his front teeth are gone!’ - -‘That’s it,’ says Miss Ricketty; ‘whin next ye look at him, ye’ll see -what a fine openin’ the Lord has made for him.’ - -The last vision Susan has of Miss Ricketty shows her leaning back in her -chair, with her apron over her bonnet, convulsed with joy at her own -wit. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - - ‘Nature often enshrines gallant and noble hearts in weak - bosoms—oftenest, God bless her! in female breasts.’ - - -Quite close to the gardens Susan meets one of the under-gardeners at -Crosby Park. - -‘I suppose Master Jacky and I can go in and see the gardens, Brown?’ - -‘Oh yes, miss, o’ course. But I’m afraid there’s no one there. As it -happens, no one’s working there to-day. ’Tis a holiday, you know, miss. -An’ the gates are locked.’ - -It happens, indeed, to be a saint’s day, or holiday—one of the -innumerable saints’ days that are held sacred in Ireland, and on which -no man will work, if he is a Roman Catholic labourer, though the loss of -the day’s hire is a severe strain upon his slender resources. And the -funny part of this arrangement is that, though they are too religious to -support their families by working on these days, they never know what -saint’s day it is, or anything in the world about him—or her. - -‘Oh!’ says Susan; she had forgotten about its being a holiday, though -both the maids had gone to chapel in the morning, leaving her and Betty -to make up the many beds. Her tone is so disappointed that Brown drags -out a key from his trousers pocket. - -‘If ye’ll take this, miss, ye can let yoself in, an’ ye can lave it at -the lodge wid Mrs. Donovan whin ye’re goin’ back.’ - -‘Oh, thank you, Brown!’ says Susan joyfully; and diving into her pocket, -she produces twopence (it is quite a sum for Susan, whose pennies are -very scarce), and gives it to him, an instinct born with her—a sort of -pride—compelling her to reward the underling. And yet she had refused to -give Tommy—the baby, the youngest of all, and the dearest to her of the -children after Bonnie—a halfpenny out of that twopence only this -morning. - -‘Thank you, miss,’ says Brown, with considerably more gratitude than he -would have shown another if she had given him half a crown, and Susan, -who had paid for the key quite as much for her own sake as for Jacky’s, -goes on her way rejoicing. - -Yes, the gate is locked. Susan, having unlocked it, carefully removes -the key, locks it on the other side, and goes down the broad, beautiful, -scented path with Jacky beside her. Some of the houses are near, but not -so worthy of notice as those that come after, and through these they -hurry to the great glass ones beyond—where the roses are all a-growing, -all a-blowing, in magnificent profusion—that are always kept up in a -very perfect state, though the master of them be in the Soudan or North -America, or among the highest peaks of the Andes. - -Between these two sets of houses runs a wall, now laden with -cherry-trees in full fruit, and as Susan and her brother emerge from the -seedling-house into the freer air, she catches sight of something that -brings her to a standstill. - -Against the wall where the cherries are growing stands a ladder, and on -the top of it—a man. - -Now, Susan knows all the gardeners at Crosby Park, and even those -beneath them, and certainly this man is not one of them. - -She turns and retreats on Jacky, who is just behind her, and for a -moment fear covers her. She has never been brought face to face with a -thief before—few girls have been—and a desire to fly is the thought -uppermost in her breast. She glances upward fearfully to the figure on -the top of the wall, who is hastily pulling off the cherries and -dropping them into the basket he has slung on to the top of the ladder. -She draws her breath quickly. Could anything be more premeditated—could -anything show more plainly what a determined rogue he is? And to-day of -all days! A holiday, when, of course, he knew that all the gardeners -would be away, and the place safe to him! No doubt he had climbed the -outside wall—thieves can do anything—and had found the ladder inside -with which to rob poor Mr. Crosby, who is now goodness knows how many -miles away. - -Susan stands rooted to the ground, not knowing whether to stay or fly. -Old stories of heroines return to her, and it seems to her that it would -be base to steal away now and say nothing; even if she happened to gain -the walk outside, it is doubtful whether she should meet any servant, -this being a saint’s day; and if she did, would he be willing to tackle -a real live thief single-handed? As she hesitates, she again looks at -the man, and notices that he is glancing from right to left, hesitating, -as if either uneasy or else with a view to choosing the best fruit. Both -ideas anger her, but the second more than the first. Uneasy? of course -he is! And no wonder, too! A thief must necessarily be uneasy. And to -attempt to steal here, in this lovely secluded place! - -The owner of Crosby Park has been so long away that Susan has almost -adopted his place as her own. Many years ago Mr. Crosby, who had been a -pupil of Mr. Barry’s, had given directions that every member of the -Barry family should have free right to his grounds, and Susan, once come -to years of discretion—not so long ago—has taken great advantage of this -kindly permission. It is so near to the Vicarage, and so lovely! All its -walks and pretty windings are so well known to her. They have been much -to her, indeed, during all these years, though so little to the actual -possessor of them, who has evidently found more pleasure in shooting -grizzlies than in cultivating cherries. - -That now someone has come to steal these cherries seems dreadful to -Susan. With that poor man away, too—at the end of the world probably, -shooting, or being shot by, some of those awful Indians! Again she casts -her frightened glance at the thief, still high on his ladder and secure -from detection now that all the servants are away; and something in his -air—an insolent security, perhaps—drives her to action. - -No, she will not fly! She will tell him, at all events, what she thinks -of him before flying. She makes her way straight to the foot of the -ladder, wrath in her bosom, and addresses him. - -‘I wonder you aren’t ashamed of yourself!’ cries she, righteous -indignation in her tones and in her lovely uplifted eyes. - -The sweet voice rings up the ladder. The start that the thief on the top -of it gives, when he hears her, condemns him to all eternity in Susan’s -eyes. ‘No one,’ argues Susan to herself, ‘ever starts unless he is -guilty.’ Susan is very young. - -The man casts a sidelong glance at her. It is so one-sided that Susan -hardly sees him, but evidently he is trembling, conscience-stricken, -because he makes no reply. - -‘Come down!’ says Susan again, her courage mounting with the occasion. -Her tone is now severely calm, and without a vestige of fear. After all, -he is a poor creature whom even a girl can frighten, so small is the -courage of the unrighteous! ‘Do you know what you are doing? You’—with -accumulated scorn—‘are stealing!’ - -This terrible charge brings the culprit round. He sinks upon the topmost -rung of the ladder, as if overcome, and pulls his cap over his eyes, -evidently to avoid recognition. Says Susan to herself: ‘He is ashamed, -poor creature!’ and seeing the abject attitude of the wretch, she grows -bolder, and presses the wondering Jacky to her side, and tells him to -take courage. This poor man will not kill them. No—no, indeed. - -‘Yes, stealing,’ repeats she, her fair, beautiful face uplifted to the -sinner’s above her. There is a second pause, during which, perhaps, the -sinner takes note of it. - -‘I——’ begins he, then pauses. Susan’s eyes are looking into his, and -Susan’s face, implacable and austere, no doubt has daunted him. But -Susan tells herself that conscious guilt has rendered him silent. After -awhile, however, he makes another attempt. - -‘I——’ says he again, and again stops. It is contemptible! Susan turns a -scornful glance upon him. - -‘It is not to be defended,’ says she. ‘To steal from a garden like this! -From a garden that the owner has so kindly left open to many people—who -has besides been so kind, and who has helped all the poor in the -district. He has given forty blankets where another has given ten, and -coals without restriction everywhere. And these beautiful gardens, -too—he has given these as a recreation to some who have no lovely -gardens of their own; and now you take advantage of a day like this, -when all the servants are away, to defraud this kind, kind man and steal -his cherries. Oh, how can you bear to be so bad?’ - -‘If you would hear me!’ begins the man on the top of the ladder, in a -low tone. He is evidently immensely touched by the scorn of the young -evangelist below, because his voice is very low and uncertain. - -‘There is nothing to be said,’ says Susan, her eyes gleaming with honest -disgust. ‘There is no excuse for you. You are here stealing Mr. Crosby’s -cherries, and, as I said before, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.’ - -‘Still, miss, if you would listen a moment!’ He has pulled his cap even -closer over his brows. - -‘You needn’t do that,’ says Susan. ‘Poor creature! you need not be -afraid of me; I will not give you up to justice!’ - -‘Thank you kindly, miss,’ comes from the wretched creature behind the -cap. He is evidently struggling with emotion. - -‘I don’t want you to thank me,’ says Susan, who is feeling inclined to -cry. She has often read of thieves, but never met one until now, and it -seems to her, all at once, that they are decidedly interesting, so ready -to hear—to receive admonition, too. ‘I want you to promise me that for -the future you will abstain from—from thieving of any sort.’ - -‘I’ll promise you, miss—I will indeed. I’d promise you anything.’ Poor -thing! he seems quite overcome. ‘But, miss, I wasn’t really stealing -just now.’ - -‘Oh, nonsense!’ says Susan; a revulsion of feeling makes her once again -hard to him. Confession is good for the soul, but denial—and such a -useless denial, too, caught in the act as he is—savours of folly, that -worst of all things, for which there is no forgiveness. - -‘Do you think I did not see you? Why, look at that basket; it is nearly -full. How can you say you were not stealing those cherries? Better to -show some regret than to carry off your crime in such a barefaced way.’ - -It is hardly barefaced, the unhappy culprit’s face being now quite -hidden by his cap. - -‘Just think,’ says Susan, her clear, sweet voice trembling with grief -because of this sinner; ‘if you had a garden, would you like people to -come into it and steal your fruit?’ - -The poor thief is evidently beginning to feel the situation acutely. He -has taken out his handkerchief in a surreptitious fashion, and is -rubbing his eyes with it. - -‘I shouldn’t mind if it was you, miss,’ says he, in a stifled tone. - -Poor thing! he is evidently very sorry. - -‘You won’t give me up, miss?’ - -‘No, no!’ cries Susan hastily. ‘But I do hope you see and are grieved -for what you are doing. When people are so good and so generous as to -let other people go through their grounds and get a great deal of -enjoyment out of them, I think the least those others may do is to -respect them, and their shrubs, and fruit, and flowers.’ - -‘You’re right, miss. I seem as if I never saw it like that till now.’ - -‘Ah! that’s what they all say,’ says Susan sadly, and with a sigh. She -has a good deal to do with her father’s impenitent penitents. ‘But you -are no doubt from some distant parish. A tramp, I suppose,’ says Susan, -with another sigh. ‘At all events, I am sure you do not belong to this -part of the world, as your voice is strange to me.’ - -‘I’ve come a long way, miss, indeed.’ - -‘Poor man! Perhaps you are hungry,’ says Susan. Again she searches her -pocket, and produces the last coin in it—the last coin she has in the -world, for the matter of that—and lays a sixpenny bit on the lowest rung -of the ladder. - -‘Perhaps this may help you,’ says she. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any more, -but I haven’t. And now remember I expect you to keep your promise. I -shall not report you, or get you into trouble of any sort; in fact, -this’—gently—‘shall be a secret between you and me; but I do expect you -to go away without those cherries, and with the promise never to steal -again.’ - -‘I promise you that, miss, most gratefully. I’ll never steal again. But, -miss, might I give the cherries to you or the young gentleman?’ - -‘No, no!’ says Susan in horror. She catches Jacky’s hand and draws him -away from temptation. After going a yard or two, however, she looks -back; and the thief, who has been looking after her, again pulls his cap -hurriedly over his guilty face. - -‘The gate is locked,’ says she; ‘how will you get out?’ - -‘The way I came, miss,’ says the bad man, with open signs of contrition. - -‘I see—yes,’ says Susan sadly. ‘But go at once. I trust you—remember.’ - -‘I’ll never forget it, miss,’ says the unhappy man, sinking down upon -the ladder and covering his face with his hands. - -‘Jacky,’ says Susan, when they have left the garden and locked the door -carefully behind them, ‘if you ever say a word about that poor creature, -I’ll never think the same of you again. Do you hear? He is a wretched -thief; but I have given my word not to betray him, and you must give -your word too. Poor man! I think he was sincerely sorry. You won’t say a -word at home or anywhere, Jacky?’ - -‘No,’ says Jacky. He looks at her. ‘Why couldn’t you have taken the -cherries?’ says he. - -It takes the entire remainder of the walk home to make the ‘why’ clear -to him. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - - ‘He knew not what to say, - And so he swore!’ - - -Wyndham, when he met Susan, had been in rather a disgusted mood. Shortly -after the Professor’s death he had gone to Norway for a month with the -friend whom he had arranged to go with on the morning following the -luckless night that had seen the last of the Professor’s experiment. He -had induced his friend to wait for him—the latter consenting with rather -a bad grace—until the Professor’s funeral was over and his affairs -looked into. He had had a last conversation with Denis about the -uninvited guest whom the latter had taken to the Cottage, and had told -him to find a suitable home for her at once, comfortable—luxurious even, -if necessary, as she was now undoubtedly the possessor of three hundred -a year—but, at all events, to get her out of the Cottage without further -delay. He spoke peremptorily, and Denis promised all things; yet only -yesterday, on his return, he had heard from Denis’s own lips that still -that girl was located in the Cottage. - -‘Didn’t I tell you to get her a home somewhere else?’ - -‘Ye did, sir—ye did. Faix, I don’t wondher ye’re mad, but ‘twasn’t aisy -to do it.’ - -‘To do what?’—firmly. - -‘To get her to go.’ - -‘What nonsense! A girl like that—as if she could resist! Why, one would -think there wasn’t a policeman anywhere. Do you mean to tell me she -refused to go?’ - -‘No, sir; that’s not me manin’. ’Tis that ould fool of a wife o’ mine. -It seems she got set upon her wan way or another, an’ do all I could I -couldn’t git her to turn the young lady out. “There’s room for us all -here,” says Bridget. “But that’s not his ordhers,” says I—manin’ you, -sir. “But whin is she to go?” says she. “That’s nothing to me,” says I. -“’Tis so,” says she. “A comfortable home he tould ye to git for her, and -where’ll she find wan but here?” An’ divil a fut I could move her from -that. Don’t you iver get married, Misther Paul; it will be the undoin’ -o’ ye. Ye won’t have a mind o’ yer own in six months.’ - -‘I’ve a mind now, any way,’ says Wyndham, still swearing, ‘and that is -to get rid of you without another second’s notice.’ - -‘An’ I’m not surprised, sir,’ says Denis, drawing himself up and -saluting. He is an old soldier. ‘It was most flagrant disobadience. But -what can ye do wid a woman, sir? Fegs, nothing—nothing at all. They -carries all before thim—even a man’s conscience. When Bridget refused to -let her go, what could I do?’ He pauses satisfied, having put the blame -upon his particular Eve. ‘Is it yer wish that I tackle Bridget agin, -sir?’ - -‘No; I shall go down to Curraghcloyne myself to-morrow,’ says Wyndham, -getting rid of him with a gesture. - -He had gone down, had met Susan, had read something in her face that -seemed to him (whose senses were very much alive to impressions on the -subject) to be studying him—wondering at him. It was with a still more -enraged feeling he left her, and went on to the Cottage, where, to his -supreme indignation, he found, for the first time on record, the -entrance-gate locked. - -Good heavens! What could be the meaning of this? Were they determined to -compromise him in the eyes of the world? When he has rung the bell until -it is hopelessly smashed, someone comes to the gate, and without opening -it says, in a voice evidently meant to alarm any unwelcome intruder: - -‘Who’s there?’ - -‘Only the master of this place,’ says Wyndham grimly, who has recognised -Mrs. Denis’s handsome brogue even under these new conditions. Indeed, it -would be hard to mistake it anywhere; as Fitzgerald, who knows her, -says, ‘you could sit on it at any moment without the slightest chance of -a breakdown.’ - -‘Glory be!’ comes in a muffled tone from Mrs. Denis, and, with -tremendous fuss and flurry, she draws the bolt, unlocks the gate, and -opens it wide to Wyndham. - -‘Oh, yer honour, who’d a’ thought to see yerself this day! Faix, I -thought ’twas still in thim haythin countries ye were. Sure, if I’d -known I’d have had the gates open to yer honour; and I hope ye’ll -forgive me cap, sir—I’ve another wan just ironed, an’——’ - -‘Are you preparing for a siege?’ demands Wyndham grimly; ‘or what may be -the reason of this “barring out” on your part? Anything threatening on -the part of the Land Leaguers or the Home Rulers round here?’ - -‘Oh, law, sir! How could ye think o’ sich a thing? It was only that the -young lady, sir, was a trifle nervous.’ - -‘She will have to take her nerves somewhere else,’ says the barrister. -‘Now, Mrs. Denis, I hear from your husband that it is your fault that -this—this distinctly undesirable person is still a resident in my -house.’ - -Mrs. Denis, who has been bowing and scraping up to this, now grows -suddenly alert. - -‘Arrah, what are ye sayin’ at all?’ says she. ‘D’ye mane to tell me that -Denis knew ye were come back, and niver give me tale or todin’s of it?’ - -‘That is altogether beside the question. The thing is——’ - -‘Faix, the raal thing is this,’ says Mrs. Denis, ‘that I’ll break ivery -bone in that thraitor’s skin the next time I see him! Why,’ says she, -squaring her arms and growing so wrathful that the questionable cap on -the top of her head begins to quiver, ‘sixpence would have brought any -boy down from Dublin wid the news of yer return, and’—with a truly noble -declaration of an innate dishonesty—‘I could thin have’—she stops -herself, happily, at the last moment—‘made mesilf clane to meet ye,’ -says she. - -Wyndham, who is sufficiently Irish himself to put in the broken -paragraph, smiles coldly. - -‘I am not going to discuss Denis with you,’ says he. ‘What I want to -know is why these gates are locked.’ - -‘Well, sir, there was this: when the young lady came she was that upset -wid bad thratement of wan sort or another that she seemed to be -tremblin’ all over. But whin I questioned her as to what ailed her, not -a word could I git out of her. I put her to bed, an’ she just clung to -the wall like, turnin’ an’ twistin’ her purty head, an’ always keepin’ -away from me, an’ refusin’ the tay even, till the night came down upon -us. Ye will remimber, sir, that it was in the airly mornin’ that -Denis——’ At this word she breaks off, and grows again intensely angry. - -‘That varmint,’ says she, ‘what did he mane by not tellin’ me? Wait till -I get me hands on him!’ - -‘Yes, the early morning,’ says Wyndham, bringing her back somewhat -impatiently to the place where she had broken off. - -‘Well, yes, sir. I beg yer pardon. She come in the airly mornin, an’ I -could see at once that she was very sad at her heart, an’ so I just tuk -her in as I tell ye, for Denis, though a divil all out in most -ways’—here again a most ominous frown settles on her forehead—‘is still -a man to be depended on where a woman is concerned. And so I tuk her in -to oblige ye, sir.’ - -‘To oblige me!’ says Wyndham. - -‘Well, sir, I thought so thin. An’’—she pauses, and looks straight at -him—‘an’ ye’ll nivver regret it, sir. If ye saw her a bit afther she -came, an’ her delight at yer purty place! “Why, there’s flowers -growin’,” she’d say, as if she never see them before, except whin -sellin’! “And, Mrs. Denis,” says she, “I like these walls,” says she. -“They is so high,” says she. “An’ it would be very hard for anyone,” -says she, “to git through thim, or even to look over thim.” Faith, ’tis -little the crayture knows of the boys round here, I said to meself whin -she said that. But I declare to ye, sir, it went to me heart whin she -said it, for it made it plain to me like that there was someone in her -life that she was thinkin’ of, that she didn’t want to get through these -walls or over thim aither. If he did, I could gather from what she said -that it would be wid no good intintions towards herself.’ - -‘Has she said anything as to where she came from or who she is?’ asks -Wyndham, with most disgraceful want of sympathy for this moving story. - -‘No, sir, sorra a word, barrin’ that she was very unhappy until yer -honour sint her here.’ - -‘Till I sent her here! What on earth do you mean?’ says Wyndham -indignantly. ‘You must know very well that it was that blundering idiot -of a husband of yours that brought her here.’ - -‘Fegs, ’tis plain that ye know Denis, any way,’ says Denis’s wife -complacently. ‘Idjit is the word for him, sure enough! But however it -is, sir, the poor young lady is very continted here entirely, -an’’—waxing enthusiastic—‘’twould do your heart good to hear her singin’ -about the garden, for all the world like wan o’ thim nate little -thrushes.’ - -This expectation on Mrs. Denis’s part, that he will find delight in the -thought of the unwelcome stranger making herself at home in his garden -and singing there like a ‘nate little thrush,’ naturally adds fuel to -the fire that already is burning vigorously in Wyndham’s breast. - -‘Look here,’ says he, so fiercely that Mrs. Denis starts backwards, -‘you’ve taken a wrong impression of me altogether, if you think I shall -for one moment sanction the presence of that girl here. Your husband has -got me into this mess with his confounded stupidity, but I can trust -myself to get out of it—and I expect you to understand at once that your -“thrush”’—scornfully—‘will be out of this within twenty-four hours.’ - -With this he brushes by her, his temper—never very sweet—now -considerably the worse for wear. - -Nice situation, by Jove! If it comes to the old man’s ears there will be -the devil to pay; and it’s sure to. He had felt there was something -queer in his aunt’s and Josephine’s manner yesterday when he called at -their house in Fitzwilliam Square. Why, if it gets about, there isn’t -one in forty amongst his acquaintances who will believe in the real -facts of the case.... It is a most confounded affair altogether. If he -hadn’t gone abroad, trusting—like the fool that he was—in Denis’s -ability to get her out of the Cottage at once, he could have done it -himself, and so speedily that no one would ever have been the wiser -about it. But now it has gone a little too far; people, no doubt, are -beginning to talk. Well, it shall go no farther. He will put an end to -it at once—this moment. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - - ‘My heart is sad and heavy, - In this merry month of May, - As I stand beneath the lime-tree - On the bastion old and gray.’ - - -‘This moment’ has come. As Mrs. Denis, routed, but by no means -vanquished, disappears hastily round one corner of the pretty cottage, -someone else comes round the other. A young girl, singing sweetly, -merrily, though in a subdued voice. Just as she reaches her corner she -looks behind her; her singing ceases, and an amused look brightens her -face—a face that has known much sadness. Again she looks behind her, as -if expecting something, this time turning her back on Wyndham; and now, -a moment later, a huge dog tears across the grass and literally flings -himself upon the girl, whose tall but slender frame seems to give way -beneath his canine embraces. For a second only; then she recovers -herself, her pliant body sways forward, and, catching the dog’s handsome -head in her arms, a merry tussle ensues between them. It is almost a -dance, so agile is the girl, so bent is the dog on entering into the -spirit of the fun with all his heart. - -Wyndham, watching, feels no sense of amusement. Indignation is still -full upon him, and now it grows more intense as he sees the dog—his -dog—a brute hitherto devoted to himself, lavishing its affection upon an -utter stranger. - -He makes an impatient movement, which the dog’s quick eye sees, and, -bolting from his late companion, he comes bounding towards Wyndham, from -whom, it must be confessed, he gets but a poor welcome. - -The girl, turning, surprised at the dog’s desertion of her, becomes -suddenly aware that there is someone beyond, and as Wyndham emerges into -sight she makes a movement to fly, then stands stricken, as if turned to -stone. - -It is impossible, under the circumstances, but that she should be known -to Wyndham; but as he looks at her he tells himself that, if he had not -known that Denis had brought her down here on the morning of the -Professor’s death, he would never have recognised her. Her dress, for -one thing, is so different. Of course he had found time to send a cheque -to Mrs. Moriarty before going abroad for the use of the ‘waif,’ as he -had somehow called the girl to himself, not knowing her name—a sum -handsome enough to dress her as the young heiress of a most unexpected -three hundred a year should be dressed—and it comes to him now that the -‘waif’ had not been slow in the spending of it. No doubt Mrs. Moriarty -had been the ‘middle man,’ but the ‘waif’ had known what she was about, -or else some well-born instinct had directed her. - -‘Well born!’ Pah! A poor, miserable girl like that, with a shawl thrown -over her head when first he saw her—and yet, her face, her feet—— - -He can see them from beneath her petticoats. They are not like mice, by -any means, but they are of the proportions usually assigned to those who -have many grandfathers, and they are very delicately clad. - -If he had not recognised her at all at first, she had barely recognised -him. That was because of the surprise—the shock, perhaps. She had almost -come to believe in the possibility of living here always and alone, -never seeing anyone except kind Mrs. Moriarty and Nero, the dog. - -She has turned as white as death; and Wyndham, looking at her, tells -himself it is the memory of that last dreadful night, when she had -accepted death as her portion, rather than the life that lies behind -her, that has blanched her cheeks and brought that terror into her eyes. - -But in a minute all these theories of the clever barrister are distilled -and float into air. - -Having seen him, and dwelt upon his face, the colour in her own face has -crept back, and with a sharp sigh of relief she draws nearer to him -slowly, the dog, who has gone back to her, following, his muzzle in her -hand. - -‘I—I thought you were a stranger,’ says she faintly. - -It is an odd sentence. A stranger! What else is he to her? Her manner, -however, makes it clear to him that she has lived, since her entrance -into the Cottage, in constant dread of being discovered by someone, and -of being dragged back to a former existence—to which death, as she had -proved to him that night, seems far preferable. - -This accounts for the locked gates, and the girl’s admiration for the -walls—an admiration that no doubt has but little to do with the ivy and -the Virginian creeper, now throwing out its palest leaves of green, and -the other trailing glories that have lifted them into a dream of beauty. - -‘Your thought was very nearly right,’ says Wyndham, with a cold smile; -he is quite unmoved by the nervous pallor and the frightened expression -on the young face before him. Barristers after a while get accustomed to -young, frightened faces, and lose their interest in them. ‘But, no -doubt, you remember me?’ - -He pauses, and the girl looks at him for a moment. - -‘Yes,’ says she slowly, her eye sinking to the ground. That last -dreadful scene, in which he had played so conspicuous a part, and when -in the sullenness of her despair she had welcomed death, lies once again -clear as a picture to her eyes. She shudders, and a faint moisture -breaks out upon her forehead. - -‘I am glad to see you quite recovered,’ says he in a tone which belies -his words. ‘If you will be so good as to come indoors, I should like to -speak to you for a few minutes about your future.’ - -His tone is so curt, so positively unpleasant, that the girl, colouring -deeply and without another word, moves towards the hall-door of the -charming cottage, and leads the way through the porch—so exquisitely -festooned with delicate greeneries—into the long many-windowed room -beyond. This room runs the entire length of the house, and overlooks the -garden. As she goes a deep melancholy falls upon her. What has he come -to say? Why is his manner so unkind? That night—that awful night—he had -seemed to befriend her—to take her part—and now—— - -‘You are of course aware,’ says Wyndham formally, when they have reached -the drawing-room—the drawing-room that used to be his, but that now -seems to slip out of his possession, as he sees the slender figure of -the girl turn after his entrance, as if to receive him. ‘You are of -course aware that the late Professor, Mr. Hennessy, left you three -hundred a year?’ - -The girl, standing midway between one of the windows and Wyndham, makes -a slight affirmative movement of her head. She would have spoken, but -words failed her. - -‘That was in accordance with his promise to you. If the experiment -failed, well’—with a careless shrug—‘there was nothing. If it was -successful—you were to be the gainer by it.’ - -His voice is clear, unemotional; there is a sort of ‘laying down the -law’ about it that takes every spark of sympathy that there might have -been quite out of it. - -‘Yes.’ This time she manages to speak, but she colours as she speaks, -and blushes very painfully; and now her eyes seek the ground. If one -were to exactly describe her, one would say—but very reluctantly, I -think—that she looks ashamed. - -‘With three hundred a year you should be able to——’ - -She interrupts him. - -‘It is too much—far too much,’ says she, with an effort. ‘I don’t want -so much as that. Fifty pounds a year would be enough; I am sure I -could——’ - -She stops. - -‘All that is beyond question,’ says the barrister coldly. ‘It was the -Professor’s wish that you should have three hundred a year, and now that -he is gone, there can be no further argument about it. He has no near -relations so far as I can make out, so that there is no reason why you -should not accept the money left to you by him. What I came to-day for -was, not about the Professor’s gift to you, but to know what you intend -to do with it.’ - -‘With it?’ - -‘Yes; what, in fact, are you going to do?’ - -‘What am I going to do?’ She looks up at him for the first time; a -startled expression grows in her large dark eyes. - -‘We all have a future before us,’ says Wyndham, ‘and you——’ He hesitates -here, hardly knowing how to go on with those earnest eyes on his. ‘Of -course I feel that, for the time being, I am in a sense bound to look -after you, the Professor being an old friend of mine, and you——’ Again -he stops. It seems impossible, indeed, to refer to that strange scene -where he had had so prominent a part. ‘You will understand,’ says he, -‘that the Professor wished you to be placed in an assured position, and -he left me to see to that.’ - -Here the girl makes a sharp movement of her hands descriptive of fear. - -‘Naturally,’ says Wyndham, in answer to that swift movement of the -pretty hands, ‘you object to my interference. But I must ask your -forbearance in a matter that’—with a steady look at her—‘does not -concern me in the slightest degree. You must really forgive me if I seem -impatient; but, as you are aware, I know nothing about you, and to look -after you as the Professor asked me to do requires thought. I am in -complete ignorance about you. I can see that you are educated, but -beyond that I know nothing.’ - -‘Ah! you know nothing indeed,’ says she quickly. ‘I am not educated. I -know hardly anything. I am one of the most ignorant people alive.’ - -‘And yet——’ - -‘I have read anything I could find to read,’ interrupts she; ‘and at one -time I went to a day-school, but that is all.’ - -‘I see,’ says Wyndham. His tone is indifferent, but, inwardly, curiosity -is stirring him. So little education, and yet so calm, so refined a -manner! Who is this girl, with her well-bred air, but with, too, the -little touches here and there that betray the fact of her having lived -not only out of the fashionable world, but very far from even the -outskirts of it? What whim of fate has given her that shapely head, -those shell-like ears and pointed fingers, yet given her into the -clutches of the middle classes? - -‘You would wish to enlarge your studies?’ asks he presently. - -For the first time since she came towards him, in the garden outside, -she now lets her eyes rest frankly upon his. - -‘Oh, if I could!’ says she. - -‘That is very easily to be managed, I should think. You have three -hundred a year of your own, and can command advantages that hitherto, I -imagine, from what you say, have been withheld from you.’ He waits a -moment, as if expecting her to speak, to make some comment on his words, -but she remains mute. - -‘If you could tell me something of yourself—your history—what brought -you to this,’ says Wyndham, ‘it might make matters simpler for both you -and me.’ - -The girl shrinks backwards as though he had struck her. - -‘No, no!’ cries she quickly. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - - ‘I wept in my dream, for I fancied - That you had forsaken me; - I woke, and all night I lay weeping - Till morning, bitterly.’ - - -Wyndham lifts his brows. - -‘Pray do not distress yourself,’ says he. ‘It is a free country; you can -speak or be silent, just as you wish. It had merely occurred to me that -there might be friends of yours naturally very anxious about you, and -that I might convey to them a message from you.’ - -The unsympathetic nature of his tone has restored the girl to her usual -manner more than anything else could have done. She glances at him. - -‘Friends!’ says she bitterly. - -‘At all events,’ says Wyndham, who has now begun to acknowledge his -curiosity with regard to her even to himself, and is determined on -pushing the matter as far as possible, ‘there must be someone on the -look-out for you.’ - -At this she turns as white as death. - -‘Is there? Have you seen—have you’—she looks as though she is about to -faint—‘heard anything?’ - -‘Nothing—nothing at all!’ exclaims he quickly, a little shocked at her -agitation, that seems excessive. ‘Do not be frightened; I assure you I -know as little of anyone connected with you as I know of yourself.’ - -Here again he gives her an opening, if she wishes to make a declaration -of any sort, and again she remains mute. There is something even -obstinately silent in her whole air. - -Her hands in her lap are tightly clasped, as though to help her to keep -her secret to all eternity. - -‘You will not confide in me, I see,’ says he, with a little contemptuous -shrug; ‘and, after all, there is no earthly reason why you should. I am -as great a stranger to you as you are to me, and if I spoke at all it -was, believe me, because I fancied I might be of some assistance to you. -But women nowadays have taken the reins into their own hands, and I have -no doubt that you will be able to manage your own affairs to perfection. -In the meantime, however, if I can be of the slightest use to you in -looking out for a suitable home, for instance, I hope you understand I -shall be delighted to do all I can.’ - -The girl has drawn nearer during this speech, and is now standing before -him, the frightened eyes uplifted and her breath coming short and fast. -‘You mean—but here—can I not—might I not—a home, you said——’ - -‘Well, yes,’ says Wyndham. ‘A home where you might have a companion and -be very comfortable; but not here, you know.’ - -‘But——’ - -‘You can’t stay here, I’m afraid,’ says Wyndham, who, between his anger -and his suspicions of her, is beginning to wish he had never been born. - -The girl turns away from him, in so far that only her profile now can be -seen, whilst her right hand has caught hold of the back of a chair near -her, as if for support. - -‘But why?’ asks she, in a low tone. ‘Mrs. Moriarty likes me to be here.’ - -‘But, you see,’ says Wyndham gravely, ‘it is my house, and not Mrs. -Moriarty’s.’ - -‘Yes.’ She looks at him as if hardly understanding, but presently an -expression grows upon her face that gives him to know that she thinks -him churlish. - -‘It is quite a big house,’ says she. - -There is a pause—a pause in which he tells himself that evidently up to -this she had been accustomed to houses of very cramped limits. The -Circular Road in Dublin would supply such houses, built for respectable -artisans and clerks in commercial places, and the best of the decent -strata that cover the earth and are of the earth earthy. The Circular -Road, or some other road, has no doubt supplied the kind of house to -which the girl has been accustomed—this girl, with her pale patrician -face and her singular strength of mind. It is she who at last breaks the -silence. ‘There is plenty of room for me,’ says she. - -‘I know—of course I know that,’ says Wyndham hurriedly. ‘But then, you -see, it—it wouldn’t do, you see.’ - -He looks deliberately at her, as if to explain his meaning, but, nothing -coming of the look, he falls back once more upon facts. - -‘I come here sometimes,’ says he. - -‘Yes; Mrs. Denis told me that,’ says the girl. ‘But’—eagerly—‘I -shouldn’t be in the way at all. I could stay in that little room -belonging to Mrs. Denis—that little room off the kitchen.’ - -‘Oh, that isn’t it,’ says Wyndham, frowning in his embarrassment. How -the deuce is one to say it plainly to a girl who can’t, or won’t, or -doesn’t understand! ‘The fact is——’ He has begun with the greatest -bravery, determined to explain the situation at all hazards; but, -happening to meet her eyes, this clever barrister, who has faced many a -barefaced criminal victoriously, breaks down. The eyes he has looked -into are full of tears. - -‘Look here,’ says he almost savagely, ‘it’s out of the question! Do you -hear?’ His tone is so terribly abrupt that it strikes cold to the heart -of the poor girl looking at him. If he is going to turn her out of this -house, this haven of refuge, where—where can she go? - -She struggles with herself, some touch of dignity that belongs to -her—wherever she came from or whoever she is—giving her a certain -strength. - -‘Of course—I see——’ She is beginning to stammer dreadfully. ‘I am sorry -about it; but I thought—I fancied I could stay here. But now I can go—I -can go somewhere. There must be other places, and, indeed, just now you -told me there were other places, and that I could go to——’ - -She struggles with the word ‘them,’ the last of her sad sentence, but -can’t speak it; and now all her hard-found dignity gives way, to her -everlasting shame, and to Wyndham’s terrible discomfiture she bursts -into a passion of tears. - -‘Don’t do that,’ says Wyndham gruffly. It is impossible to conceal from -himself the fact that he is frightened out of his life. Fear because of -her tears is nothing, but it is with ever-increasing self-contempt that -he knows that he is going even so far as to give in and let her stay at -the Cottage. After all, there are many other places for him in this big -world, but for her, perhaps, not so many; and she seems to have set her -heart on this little spot, and, hang it all! why can’t she stop crying? - -‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ says she at last, trying passionately to stifle her -sobs. She has turned away from him to the window, and there is something -in her whole attitude so descriptive of despair, and fear, and shame, -that, in spite of his anger, pity for her rises in his heart. ‘I don’t -know why I’m crying; I don’t often cry. But if I leave this, where shall -I go? where shall I hide myself?’ - -What on earth has she done? Her words denote fear—a guilty fear. What if -he should be about to take as a tenant for the Cottage a well known and -hardened criminal, for whom, perhaps, the police are even now on the -look-out? Her face, however, belies her tone; and, for the rest, he has -not the courage to face again a flow of those pitiful tears. Stay she -must. - -One last protest, however, he makes as a salve to his conscience. - -‘What do you see in this place that so attracts you?’ asks he, with -ever-increasing grumpiness. The girl turns to him a flushed and tearful -face. - -‘I never knew what a home could be like till I came here,’ says she. -‘Never, never! You have had one—all the world has had one except me. It -means new life to me. Oh’—bitterly—‘it is the only life I have ever -known—the only happiness. If, sir’—she comes towards him and with a -little impulsive action holds out her hands—‘if I might stay——’ - -‘Well, you can,’ says he ungraciously. - -He gives in so suddenly, and she is naturally so unprepared for so quick -a surrender, that for a moment she says nothing. Her eyes are fixed on -him, however, as if trying to read him through; they are beautiful eyes, -and Wyndham, his professional instincts on the alert, finds himself -wondering what lies behind them in that brain of hers. - -‘Do you mean it?’ says she at last breathlessly; if you do, I cannot -thank you enough. Oh, to stay here within these lovely walls!’ -Instinctively she glances out of the window to the ivy-clad walls, as if -in their protection she finds great comfort. A moment later a cloud -gathers on her forehead. ‘But you don’t like me to stay,’ she says. - -‘It doesn’t matter what I like,’ says Wyndham, who certainly does not -shine on this occasion. ‘The arrangement we have come to now is that you -are to rent this cottage from me, at what sum we can agree about later -on.’ - -‘To rent it? I shall, then, be—— It’— she tries to hide the joy in her -eyes, feeling it to be indecent—‘it will belong to me?’ - -‘Yes,’ says Wyndham. At this moment he feels very little more will make -him positively hate her. - -‘It will no longer be yours?’ Her voice is trembling. - -‘In a sense, no.’ He turns and takes up his hat; this interview is -getting too much for him. There will be an explosion shortly if she goes -on like this. - -‘It seems very selfish,’ says the girl. She is looking at him, though -for the last three minutes he has refused to look at her. ‘I am taking -your house away from you.’ - -‘There are other houses.’ He is now putting on his gloves. - -‘Ah! that is as true for me as for you.’ - -‘We have come to an agreement, I think’—grimly. ‘Let us keep to it.’ He -turns to the door. - -‘You are going?’ says she nervously. She follows him. ‘You——’ She stops, -and courtesy compels him to look back. Two troubled eyes meet his. - -‘When——’ stammers she. - -‘I shall come down some day next week to make final arrangements,’ says -he impatiently, and again takes a step or two away, getting so far this -time as to turn the handle of the door. Here, however, again he glances -back. She is standing where he last saw her, her young face looking -troubled, frightened, and uncertain. - -‘Next week,’ repeats he jerkily. It is disagreeable to him to think that -it is through his fault that the nervous anxiety has crept into her -eyes. ‘And—er—good-bye.’ He certainly had not meant to do it, but he now -holds out his hand to her, and with a little swift, eager movement she -comes to him and slips her own into it. - -A slim little hand, and beautifully shaped, but brown, and looking a -little as though it had done some hard work in its time, yet the grace -with which she gives it to him is exquisite. - - * * * * * - -Just at the gate he meets Mrs. Denis again. - -‘This young lady,’ says he abruptly, ‘seems to have set her heart upon -living here. It is extremely unpleasant for me, but she appears to have -no other place to go to. She will therefore become my tenant. She will, -you understand, take the Cottage from me.’ - -‘Bless us an’ save us!’ says Mrs. Denis. ‘An’ yer honour—what will you -do?’ - -‘Keep out of it,’ says Wyndham coldly. ‘I suppose she will arrange to -keep you on. She——What’s her name?’—sharply. - -‘I don’t know, sir; she don’t seem to like to spake about it. Miss Ella -I calls her.’ - -‘Ella? Did you say her Christian name was Ella?’ - -‘Yes, sir.’ - -‘Ah!’—thoughtfully. ‘Well, good-bye.’ - -‘But, sir, you’ll be coming again?’ - -‘Yes, next week, to arrange about the rent; not after that.’ - -He strides through the gate and up the road. - -‘Faix, and I’m thinkin’ ye will,’ says Mrs. Denis, watching him with her -arms akimbo till he disappears round the corner. ‘’Tis mighty purty eyes -she’s got in that mighty purty head of hers. An’ so he’s not goin’ to -turn her out, after all! Didn’t I tell you, Bridget Moriarty,’ rubbing -her chin, on which a very handsome beard is growing, ‘that he’d soften -whin he put his glance upon her?’ - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - - ‘Jest and youthful jollity, - Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles, - Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles. - - -‘Where’s our beloved auntie?’ asks Mr. Fitzgerald, looking generally -round him from his seat on the tail of Betty’s gown. - -It is the evening of the same day, and still divinely warm. Not yet has -night made its first approach, and from bush to bush the birds are -calling, as if in haste to get as much merriment out of the departing -day as time will give them. From here—in the bushes round the -tennis-ground, the one solitary court that Carew Barry and his cousin, -Dom Fitzgerald, have made with their own hands, after a hard tussle with -the Rector for the bit of ground, that seemed to him quite a big slice -off his glebe—to the big syringa-tree beyond, the sweet, glad music of -the birds swells and grows, filling the evening air with delicate -throbbings. Ever the little creatures seem to call one to another; -passionately sometimes, as if bursting their little throats in their -wild joy, and anon softly, pleadingly, but always calling, calling, -calling. - -From the old-fashioned garden beyond comes the scent of the roses—all -old-world roses, as befits the garden, but none the less beautiful for -that. The rose céleste and the white rose unique, the cabbage rose and -the perfect rose of a hundred leaves, all lend their sweetness to the -air; indeed, on this June evening the place is ‘on fire with roses.’ - -The little group sitting on the edge of the tennis-ground seems very -happy and contented—lazy, perhaps, is a better word. Susan, as usual, -has Bonnie in her lap, and Tom, the baby, has fallen asleep with his -head on Betty’s knee. Jacky, still full of memories of the awful burglar -he had interviewed in the morning, is wondering whether he will raid the -village to-night, and if so, whether he will carry off Aunt Jemima; -whilst Carew, the eldest son, who is seventeen, and therefore a year -younger than Susan, is lazily dwelling on the best choice of a stream -for to-morrow’s fishing. - -His cousin, Dom Fitzgerald, is the first to break the lovely spell of -silence that has fallen on them. He is a cousin of the Barrys, and a -nephew of their father and of Miss Jemima Barry also, the Rector’s -sister, who, since the death of her sister-in-law, has always lived with -them, and who, if a most exemplary person, is certainly what is commonly -described as ‘trying.’ - -The parish of Curraghcloyne is small, the income even smaller. But if -Providence, in giving Mr. Barry this parish as his special charge, had -been niggardly to him in money matters, it had certainly made up to him -lavishly in another respect—it had given him, for example, a large, and -what promised to be an ever-increasing, family, so increasing, indeed, -that it would ultimately have beaten the record but for the untimely -death of Mrs. Barry, who had faded out of life at Tom’s birth. She was -then just thirty-two, but she looked forty. - -To her husband, however, gazing at her dead face, surrounded by its -lilies and white roses, she looked seventeen again—the age at which he -had married her—and though he was a man entirely wrapped up in his books -and theories, it is an almost certain thing that he never forgot her, -and that he mourned and lamented for her as few men whose lives are set -in smoother places do for their beloved. - -Miss Barry, his sister, came on the death of his wife and took -possession of the house, Susan being then just thirteen. She had but a -bare sum wherewith to clothe and keep herself, and was therefore of -little use in helping the household where money was concerned; and it -was therefore with a sense of thankfulness that the Rector four years -ago accepted the charge of Dominick Fitzgerald, an orphan, and the son -of a stepbrother of his wife. - -The poor, pretty wife was then a year dead, but he knew all about -Dominick’s people. The Rector himself came of a good old Irish family, -and his wife had been even more highly connected. Indeed, the lad who -came to Mr. Barry four years ago, though he had inherited little from -his father, would in all probability succeed to his uncle’s title and -five or six thousand a year—a small thing for a baronet, but, still, -worth having. Of course, there was always a chance that the uncle, a -middle-aged man, might marry, though he was consumptive and generally an -invalid; but all that lay in the future, and at present it was decided -that the boy should be given a profession; but having proved remarkably -idle and wild at school—though nothing disgraceful was ever laid to his -charge—his uncle in one of his intervals of good health had desired that -he should be sent down to Mr. Barry, for whom Sir Spencer Fitzgerald had -an immense respect and a little fear, for a few reasons that need not be -specified, though, if Sir Spencer only knew it, the Rector was the last -man in the world to betray the secrets of anyone. - -The Rector accepted the charge gladly. He had passed several young men -(who had been private pupils of his before his marriage) very -successfully for the Civil Service, and he was doing his best for -Dominick now, whom from the very first he liked, in spite of the -reputation for idleness that came with him. - -Indeed, Dom Fitzgerald had fallen into the family circle as though it -had been made for him, and had grown to be quite a brother to his -new-found cousins. He at once grew fond of Susan, and became on the spot -a chum of Carew’s, who was reading with his father for the army and -expected to pass next year. And he quarrelled all day long with Betty, -who accepted him as a ‘pal’ from the moment of his appearing. Betty -inclined towards slang. - -As for the children, they all loved him; and, indeed, it must be said -that he loved them, and spent a considerable amount of the fifty pounds -allowed him for yearly pocket-money upon them. - -‘Well, where is she?’ persists he, turning a lazy eye from one to -another, at last resting it on Susan. - -‘She has gone down to Father Murphy’s about Jane,’ says Susan -reluctantly. ‘You know Jane is always breaking everything, and to-day -she broke that old cup of our great-grandmother’s, and Aunt Jemima was -very angry. She has gone to tell Father Murphy about it, and to say she -will never take a Roman Catholic servant again unless he punishes Jane -severely.’ - -‘And Father Murphy will laugh,’ says Carew, with a shrug. ‘He knows she -must take Catholic servants or do without them. All the Protestant girls -of that class here are farmers’ daughters, and either won’t go into -service at all, or else only to Lady O’Donovan’s or the O’Connors’.’ - -‘Oh, you should have heard Jane!’ cries Betty, going off into one of her -peals of laughter. ‘When Aunt Jemima had reduced her to a rage, she came -in weeping to me. All the forlorn hopes fall back upon me.’ - -‘True, even this poor old forlorn one,’ says Dom promptly, seizing his -opportunity to lift his head from her gown to drop it upon her lap. - -After which there is a scuffle. - -‘Oh, never mind Dom!’ says Susan impatiently. ‘What did Jane say to you -about the cup?’ - -‘She said——Go away, Dom.’ - -‘I’m sure she didn’t,’ says Dom, with an aggrieved air. ‘It’s an -aspersion on my character, Susan. You don’t believe this, do you?’ - -‘She said,’ goes on Betty, very properly taking no notice of the -interruption: ‘“Law, Miss Betty, miss, did ye iver hear the like o’ -that? Did ye iver hear such a row about nothin’?”’ - -‘“It wasn’t about nothing,” I said; “because you know how even father -valued that cup, though an uglier thing I never saw in my life.”’ - -‘“Fegs, I don’t know what ye call anythin’,” said Jane (she was crying -all the time; you know how she can roar); “but yer aunt herself tould me -that that cup is a hundhred years ould if a day, an’ wid that to make -sich a screech over it! Faix, it must have bin rotten wid age, miss; an’ -no wondher it come to bits in me hands.”’ - -They are all delighted with the story. - -‘I don’t think Aunt Jemima would have been so cross with poor Jane,’ -says Susan, in a low tone and with a glance round her to make sure of no -one’s being within hearing, ‘but for those eggs this morning.’ - -‘The eggs under the speckled hen?’ asks Jacky; ‘I heard her speaking -about them. Won’t they come out?’ - -Susan shakes her head, and Carew and Dominick edge a little out of -sight. The latter, under a pretence of feeling too warm, hides his face -under the big straw hat that Betty has thrown upon the grass beside her. - -‘They should have come out ten days ago,’ says Susan; ‘but they’—she -casts an uncertain glance at Carew, who has turned over and is now lying -with his face upon his arms, and is evidently developing ague-fever—‘but -they didn’t.’ - -‘Were they all addled?’ asks Jacky, with amazement. - -‘No; they were all boiled,’ says Susan. - -‘Boiled!’ says little Bonnie, sitting up with an effort. ‘Who boiled -them—the hen?’ - -At this there is a stifled roar from under Betty’s hat, whereupon the -owner of it lifts it and discovers Mr. Fitzgerald plainly on the point -of apoplexy. - -‘Just the sort of thing one would expect from you,’ says she scornfully. -‘No wonder you want to hide your face; but you shan’t do it under my -hat, anyhow.’ - -‘Oh, Carew, think of that poor hen waiting and waiting for three weeks, -and then for ten days more; I call it horrid,’ says Susan. ‘I really -think you ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you two.’ - -‘Ought we? Then we will be,’ says Dom; ‘never shall it be said that I -shirked my duty, at all events. Carew, get out of that, and be ashamed -of yourself instantly.’ - -‘Oh, that’s all very fine,’ says Betty, ‘trying to get out of it like -that; but let me tell you that I think——’ - -However, what Betty may think of people who put boiled eggs under -sitting hens is for ever lost to posterity, because at this moment Jane, -with red eyes and a depressed demeanour, comes hurrying up to them -across the small lawn, a covered basket in her hand. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - - ‘O, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!’ - - -‘For you, miss,’ says she, handing the basket to Susan. - -Susan turns crimson. That basket! She knows it well. - -‘For me?’ stammers she. - -‘Yes, miss.’ - -‘Who’—nervously—‘who brought it?’ - -‘A boy, miss.’ For an instant Susan’s heart feels relief, but for an -instant only. - -‘Whose boy?’ falters she. - -‘I don’t know, miss. He came an’ wint in a flash like. I hope, miss, as -there isn’t anythin’ desthructive in it,’ says Jane, whose misfortunes -of the morning have raised in her a pessimistic spirit. ‘They do say -thim moonlighters are goin’ about agin.’ - -‘Do you mean to say the—the messenger said nothing?’ - -‘No, miss, except that it was for you. That was all, miss; and I’m not -deaf, though I wish I was before I heard all that was said to me this -mornin’ about an ould cup that——’ Here she lifts her apron and sniffs -vigorously behind it. - -‘Oh, it can’t be for me,’ says Susan, with decision; ‘take it away, -Jane. There has been some mistake, of course. Take it away at once. Do -you hear? The—the boy will probably call for it again in a little time.’ - -‘I don’t think he will, miss; he looked like a runaway,’ says Jane. - -‘Good heavens! how interesting,’ says Mr. Fitzgerald, breaking at last -into the charmed silence that has held them all since the advent of Jane -and the mysterious basket. ‘Who can this unknown admirer be? No doubt it -contains roses’—staring at the basket—‘or heliotropes—heliotrope in the -language of flowers means devotion! Susan, are you above a peep?’ - -‘Yes, I am,’ says Susan hastily. - -‘I am not,’ says Betty, springing forward and pulling open the cover. -‘Oh, I say, cherries! and such beauties, too! Susan, you are in luck!’ - -‘And so are we,’ says Fitzgerald, putting a hand lightly over her -shoulder and drawing up a bunch of the pretty fruit between his fingers. - -‘Oh, I think we ought not to eat them—I do indeed,’ says Susan, in a -small agony. There can be no doubt now about the fact that the thief, -repentant and struck to the very soul by her eloquent pleadings, had -sought to redeem himself in her eyes by sending the stolen cherries to -her. Whether with a view of giving her the pleasure of eating them, or -with the higher desire of proving to her that he hadn’t devoured them, -must, she feels and hopes (because to meet him again would be very -unpleasant to her), for ever remain unknown. - -‘Poor fellow!’ thinks she, regarding the cherries with mixed emotions -that are not altogether devoid of admiration for her own hitherto -unimagined powers of persuasion; ‘he was certainly and sincerely -penitent. One could see that.’ She feels quite an uplifting of her soul. -Perhaps, who knows? she has been born as a worthy successor to Mrs. Fry, -or some of those good people! But then, after all, it is, undoubtedly, -to Mr. Crosby he should have made restitution, not to her. It is, -however, difficult to restore Irish cherries—a rather perishable -commodity—to an owner who happens to be at the moment in the middle of -Africa, or America, or China, for all she knows. - -‘Not eat them!’ says Betty indignantly. ‘Why, what else are you going to -do with them—make them into jam?’ - -‘They are not mine—I’m sure they are not mine,’ says Susan. ‘Who, for -instance, could have sent them?’ - -Here Jacky makes a movement. - -‘Jacky, you know nothing!’ cries Susan, turning indignant, warning eyes -upon him; whereupon Jacky, remembering his promise, subsides once again -into dismal silence. - -‘Jacky, I smell a conspiracy,’ says Dominick, who has caught the look -between them; ‘and you are the head-centre. Speak, boy, whilst yet there -is time!’ - -‘I’ve nothing to say,’ says Jacky sulkily; he is naturally of a somewhat -morose disposition, and now feels positively ill at not being able to -divulge the delightful story of which these glowing cherries are the -result. - -‘Susan, I do believe you have at last got an admirer,’ says Carew, in -the complimentary tone of the orthodox brother, who never can understand -why on earth any fellow can admire his sister. ‘Come! out with it; he -seems a sensible fellow, any way. Flowers are awful rot, but there’s -something in cherries.’ - -‘Betty, when I fall in love with you I’ll present you with a course of -goodies,’ says Dominick, regarding that damsel with an encouraging eye. - -‘I have no admirers, as you all know,’ says Susan, her pale and lovely -face a little heightened in colour. She is thinking with horror of what -would have happened if that poor awful thief had brought them in person. -But, of course, he was afraid. - -‘Perhaps Lady Millbank sent them,’ suggests Betty, after a violent -discussion with Fitzgerald on the head of his last remark. ‘I saw her in -town yesterday.’ - -‘So did I,’ says Carew. ‘Like a sack—not tied in the middle.’ - -Susan feels almost inclined in the emergencies of the moment to say -‘Perhaps so,’ and let it stand at that, but conscience forbids her. - -‘She would have sent a footman and her card,’ says she dejectedly. -‘No’—decidedly, and preparing to close up the basket—‘they are not meant -for me, and even if they were, I could not accept them, unless I knew -where they came from.’ - -‘Do you mean that you are not going to give us some?’ says Betty, -rising, not only figuratively, but actually, to the occasion, and -standing over Susan. ‘I never heard anything so mean in all my life.’ - -‘Susan,’ says Fitzgerald mildly but firmly, ‘if you think to escape -alive from this spot with these cherries, let me at once warn you of a -sense of impending danger.’ - -‘Oh, I say, Susan, don’t be a fool!’ says Carew, turning his lazy length -upon the grass, a manœuvre that brings him much closer to Susan and the -cherries. - -‘It’s a beastly shame!’ says Jacky, in a growl. And at this little Tom, -as if moved to the very soul, or stomach, sets up a piteous howl. - -Susan, with all the ‘young martyr’ air about her, looks sternly round. -No; she will not give in, and it’s perfectly disgusting of them to think -so much of eating things. Her glance finishes at Jacky, who is scowling -and threatening her with the fellest of all fell eyes, and then descends -at last on Bonnie—Bonnie, who is lying in her arms, his pretty, thin, -patient little face against her shoulder. Poor little Bonnie! darling -little Bonnie! who has said nothing—not a word—but whose gentle eyes are -now resting on the fruit; Bonnie, whose appetite is always miserable—so -difficult to please. Susan, seeing that silent, wistful glance, feels -her heart sink within her. - -Must she—must she deny him, her poor little delicate boy, her best -beloved of all the many that she loves? Oh, she must! she will be firm. -These cherries really are not hers. Even for Bonnie she—— - -The child stirs in her arms and sighs, the faintest, gentlest little -sigh—only one who loved him could have heard it; but with that little -sigh went out all Susan’s stern resolutions. Almost unconsciously her -hand goes towards the basket that holds the cherries. Slowly, slowly at -first, as if held back; but as it nears the glowing fruit it makes a -rush, as it were, dives into it, and in a second more Bonnie’s thin -little paws are filled with a huge and crimson bunch of the sweet -cherries. - -Alas for Susan’s principles! They have all vanished away like snow in -the sun, beneath two little pain-filled eyes. - -Alas for Susan’s principles again! As Bonnie’s white little face lights -up as he catches the pretty fruit, and bites one of them in two with his -sharp childish teeth, and as after that he lifts the other half of it to -Susan’s mouth, and presses it against her closed but smiling lips, she -does not refuse him. She opens her lips, and, against all her beliefs, -lets the stolen thing glide between them. The happy laughter of the -child as she takes the fruit is nectar to her, and in a little joyous -way she hugs him to her, catching him against her breast; and though she -does not know it, her one thought is this: ‘Let all things go so long as -this one is happy.’ - -And certainly Bonnie for the moment is happy with his cherries. But the -cherry he gave her is the first and only one out of her basket that -passes between her lips. And that is self-denial, I can tell you from -experience, for a girl of eighteen. - -After this there is a general raid upon the basket, Betty and Fitzgerald -being quite conspicuous in their efforts to secure the largest cherries, -whilst Jacky runs them very hard. And Susan, afraid lest the supply -should fail before Bonnie gets a handsome share, pulls him to her and -fills his little hands. But her own hands? Never! Stern is her youthful -virtue. Those stolen cherries! No, no, she could not touch them, and, -besides, to watch Bonnie’s delight in them is enough for her. - -Bonnie! It seems such a sad critique upon the little fragile child -racked with rheumatism and so sadly disabled by it. - -In happier days, when he was, in truth, the bonniest little being of -them all, his poor mother—now mercifully in heaven—had given him the -dear pet name. And of course it had clung to him through all the ills -that followed. - -The beginning was so simple, so easy to be described. A wet day when the -child had escaped from home and had been forgotten until the early -dinner reminded them of him. There were so many to remember, and they -all ran so loosely here and there, that up to that hour no one had -missed him. His mother was dead. The keynote of course lay there. She -was dead and lying in her grave for a year or more, and the young things -who tried to take her place, when they had asked a question or two, -never thought of Bonnie again. Carew, the eldest boy, then only twelve, -did not appear at dinner either, and it was naturally and carelessly -supposed that Bonnie was with him. - -Alas for little Bonnie! Late that night he was discovered and brought -home, saturated to the skin, and almost lifeless. Asleep he had been -found beneath the shade of a big beech-tree; and sleep eternal he would -have known indeed had he not been discovered before morning by the -frightened people from the Vicarage, who, when night set in, had gone -hunting for him far and near. The Rector himself, roused from his notes -and papers by Susan’s terrors, had joined in the search; but it was -Susan who found him, tired, exhausted (after a ramble in which he had -lost himself, poor little soul!), and wet through from the rain that had -fallen incessantly since three o’clock in the afternoon. - -It was Susan who carried him home, staggering sometimes beneath the -weight, but strong in the very misery of her fear. When at last home was -reached, it was Susan who undressed him, and lay awake the long night -through with him, holding him in her warm arms to heat his shivering -little body. And, indeed, when the morning came he seemed nothing the -worse for his exposure. - -But towards the evening he began to shiver again, and next day he was -lying prone, racked with all the pangs of rheumatic fever. They twisted -and tore his little frame, and though at the last the doctor pulled him -through, and he rose again from his bed, it was but as a shadow of his -former merry self—a stricken child, a cripple for life. - -Poor Susan—then thirteen—took it sorely to heart. Her mother in -heaven—had she looked down that night when Bonnie lay under the dripping -tree, and seen her pretty lamb alone, deserted?—the mother who had left -him to Susan to look after and care for. She had seemed to think more of -Bonnie in her dying moments than of the baby who had brought death to -her with his own life. Susan had been left in charge, as it were—sweet -Susan, who was barely twelve, and who, with her soft, shy ways and -lovely face, should have been left in charge herself to someone capable -of guiding her tender footsteps across earth’s thorny paths. - -Her remorse dwelt with her always, and became a burden to her, and made -havoc of her colour for many a day. Of course she grew out of all -that—youth, thank God, is always growing—and at last, after many days, -joy came to her again, and all the glorious colour of life, and all the -sweetness of it. But she never lost a little pulsing grief that came to -her every now and then, telling her how she ought to have seen that -Bonnie had not wandered so far afield. - -Oh, if only he could be made strong and well again. This was the heart -of the sad song that she often sang for herself alone, when time was -given her in her busy life. - -She had dreamed dreams of how it would be with the little lad if he -could have been sent abroad. She had heard of certain baths, and of -wonderful cures worked by them. If he could go abroad to one of them he -might recover. But such baths were as far out of her reach as heaven -itself. It seemed hard to Susan, to whom life was still a riddle. And -she reproached herself always, and always mourned that there would never -come a time when Bonnie would be strong again, as he was when his mother -left him, and when she might meet that dear mother in heaven without -fear of reproaches. - -All this lay in the background of Susan’s life, and now, as years grew, -seldom came to the front. But the child was ever her first thought and -her dearest delight, and the fact that he was not as his brothers were -was the one little blot on the happiness of her young life. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - - ‘O that this calculating soul would cease - To forecast accidents, Time’s limping errors, - And take the present, with the present’s peace, - Instead of filling life’s poor day with terrors.’ - - -About seven o’clock, Wyndham (who had come up to Dublin by the afternoon -train), going down Nassau Street, finds himself face to face with a -tall, big, good-humoured-looking man of about thirty-two. - -‘Hallo! that you?’ cries the latter, stopping Wyndham, who, in somewhat -preoccupied mood, would have gone by without seeing him. The -preoccupation disappears at once, however, and it is with genuine -pleasure that he grasps the hand held out to him. - -‘You, Crosby, of all men!’ - -‘Even so.’ - -‘Why, last week, when we met in Paris, you told me you were going to -Vienna to see a friend there.’ - -‘The friend came to me at Paris instead the very day after you left.’ - -‘But I thought you had arranged with him to go on an expedition to some -unpronounceable place in Africa?’ - -‘So I had, but he proved disappointing. Hummed and hawed, said he -couldn’t go just now, but perhaps a little later on. One saw through him -at once. I told him I never travelled about with fellows’ wives, and -that settled it.’ - -‘He was going to be married?’ - -‘Of course. Love was writ large all over him—in huge capitals. And he -was in such a hurry over everything. People in love are always in a -hurry—to get back. So I dismissed him with my blessing, and a bauble for -the venturesome young woman he has chosen to explore life’s boundless -ways with him. R.I.P. He’s done for; and a right good fellow he was, -too! Well, what’s up with you?’ - -‘With me?’ - -‘Think I can’t see? You’re out of your luck in some way.’ - -‘Nothing much, any way,’ says Wyndham, with an involuntary smile. - -‘Too vague—too vague by half,’ says Crosby, laughing. It is the -happiest, heartiest laugh. ‘Come, what’s the matter? Out with it. -Money?’ - -‘No, no,’ says the barrister, laughing in turn. - -‘Still, there is something.’ - -‘Is there? I don’t know,’ says Wyndham, in a tone half comical, half -forlorn. - -At this Crosby thrusts his arm into his, and wheels him down the street. - -‘It must be hunger,’ says he gaily, seeing the other is not ready for -confession yet. That the confession will come he knows perfectly well. -Ever since they were boys together, Wyndham, whose brain was then, as -now, very superior to Crosby’s, had still always given in to the -personal attractions of the stronger and older boy, whose big fists -often fought Wyndham’s battles for him on the public playground. - -Crosby had been a big boy then; he is a big man now, and, in spite of -his adventurous wanderings by land and sea, looks younger than Wyndham, -though he is actually four years older. A splendid man, bronzed, -bearded, and broad-shouldered, with the grand look of one who has been -through many a peril and many a fight, who has led a cleanly life, and -can look the world in the face fearlessly. His eyes are large and blue, -and full of life and gaiety. He has a heart as true as gold, and a -strong right arm, good for the felling of a foe or the saving of a -friend. - -‘For my own part, I’m starving,’ says he. ‘Come along; we’re near our -club, and you’ll dine with me. Considering what a stranger I am in my -own land, you’ll be able to help me out a bit. I feel as if I did not -know anyone—that is, if you are not going anywhere else. There’s a -wandering look about you. No? No other engagements? That’s good.’ - -They have reached the steps of the Kildare Street Club by this time, and -presently are in the pleasant dining-room. - -‘By the way, talking of engagements,’ says Crosby, between the soup and -fish, ‘I have one for to-night, at your aunt’s—Mrs. Prior’s. In some odd -fashion she heard I was in Dublin, and sent a card to the Gresham for -me. You’—glancing at Wyndham’s evening dress—‘are going somewhere, too, -perhaps?’ - -‘There, too,’ says Wyndham. ‘I’ve got out of it a good deal lately; but -it doesn’t do to offend her overmuch. She’s touchy. And the old man, my -uncle, Lord Shangarry—you remember him, how he used to tip us at school -long ago?—makes quite a point of my being civil to her.’ - -‘To her, or——’ - -‘My cousin?’ Wyndham lifts his brows. ‘I feel sure my cousin is as -indifferent to me as I am to her.’ He pauses. ‘Still, I will not conceal -from you that my uncle desires a marriage between us.’ - -‘Is this the cause of your late depression?’ asks Crosby, with a -quizzical expression. - -‘Not it,’ says Wyndham. ‘By-the-by’—a little hurriedly—‘what of that -late adventure of yours in Siam? You were just telling me about it -when——’ - -Crosby at once plunges into the interrupted anecdote, bringing it, -however, to a somewhat sharp close. - -‘You know what life is!’ says Wyndham a little moodily when it is over. -‘I envy you; I often think I too should like to break off the threads of -society that bind one in, and start on a career that would leave -civilization and—its worries behind.’ - -‘Its worries?’ - -‘Well, gossip for one thing, and that delicate espionage that so often -leads to the damning of a man.’ - -‘Poor old boy! Got into deep water,’ thinks Crosby whilst toying with -his champagne. - -‘Once in it, one never gets out of civilization,’ says he. ‘It sticks to -one like a burr. Don’t hope for that when you start on the wild career -you speak of. For myself, I like civilization. It’s clean, for one -thing—savages don’t do much in the way of washing. But I confess I like -wandering for wandering’s sake. It’s a mania with me. Here to-day and -gone to-morrow—that’s the motto that suits me. Yet, I dare say, in time -I shall get tired of it.’ - -‘Not you. Where are you going next?’ - -‘Not made up my mind yet. But I’ll tell you where I’ve been last—right -into Arcadia! A difficult place to find nowadays, the savants tell you; -but the savants, like the Cretans, are all liars. And in my Arcadia I -fell in with an adventure, and met——’ - -He pauses, and, leaning back in his chair, clasps his hands behind his -head and gives way to silent laughter. Evidently some memory is amusing -him. - -‘Someone who apparently was kind to you,’ says Wyndham indifferently, -breaking off from the stem, but not eating, the purple grapes before -him. - -‘Kind!’ says Crosby. ‘Hardly that.’ - -‘Unkind?’ - -‘More than that.’ - -‘She told you——’ - -‘That I was a thief.’ Wyndham’s indifference ceases for a moment. - -‘Strong language,’ says he. - -‘True, I assure you. Do I look like one? Ever since that terrible -denunciation I have often asked myself whether so much knocking about as -I have known has not ruffianized me in appearance, at all events.’ - -‘Where on earth is the Arcadia you speak of?’ asks Wyndham. - -‘Well, to tell you everything, I went down to Curraghcloyne this morning -to have a look at the old place.’ - -‘What! There! Why, I was there to-day, too,’ says Wyndham, and then -pauses, as if suddenly sorry he had spoken. - -‘We must have missed each other, then, and come up by different trains.’ - -‘I suppose so,’ says Wyndham slowly. ‘And so your Arcadia is -Curraghcloyne? Fancy an adventure there!’ He shrugs his shoulders, and -leans back in his chair. ‘You have had so many real adventures that I -expect you like to revel in imagining one now and then.’ - -‘Perhaps so,’ says Crosby. ‘Still, even in Arcadia one doesn’t like to -be called a thief. I say, it is getting late, isn’t it? Your aunt spoke -of ten. It is now well after eleven. Buck up, my child, and let us on.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - - ‘The web of our life is of mingled yarn, - Good and ill together.’ - - -The rooms are crowded to excess, and it is with difficulty that Crosby -and Wyndham make their way to the place where someone has told them -their hostess is to be found. They have arrived very late, in spite of -Crosby’s attempt at haste, so late, indeed, that already some of the -guests are leaving—a fact that has somewhat embarrassed their journey up -the staircase. The heat is intense, and the perfume of the many roses -makes the air heavy. - -Quite at the end of the music-room Wyndham sees his aunt, and presently -she, seeing him and Crosby in the doorway, makes them a faint -salutation. The Hon. Mrs. Prior is a tall woman, with a high, -aristocratic nose, fair hair, and blue eyes, now a little pale. She was -the handsomest of the three daughters of Sir John Burke, and, what is -not always the case, had made the best marriage. Her youngest sister, -Kate, had, however, done very well, too, when she married James Wyndham, -but the eldest sister had made a distinct fiasco of her life. She had -run away with a ne’er-do-well, a certain Robert Haines, who came from no -one knew where, and went no one knew where, either, taking Sir John’s -favourite daughter with him. It was hushed up at the time, but the old -man had caused ceaseless secret inquiries to be made for the missing -daughter, always, however, without result. It was for a time a blot upon -the family history, but it was forgotten after awhile, and Mrs. Prior -and her daughter have for some time taken leading parts in Dublin -society. - -A tall, thin woman is singing very beautifully as the two young men -enter, and Mrs. Prior’s slight movement of recognition to her nephew -conveys with it a desire that he should not seek her until the song has -come to an end. And presently the last quivering note dies away upon the -air, and the crowd is once more in motion. Lady H—— is being -congratulated on the beauties of her voice by many people, and Mrs. -Prior, having done her part, is now able to receive her nephew and -Crosby without having to pause and wonder who she is to speak to next. - -Indeed, Lady H——’s singing has virtually wound up the evening. Few would -care to sing after her, and now the rooms are beginning to look -deserted. - -‘Always a laggard, Paul,’ says his aunt, who, having bidden good-bye to -her principal guests, has left the rest to her daughter. ‘But I suppose -something of it must be put down to to-night.’ She smiles at Crosby, -whom she has known since he was a little boy. ‘You should have been here -earlier, you two; she sang even better in the beginning of the evening. -It was “Allan Water,” and you know how that would suit her voice. But -now that you have come so late, you must stay a little later and have -supper with Josephine and me.’ - -She talks on to them in her cultivated yet somewhat hard voice, rising -now and then to say good-bye to someone, until the rooms are quite -cleared and her daughter is able to join them. - -Josephine Prior comes across the polished floor of the music-room to -where they are sitting in a curtained recess; she is as tall as her -mother, and as fair, and a little harder. Miss Prior is undoubtedly the -handsomest girl in Dublin this season (now all but over), and has been -for the past two or three. Tall, _distinguée_ and with irreproachable -manners, there are very few who can outdo her. She sweeps up to them -now, her pretty silken skirts falling gracefully around her, and her -mother, rising, motions her into her own seat, that next to Wyndham’s, -while she sinks into a chair on Crosby’s left. - -It had been a settled thing with Mrs. Prior for years that Josephine, -her only child, should marry Paul Wyndham, who, though only a barrister, -is still a very rising one, and heir to his grand-uncle, Lord Shangarry. -To know Josephine a countess! There lay all the hope, all the ambition, -of Mrs. Prior’s life, and the fact that old Lord Shangarry shared her -hopes about this matter naturally led to the idea that in time it must -be accomplished. If Paul were to offend his uncle, then—well, then, the -title would be his indeed; but the enormous income now attached to it, -not being entailed, could be left as Lord Shangarry wished. Few people -fly in the face of Providence where thousands a year are concerned, and -Mrs. Prior depended upon Wyndham’s common-sense to secure him as a -husband for her daughter. As for Wyndham, though up to this not a -syllable has passed between him and Josephine to bind him to her in any -way, he has of late brought himself to believe that a marriage with her, -considering the stakes, is not out of the question. She is a handsome -girl, too, and as a countess would look the part. - -Now, as she seats herself beside him, he again acknowledges the beauty -of her chiselled nose and chin. But——yes; there is a but. All at once it -occurs to him that beauty is very seldom to be found in perfect -features. The really artistic face has always one feature quite beyond -the bounds of art. Strange that it had not occurred to him before! -Still, Josephine is undoubtedly handsome. - -Josephine’s voice is like her mother’s—clear and very hard. She is -talking now. - -‘Do you know we were down in your part of the world the other day?’ says -she. ‘We were lunching with dear Lady Millbank, and then went on to your -cottage. We wanted to get some flowers. You know how mean Lady Millbank -is about her roses, so we decided on saying nothing to her, and trusting -to your place. But when we got there’—with an elephantine attempt at -playfulness—‘the cupboard was bare, at all events to us, because we -could not get in.’ - -‘Yes, so odd!’ says Mrs. Prior. ‘We rang, and rang, and rang, but no one -came for quite a long time. At last your housekeeper appeared, a most -disagreeable person, my dear Paul. She was, indeed, almost rude, and -said she had your orders to admit nobody.’ - -She looks back at Wyndham, who looks back at her with an immovable -countenance. - -‘Not my orders, certainly,’ says he calmly. ‘I was abroad until the -other day, you know, so I can hardly be responsible for Mrs. Moriarty’s -manœuvres.’ - -His voice is perfectly even, though a perfect storm of rage against Mrs. -Denis is rendering him furious. Confound the woman! what does she mean -by seeking to create a scandal out of a mere nothing—a mountain out of a -mole-hill? - -Crosby, glancing at him steadily for a moment, turns his eyes away -again, and breaks into the discussion. - -‘I am sorry you did not go up to my place,’ says he, addressing Miss -Prior. ‘It is quite a terrible thing to contemplate, your having been in -want of flowers.’ - -‘Ah, but you weren’t there!’ says Josephine, with a mild attempt at -coquetry. ‘If you had been, we might have made a raid on you.’ - -‘Well, I’m at home now,’ says Crosby cheerfully. ‘You must come down -some day soon, and help me to gather my roses.’ - -‘You mean to stay, then?’ says Josephine, leaning a little towards him -across her mother. She is quite bent on marrying her cousin, though she -is as indifferent to him as he is to her; but in the meantime she is not -above a slight flirtation with Crosby. To tell the truth, this big, -good-humoured, handsome man appeals to her far more than Paul has ever -done. - -‘Until the autumn, at all events,’ says he. - -As for Wyndham, he is still sitting mute, apparently listening to his -aunt’s diatribes about society, and Dublin society in particular, but in -reality raging over Mrs. Denis’s shortcomings, and the deplorable Irish -sympathetic nature that has led her to sacrifice everything—even the -excellent situation she has at the Cottage—to a mere passing fancy for a -girl whom she has known at the longest for four or five weeks. - -Crosby, noting his abstraction, is still rattling along. - -‘Now, it’s a promise, Mrs. Prior, isn’t it? You’—here he glances -deliberately at Josephine—‘you will come and look round my place soon, -won’t you? I’m thinking of making up a little house-party in September -or August, and I hope you and Miss Prior will leave a week open for me.’ -He throws a look over his shoulder. ‘You too, Wyndham?’ - -‘Thank you,’ says Paul absently. - -‘What a charming idea!’ cries Josephine ecstatically. Here she decides -upon clapping her hands, and she does it in her perfectly well-bred way. -The result is deadly. ‘To stay with a bachelor! Mamma, you will -consent?’ - -Mamma consents. Josephine, again leaning towards Crosby, says something -delightful to him. It has seemed to her since Crosby’s coming that to -have two strings to your bow is a very desirable thing. Paul is well -enough, and in the end, of course, she will marry him, though at times -she has thought that he——But, of course, that is nonsense. He would be -afraid to marry anyone else—afraid of his uncle. What a pity he is not -Mr. Crosby, or Mr. Crosby Paul! Well, one can’t have everything one’s -own way, after all, and there is the title. Lady Shangarry—Mrs. Crosby. -Yes; the title counts. But really Paul is so very dull, and Mr. Crosby, -though he has no title, so infinitely better off than Paul will ever be, -and the Crosbys are an old family, dating back to—goodness knows when! -Still, a title! - -Finally she gets back to the title, and stays there. - -‘But yes, really, dear Paul,’ Mrs. Prior is saying, ‘I think that -housekeeper of yours, or caretaker, or whatever she is, takes too much -upon her. I tried to explain to her I was your aunt, and, indeed, she -has seen me several times, but I could not shake her determination to -let no one in. Anyone might be excused for imagining that she was -concealing something.’ - -‘Garden-party for her own friends, no doubt,’ says Crosby. He has cast a -half-amused, half-inquiring glance at Wyndham; but the latter’s face is -impassive. - -‘I think it a little serious,’ says Mrs. Prior. ‘Young men, as a rule, -are always imposed upon by women of her class—caretakers, of course, I -mean,’ with a careful glance at the innocent Josephine. ‘Landladies and -that. Do you think, dear Paul, that she is quite honest?’ - -‘Quite, I think.’ - -‘Then why this extraordinary step on her part—this locking out your very -nearest and’—with an open glance at Josephine—‘dearest? No, no, George,’ -to Crosby, ‘you really must not jest on this subject. I feel it is quite -important where Paul is concerned. You really know of no reason, Paul, -why she should have forbidden us an entrance?’ - -Is there meaning in the question? Wyndham looks at her steadily before -replying. - -‘I was in France at the time,’ says he carelessly. ‘If she had a motive, -how could I know it?’ - -Crosby leans back and crosses his arms negligently. ‘What an idiotic -equivocation!’ thinks he. - -‘You certainly ought to speak to her about it.’ - -‘Of course I shall speak to her.’ - -Crosby smiles. - -‘I really think you ought,’ says Mrs. Prior. ‘You can’—severely—‘mention -me if you wish. I consider she behaved extremely badly. And I quite -tremble for the dear little old place. You know it was an uncle of -ours—a grand-uncle of yours—who left the place to your mother, and as -girls we—that is, your aunts and I—used to be very fond of running up -from your grandfather’s place in Kerry to spend a few weeks in it. We -were all girls then—your mother, and I, and your——’ She stops, and -sneezes most opportunely behind her lace handkerchief. The innocent -Josephine had touched her foot under cover of her gown. Of course the -aunt who had disappeared so unpleasantly had better not be mentioned. - -‘I hope, Paul, you will see that this woman keeps the dear old place in -order,’ says Mrs. Prior rather hastily. - -‘To confess a dreadful truth,’ says Wyndham, smiling somewhat briefly, -‘I have almost made up my mind to let the Cottage. It has been rather a -burden to me of late. And——’ - -‘To let it. But why?’ - -‘Well, as you see yourself,’ says Wyndham desperately, ‘Mrs. Moriarty -does not seem capable of looking after it. It is an awful bore, you -know, and’—with a rush of affection hitherto unborn—‘the idea of her -having kept you out of the place seems to put an end to my trust in her -for ever.’ - -Crosby flicks a little point of dust off his coat-sleeve. ‘Oh, the -handsome liar!’ thinks he. - -‘But, my dear boy, you must not be too precipitate. A word to her would -perhaps——’ - -‘I’ve quite made up my mind,’ says Wyndham steadfastly. ‘I shall look -out for a tenant.’ - -‘Dear Paul!’ says Mrs. Prior, touched by this nephew-like act, ‘I of -course appreciate your sweetness in this matter. It is very dear of you -to be so angry about the woman’s incivility to me, and if you have made -up your mind about getting a tenant for the dear old Cottage, I think I -can help you.’ - -Here Crosby leans forward. It is proving very interesting. - -‘You mustn’t take any trouble,’ says Wyndham; ‘I couldn’t allow you.’ - -‘It will be no trouble—for you,’ says Josephine, breaking into the -conversation very affectionately. - -‘Thanks awfully, but I think I’ve got a desirable tenant in my eye,’ -says Wyndham—‘one suitable in every respect.’ - -‘The real thing is to know if he is solvent,’ says Mrs. Prior. - -‘Oh, I think so—I think so,’ says Wyndham thoughtfully. - -‘Is he young or old?’ asks Josephine, who feels she ought to show some -interest in his affairs. - -Wyndham remains wrapt up in thought for a moment, then apparently wakes -up. - -‘Oh, the tenant,’ says he dreamily. ‘Not old; no, not old!’ - -‘At that rate you must introduce us to him,’ says Mrs. Prior, with quite -surprising archness. ‘Solvent and not old! Quite a desirable -acquaintance! What is his name, Paul?’ - -‘I don’t know,’ says Wyndham. - -‘Not know? But, my dear Paul!’ - -‘I positively don’t,’ says Wyndham, in quite a loud voice. It occurs to -Crosby that now at last he is telling the truth, and that he is wildly -glad at being able to do so. But the truth! Where does it come in? -Crosby grows curious. ‘Strange as it may sound, the name is unknown to -me. And for the matter of that nothing is settled. There have been only -preliminaries. There must always be preliminaries, you know,’ talking -briskly to his aunt. - -‘Well, be careful,’ says Mrs. Prior. ‘And whatever you do, Paul, don’t -take a lady tenant. They are so difficult. Now promise me, Paul, you -won’t take a lady as a tenant.’ - -Providentially, at this moment the very late supper is announced, and -Paul, rising, gives his arm to Josephine, after which the conversation -drifts into other channels. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - - ‘This is the short and long of it.’ - - -The moon is streaming brilliantly over the silent streets as the two men -leaving Fitzwilliam Square turn presently into Stephen’s Green and then -down Dawson Street. Crosby’s footsteps are bound for the Gresham Hotel, -and Wyndham, who should have gone the other way, considering his rooms -are in Elgin Road, walks with him silently, and so mechanically that it -becomes at once plain to Crosby that he has lost himself a little in a -world of troublous thought. - -Determining to let him find his way out of his mind’s labyrinth by -himself, Crosby maintains a discreet silence, refraining even from good -words and the whistle that has come to be part of him during his strange -wanderings by sea and land, and is difficult to discard when in the -midst of civilization. - -It is not until they have reached the railings that run round Trinity -College, where the glorious light of the moon is lighting up the old and -splendid pile, that Wyndham speaks. - -‘I’ve had the deuce of a time,’ says he. - -‘Well, I could see that,’ says Crosby, turning his cigar in his fingers. -‘I’m rather disappointed in you, do you know, Paul. How you are to make -a fortune out of your profession is to me a mystery. Throw it up. You -are certainly not a liar born.’ - -‘I’m in a tight place,’ says Wyndham disgustedly, ‘but I dare say I’ll -get out of it. Well’—reluctantly—‘good-night.’ - -‘Not a bit of it,’ says Crosby, tucking his arm into his; ‘come and have -a pipe with me, and—if you can bring yourself to it—give voice to this -worry of yours, and get it off your mind.’ - -A pipe is a great help; soothed by it, and the influence of the society -of his old chum, Wyndham, seated comfortably in a huge armchair in -Crosby’s room, tells the latter the whole of his remarkable acquaintance -with his unknown guest at the Cottage. - -It is, to confess the truth, a rather lame story, very lamely told; and -at the close of it Wyndham looks at his friend, at least at as much of -him as he can see, Crosby being now enclouded in smoke. He had been -smoking very vigorously, indeed, all through the recital, and there had -been moments when he had seemed to be choking, but whether altogether -from the smoke Wyndham felt uncertain. - -‘Well, that’s the story,’ says he at last, flinging himself back in his -chair. - -There is a short silence. - -‘Then I suppose you could not think of a better one?’ says Crosby, -beginning to choke again. - -‘Oh, I knew how you’d take it—how any fellow would take it,’ says -Wyndham wrathfully. ‘I can see that there isn’t a soul in the world who -would believe such an idiotic story as mine. But there it is, and you -can take it or leave it as you like. But for all that, Crosby, you ought -to know me well enough to understand that I should not trouble myself to -lie to you unless there was occasion for it.’ - -At this Crosby gives way to a roar. - -‘Well, I honestly believe there’s no occasion now,’ says he; ‘and for -the rest, dear old chap! of course I believe every word you have said. -You must be thoroughly hipped, or you’d have seen how I was enjoying the -joke. Come, it seems we have both had adventures in Arcadia, and that we -have both come in rather sorry fashion out of them.’ - -‘Oh, you—you can afford to speak of adventures,’ says Wyndham ruefully. -‘You’re accustomed to them, but I—I confess this last and first has been -enough for me. You who have faced lions——’ - -‘Not so many, after all,’ interrupts Crosby, laughing. ‘Don’t magnify -them like that. I’ve shot a few, I confess, but I only seem to remember -seven. One does remember them when one’s face to face with them. But -there is not such a lot to remember, after all.’ - -‘It would serve, so far as I am concerned,’ says Wyndham frankly. -‘Indeed, I think I could do with one—always supposing he was dead. As -for how I feel now, it is as though I were in a den of them, and I doubt -if I’ll come as well out of it as Daniel did.’ - -Crosby regards him with an amused eye. - -‘Apropos your tenant,’ says he, ‘when are you going to introduce your -aunt to your young man?’ - -‘Oh, get out!’ says Wyndham. - -‘That’s a lion if you like,’ says Crosby. - -‘Which—my aunt or my tenant?’ - -‘I haven’t seen the tenant. Still, it strikes me that she will be a -lion, too. I’d get out of that den if I were you.’ - -‘Well, I want to. But what’s one to do? I can’t get rid of either of my -lions.’ - -‘Not even of the tenant?’ - -‘I don’t see how I can, now I have given my promise.’ - -‘Well, introduce them to each other; that’s a capital suggestion if you -will only look into it. Whilst they claw each other, you may be able to -make your escape.’ - -‘Introduce them?’ Wyndham pauses, as if sounding the proposition, then -gives way to wrath. ‘Hang it!’ says he; ‘you are worse than Job’s three -comforters all rolled into one.’ - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - - ‘No hinge nor loop - To hang a doubt on.’ - - -To-day is Sunday—the first Sunday since that eventful day when Susan had -tackled and disarmed the thief, and certainly the warmest day that has -come this season. In here in the church the heat is almost intolerable; -and Susan, when the Litany begins, feels her devotion growing faint. - -She has, indeed, up to this had a good deal of troublous excitement. To -keep one eye on Jacky, who had left home in a distinctly resentful mood, -and the other on Tommy, who doesn’t believe in churches as a -satisfactory playground, is a task to which few would be equal; and even -now, when Tommy has been reduced to silence by Betty and lemon-drops, -the excessive warmth of the day leaves Susan too tired to follow the -beautiful service. - -Mechanically she says, ‘We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord’; but her -mind is wandering, and presently her eyes begin to wander too. - -The curate, how hideous he is, poor little man! and what a pity he is so -painfully conscious of the loss of his front tooth! and what a lovely -light that is from the window falling on his gown! It must be nice -outside now. How the flies are buzzing on the panes, just like the -organ! Maria Tanner should not be laughing like that; if father saw her -he would be so angry, and Maria is such a nice girl, and so clever—took -all the prizes at the diocesan examination last year—and her sister is -considered quite an excellent housemaid by Lady Millbank. What a pretty -bonnet Lady Millbank has on! Those violets suit her. Who is the man in -the pew behind her? Why, that is the Crosby pew, and—— - -For one awful minute Susan feels the walls of the church closing in upon -her; a sensation of faintness, a trembling of the knees, oppress her. -She is conscious of all this, and then the mist fades away. - -No, no; of course it is not true. It is impossible. A remarkable -likeness, no more. She could laugh almost at her own folly, and very -nearly does so in her nervous state; but providentially the sight of a -gloomy black and white tablet, erected to the memory of a dead and gone -Crosby, that stands out from the wall right before her, prevents this -act of desecration. - -She—she will look again, if only to assure herself of her own folly. -Slowly, slowly she lifts her eyes—the eyes that now are standing in a -very white face—and looks with a desperate courage at the Crosby pew. -Her eyes meet full the eyes of its one occupant, and then Susan tells -herself that it is all over, and death alone is to be looked for. - -For the eyes of the Crosby pew man are the eyes of Susan’s thief. There -can be no mistake about it any longer. The man who sits in Mr. Crosby’s -pew and Susan’s repentant thief are one and the same. - -Her eyes seem to cling to his. In the fever of horror that has overtaken -her, she feels as if she could never remove them. For a full minute the -man in the Crosby pew and Susan kneel, staring at each other; and then -suddenly something happens. Lady Millbank, who is sitting in the pew -before that of the Crosbys, turns round and hands Susan’s thief a -Prayer-book. That in itself would be very well—everyone should give a -thief a Prayer-book—but Lady Millbank has accompanied her gift with a -friendly nod of recognition, a charming smile—the smile that Susan so -well knows, the smile that is only given to those whom Lady Millbank -desires to honour or to be in with. - -It is all quite plain now. The thief is Mr. Crosby, and Susan with a -groan lets her face fall upon her clasped hands, and hopes vainly for -the earth to open and swallow her up quick. - -But the earth is a stupid thing, and never does anything nowadays. Not a -single earthquake appears for Susan’s accommodation, and the good old -church is not conscious of even a quiver. The service goes on. The -Litany is done. They all rise from their knees, and the curate gives out -a hymn: - - ‘“O Paradise! O Paradise!”’ - -Poor Susan feels as if ‘O Purgatory!’ would be much nearer it, so far as -she is concerned. She would have stopped the hymn there and then if she -could, feeling utterly upset and nervous. But it would take a great many -feelings to stop a church service when it is once in full swing; and the -hymn goes on gaily in spite of Susan’s despair. It reaches, indeed, a -most satisfactory ending, in spite of a slight contretemps occasioned by -the one unlucky Protestant maid belonging to the Rectory, called Sarah. - -Poor Sarah has this day for the first time put on a hat of which a -brilliant magenta feather is the principal feature. Hitherto it has not -caught Miss Barry’s eye—a wonder in itself even greater than the magenta -feather, as this estimable spinster, with a view to keeping the -servants’ moral conduct perfect, has elected that they shall sit on a -bench in the big square Rectory pew right before her and her nephew and -nieces. - -It is at the beginning of the first verse that Miss Barry’s eye lights -on the monstrosity in Sarah’s hat. Feathers and flowers are abominations -in Miss Barry’s eyes when worn by the ‘common people,’ as she calls -those beneath her in the social scale. How dare that impertinent girl -come to church with such an immodest ornament on her head! What on earth -is the world coming to? She must, she will, speak to her; impossible to -let her enjoy that feather another second. - -If she can’t speak, she can at all events sing at her. - -She darts across the pew, and, leaning over Sarah’s shoulder, sings -piercingly into her ear: - -“‘O Paradise! O Paradise.” Sarah, what do you mean?’ (Rising note.) ‘How -dare’ (prolonged shriek on top note) ‘you wear that feather, girl! Where -did you get that hat?’ - -She is simply screaming this to the hymn-tune. You all know the hymn, of -course, and can understand how Miss Barry’s voice rose to a shrill yell -in the ‘dare.’ Sarah, with a convulsive start, turns round. It seems to -her that this loud voice shouting in her ear must be heard by every -other soul in the church; and frightened, ashamed, she sinks down into -her seat, and prepares to hide herself and the magenta feather behind -her Prayer-book. But at this breach of church etiquette Miss Barry grows -even more incensed, and proceeds to rouse the wretched girl to a sense -of her further iniquity by well-directed and vigorous punches and prods -of her Prayer-book on her back. Whereon Sarah, dissolved in tears, rises -to her feet once more. She is evidently on the verge of hysterics, and -would have undoubtedly given way to them, but that at this moment Betty, -who is afraid of nothing under heaven, lays her hand on Miss Barry’s -arm, and forcibly pulls her back to her accustomed place. - -The hymn has now come to an end, and only Sarah’s stifled groanings are -heard upon the air. Most people take these to be the buzzing of the -innumerable bluebottles collected in the window-panes, so that the whole -affair goes off better than might have been expected. - -Slowly, slowly, go the minutes; slower and slower still is the voice of -the curate, as he intones the Commandments. The bluebottles, as if -invigorated by it, buzz louder than ever, until poor Sarah’s sobs are -completely drowned. - -The heat grows more and more intense. Jacky, beneath its pressure, has -fallen sound asleep, and is now giving forth loud and handsome snorings. -Miss Barry, horrified, makes frantic signs to Dominick, who is next to -the culprit, to stop this unsolicited addition to the church music that -Jacky has so ‘kindly consented’ to give, and Dom waves back at her -wildly. No, no, of course. He quite understands; he will see that no one -interferes with the dear boy’s slumbers on any account whatever. The -wavings backwards and forwards grow fast and furious—furious on the part -of Miss Barry, and really as fast as lightning on the part of Mr. -Fitzgerald, who is having a thoroughly _bon quart d’heure_; but Carew -ends it. - -He has been trying mentally to get through one of his papers for his -next examination, and finding Jacky’s snores a deadly interruption to -his thoughts, he fetches that resounding hero a telling kick on a part -that shall be nameless, which brings him not only to his senses, but the -floor. - -There is a momentary confusion in the Rectory pew; but as every member -of the congregation is more or less drowsing, Jacky is picked up and -restored to his seat before the real meaning of the confusion is known. -And, indeed, when anyone does look, all the Barrys are sitting so demure -and innocent that no one could connect them with anything out of the -way. Susan, alone flushed and unnerved, in spite of her determination -not to do it, looks quickly at the Crosby pew, to find the thief looking -at her with a singular intensity of regard. It is at this moment that -Susan, for the first time in her young, happy life, wakes to sympathy -with those unfortunate people who sometimes wish that they were dead. - -The curate, a short, squat little man—a man so short, indeed, that a -footstool has had to be placed in the pulpit for him to let the -congregation see him as he preaches—is now droning away like the flies, -‘shooting out shafts of eloquence to the bucolic mind’ is how he puts it -when writing to his people; but even his people, if here, could hardly -catch the shafts to-day. The fact is, he has not yet had time to get in -the teeth he lost by his fall last week; and, however admirable his -discourse may be, the beauties of it are known to him alone. - -The farmers who are awake are leaning forward, their hands to their ears -to catch the Gospel words that never reach them. Lady Millbank has -fallen gracefully asleep. Sarah is still weeping copiously, but now, -thank Heaven, quietly. The curate, vainly striving to pronounce his -‘this’ and his ‘that,’ grows more and more nervous. He leans over the -pulpit, and thunders at the sleeping farmers and at the leading families -around, in whose pews, too, Somnus is holding a full court. Farther and -farther he leans, striving with his parishioners as much as with his -teeth; a very passion of anxiety grows upon him. He lifts his arms from -the desk before him—the desk that is supporting him—and waves them -frantically. - -‘Hear—hear, my brethren,’ cries he. ‘Hear and see——’ - -His cry, like the ‘Excelsior’ young man’s clarion, rings loud and clear. -It wakes some of the sleepy members, who look up to see what it is all -about. But when they do look up there is nothing to see. - -Most unexpectedly and disgracefully—considering its relation to the -Church—the footstool has given way with a crash, and Mr. Haldane, the -curate, has given way with it, and disappeared, holus bolus, into the -big old pulpit. - -For quite a minute, though no doubt ‘to memory dear,’ the curate is -certainly ‘lost to sight;’ and when at last he ventures once more to -mount the offending stool, and look down at his parishioners, it is to -find that the far larger half of them are gladly streaming down the -aisle to the fresh air outside, under the fond delusion that ‘church is -over.’ - -These are the specially drowsy ones. The crash caused by the curate’s -unpremeditated descent had roused them from their happy dreams, and, on -opening their eyes, seeing no preacher in the pulpit, they had naturally -come to the conclusion that the performance was at an end. - -Vain to call them back. Mr. Haldane spreads out his arms to heaven in a -mournful appeal, but, hearing some unmistakable tittering to his left, -turns, and incontinently flies. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - - ‘Life is thorny, and youth is vain!’ - - -Not so quickly as Susan, however. He could hardly have flown with the -fleetness of that heart-troubled nymph. She—at the first chance, when -her father, rising hurriedly at the flight of his curate, had breathed -the blessing—had flown down the side-aisle and through the small oak -door into the golden air outside; and from there into a small lane -filled with flowering weeds, that led straight homewards. - -Running—racing, indeed—goes Susan, with her heart on fire, as her -cheeks, and her lovely, child-like eyes darkened and bright with the -sense of coming disaster. - -She does not draw breath until she finds herself safe in her own little -room, with just five precious minutes (precious, unusual five minutes, -gained only by that swift run that has left them all behind) in which to -think out as calmly as she can what has befallen her. - -A thief! She had called him a thief! He—Mr. Crosby—the distinguished -traveller! Oh! what is to become of her? Not even now, at this last -gasp, does she try to persuade herself that the man in the Crosby pew -was a fraud—that he wasn’t Mr. Crosby. She knows as positively as though -she had been introduced to him that he is Mr. Crosby. - -Introduced to him! As if——She covers her face with her hands. No, no; -there need be no fear of that. He will go away soon—at once. People say -he cannot bear civilized life; that he always hankers after savages, and -lions, and things. He will go away, of course. Oh, if only he will go -away soon enough, and never come back! Susan, with her hands before her -gentle eyes, has sudden dreams of people who have been devoured by -lions, and for the first time fails to see the extreme horror of it. - -Yes, he will go away soon; and in the meantime—well, in the meantime it -is very unlikely that she will come face to face with him. - -‘Susan, Susan! are you there?’ - -‘Yes,’ says Susan. She goes to the door, and finds Jacky on the -threshold of it. - -‘Dinner is ready,’ says that solemn youth; ‘and they sent me up for -you.’ - -‘I can’t come down,’ says Susan. ‘I have a headache. Jacky—dear, dear -Jacky, say I have a headache. And I have, too—I have indeed. There won’t -be any lie. The heat—you must have felt the heat in church—you fell -asleep——’ - -‘Yes, I know,’ says Jacky, in his queer way, that always expresses anger -with difficulty suppressed. ‘You won’t come down, then?’ - -‘No; I can’t—I——’ She lifts her hand to her head. - -Jacky hesitates, turns slowly, and then throws a glance at her. - -‘Susan, did you see that man in the Crosby pew?’ - -Susan’s nerves being a little overwrought, she almost jumps at this. - -‘Yes, yes,’ says she in a hurried way. - -‘He was very like the thief, wasn’t he?’ says Jacky anxiously. Susan -colours hotly. - -‘Nonsense, Jacky’—with a very poor attempt at scorn. ‘That gentleman in -Mr. Crosby’s pew was, I think, Mr. Crosby himself, or, at all events, -some friend of his.’ - -‘Well, the thief was the image of him,’ says Jacky slowly. That’s the -worst of Jacky, he is always so abominably slow. ‘I looked at him, and I -said to myself, “That’s Susan’s thief,” and,’ with awful obstinacy, ‘I -think it was, too.’ - -‘No, no, no!’ says Susan. ‘It was Mr. Crosby, I tell you. I saw Lady -Millbank nod and smile at him.’ - -Jacky considers. - -‘Very well,’ says he, in a thoroughly unconvinced tone. He moves away a -bit and then looks back. ‘If that is true,’ says he, ‘Mr. Crosby looks -like a thief.’ - - * * * * * - -At half-past three Susan, having come to the conclusion that sitting up -here won’t help her out of her difficulty, wanders downstairs and into -the schoolroom, where Betty makes much of her, and makes her sandwiches -out of the still warm mutton, which, in spite of their nastiness and her -headache, Susan devours with avidity. Hunger is a great sauce; no one -has ever yet invented one to beat it. And perhaps, if all were known, -Susan’s ache belongs more to the heart than the head. When the -sandwiches are finished, she declares herself much better, and Jane -coming to say that Lady Millbank is in the drawing-room, she rises, and -expresses a desire to see her. - -Lady Millbank, or ‘the Sack,’ as the irreverent young Barrys always call -her, thinks it the correct thing to be in with, and civil to, her -Rector—without giving herself any unnecessary trouble. The drive from -Millbank to the parish church is five good miles, so she always makes a -point of lunching with some of her friends and taking afternoon tea at -the Rectory. Even so far she would not have condescended, but that the -Rector, poor as he is, has sprung from a good old stock, and that his -wife was a connection of the late Sir Geoffrey Millbank. - -‘So sorry to hear you have been ill,’ says she, as Susan enters. Susan -is a favourite of hers. ‘The heat, eh?’ She speaks exactly as she looks. -She is one of those people who can be very gracious when they like, and -perfectly abominable on other occasions. She is ugly and shapeless, and -careless about her dress, but no one can mistake for a minute that she -is well born. - -‘It was very warm,’ says Susan. - -‘You look pale, my dear. I think, Miss Barry, she ought not to go to -church this evening.’ - -‘No, no, of course not, Susan,’ says Miss Barry severely; she is sitting -behind a wonderfully battered old teapot that has certainly seen -service, and must have been pure at heart to have come out of the trial -thus victoriously, though maimed and wounded. It is the pride of Miss -Barry’s life, and has come down to the Rector after many days. - -‘I suppose you saw that George Crosby has come home?’ says Lady -Millbank. ‘I had heard a rumour of his coming a week or so ago, but -thought nothing of it. Such a man as he is can never be relied upon, and -when he turned up actually alive last week, I was more surprised than I -can tell you.’ - -Last week! She had seen him, had talked with him. Had he told her? -Susan’s heart sinks within her. Positive despair makes her raise her -eyes and look at Lady Millbank. Oh, if—— - -But Lady Millbank is still chatting on, and in her eyes, as they meet -Susan’s, there is no _arrière-pensée_. No; he had not betrayed her. - -‘I don’t suppose we shall see much of him; he is always on the -stampede,’ Lady Millbank is saying. ‘One would think from his habits -that he was a criminal running before the law. I told him so. Ah’—rising -suddenly and looking out of the window—‘there he is! And coming here! Of -course, to call upon Mr. Barry. Your brother was a great friend of -George Crosby’s father, I think. Eh?’ - -‘There was a friendship,’ says Miss Barry. ‘Susan, how pale you are! -Come out of that dark corner, child, and sit near the window. The air -will do you good.’ - -‘I like being here,’ says Susan quickly. - -There is no time to say any more. Susan’s ‘thief’ is in the room. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - - ‘A secret is in my custody if I keep it; but if I blab it, it is I - that am prisoner.’ - - -The Rector has come in, and has stayed to have a cup of tea with Mr. -Crosby. Lady Millbank declares herself charmed and very jealous. He -never leaves his beloved books to see her! Mr. Barry smiles, and then -falls back upon the memories of Crosby’s father that are always so dear -to him. He is a tall, gaunt man, severe, with a far-away look, and the -indifferent air of those who live with dead authors, and who are, -besides, a little worried by the money transactions of life. - -To have to think of the daily needs is hateful to Mr. Barry, who ought -to have been a bachelor, with nothing but his notes to worry him, living -in a world in which he could sit loosely. Even now he sometimes forgets -how time flies, and to tell him that Susan is almost a woman grown would -have roused him to quite an extraordinary wonder. The world goes on -whilst he stands still, and to-day the dragging of him out of his shell, -even to the ordinary business of a drawing-room conversation, has -bewildered him. After a little while he retires. - -His sermons, his visits to the sick, the poor (he never visits the rich -unless they specially send for him)—all these things concern him. But -when he knows himself happiest is when his study-door is shut for the -night to all intruders, and he can read, read, read, until the little -hours begin to chime. - -As Crosby entered the drawing-room, Susan felt her heart stand still. -She rose mechanically, and held out her hand to him as he came up to -her, but she did not lift her eyes. She felt vaguely conscious that she -had flushed over cheek and brow. Such a blush! So quick! so deep! Oh, he -must have seen it, and known the meaning of it! - -If he did, he made no sign whatever; and until the departure of Lady -Millbank he devoted himself to the Rector. - -When Lady Millbank rose to say good-bye, Susan told herself that now at -last the ordeal was at an end, and that he would go too. But, -apparently, he had no intention whatever of stirring. And the climax -came when Dom and Carew asked him to come out into the garden and have a -cigarette. The cigarettes were Dom’s. Mr. Crosby seemed only too willing -to accept this lively invitation, and Dom, thrusting his arm through -Betty’s, asked her to come along with him. - -‘And you, Miss Barry,’ says Crosby, now walking up deliberately to -Susan, who is still sitting in her shady corner. The elder Miss Barry -had gone out into the hall to bid Lady Millbank a last adieu, and tell -her of the latest misdoings of the young women of the Christian -Association in Curraghcloyne. ‘I hope you will come too.’ - -‘Oh yes, Susan, come on,’ says Betty. ‘It’s lovely outside to-day, and -father won’t be able to see the smoke through the beech hedge.’ The -Rector objects to smoking, so that Dom and Carew have quite a time of it -keeping their pipes and cigarettes out of his way. - -‘I hope you will come,’ says Crosby. He is bending over Susan now, and -he has distinctly lowered his tone. ‘Do you know, I have come over -to-day to see and thank you. I felt it quite my duty to do it.’ - -‘To thank me?’ For the first time during the afternoon Susan looks -straight at him. Her large and lovely eyes are full of wonderment. ‘To -thank me?’ - -‘Yes, indeed; I have great cause to be grateful to you,’ says Mr. -Crosby, with such extreme earnestness and gravity that she rises. What -if, after all, she was wrong, and the thief was not really Mr. Crosby? - -A cousin perhaps—a disagreeable one: cousins are very often -disagreeable, and often, too, more like one than one’s own brothers are. -Of course, if he was a kinsman, Mr. Crosby would be very grateful to her -for hushing up the whole affair, and telling nobody. And yet—— - -Again she lifts her eyes and studies his face. No, not even twins were -ever so alike as this man and the man that stole the cherries. - -‘Are you coming?’ calls Betty impatiently, and Susan moves forward. In a -moment she is stepping from the low sill of the Rectory drawing-room on -to the little plot of grass beneath, disregarding Mr. Crosby’s hand as -he holds it out to help her. - -She and he are well behind the others now, and Crosby speaks again. - -‘You don’t ask me why I am grateful,’ says he reproachfully. ‘Don’t you -care to know? I care to tell you. I have had it on my mind since that -day in the garden. You remember?’ - -‘Yes,’ says Susan. She stops short, and confronts him with flushed -cheeks and nervous eyes, but a little touch of courage that sits most -charmingly upon her. ‘I do remember. You—you were the man who——’ She -hesitates. - -‘Stole the cherries?’ suggests he. - -‘No’—coldly—‘who sat on the top of the ladder and made fun of me.’ - -There is a little silence. - -‘That is a most unkind speech,’ says Crosby at last. ‘After all, I don’t -feel as grateful now as I did a minute ago. I came here to-day to thank -you for looking so kindly after my property, and you meet me with an -accusation that absolutely strikes me dumb.’ - -At this Susan cannot refrain from bitter jest. - -‘True,’ says she scornfully; ‘one can see how silent you are.’ - -Mr. Crosby regards her with apparent awe, tempered with grief. - -‘If you persist in your present course,’ says he, ‘I shall commit -suicide. There will be nothing else left for me to do.’ - -‘In the meantime,’ says Susan, with astonishing spirit, ‘you had better -come into the garden. They are expecting you.’ - -Not so very much, after all. Betty, Carew, and Dom Fitzgerald are -engaged in a lively discussion on Miss Barry’s wild attack on the -unoffending Sarah in church this morning, and, in the delights of it, -have almost forgotten Mr. Crosby. The children are playing about on the -tennis-ground below, and Crosby’s eyes fall on Bonnie, as with great -difficulty, and with the help of a stick, he tries to follow little Tom. -Jacky, in the distance, is stretched on his stomach reading. - -‘Those are your brothers?’ asks Crosby, looking more deliberately at -Bonnie, whose charming little face, though pale and emaciated, attracts -him. - -‘Yes, I have four brothers and one sister.’ - -‘Five brothers, I thought.’ - -‘Oh no; Dominick Fitzgerald is our cousin. He lives with us nearly -altogether, and father is coaching him for the Indian Civil.’ - -‘Oh, I see. That little brother’—gently indicating Bonnie—‘does not look -very strong.’ - -‘No, he had rheumatic fever, and he has not been’—correcting herself -hastily, as though it is impossible to her to say the more terrible -word—‘very strong since.’ - -‘What a beautiful face!’ says Crosby involuntarily. And, indeed, the -loveliest flower of all this handsome Barry family is the little -suffering cripple child. - -Susan is conscious for a moment of a choking in her throat. Oh, her -little lovely darling brother! To hear him praised is a great joy to -her, but with the joy follows pain unutterable. If only she had looked -more closely after him! And poor, poor mamma, who had told her to be a -mother to him! Then, all at once, she remembers the cherries, and how he -had enjoyed them, and a queer passion of feeling, arising first of all -from the fact that Crosby had admired the child, makes her turn to him. - -‘Mr. Crosby, I want to tell you something,’ says she timidly; ‘those -cherries that you sent me’—he is about to tease her again, to pretend he -knows nothing of the gift, but her face, pale now and filled with a -strange but carefully-held-back emotion, keeps him silent—‘they gave -Bonnie a happy half-hour. No matter how I am feeling towards you, about -your pretending to be—you know—still, if only for the pleasure your -cherries gave Bonnie, I feel intensely thankful to you. He is not -strong, as you see. They say he will never be strong again, and it was -my fault; for I forgot him one day—one day—and mamma was dead too. I was -cross to you about your pretending to be a thief—I hope you won’t mind -me?’ - -It is such a childish speech, and there is such tragedy in the dark -eyes! She has not broken down at all. There is not a suspicion of tears -in her low, clear young voice, but that the child’s ill-health is a -constant grief to her is not to be doubted for a moment. - -‘If it comes to that,’ says he slowly, ‘it is I who ought to apologize. -And the worst of it is, I haven’t an apology ready. The plain truth is -that I couldn’t resist the situation. If I could hope that you would try -to forgive me——’ - -He breaks off. Susan has looked at him, and through the deep gloom of a -minute ago a smile has broken on her face. Such a smile! It makes her -look about twelve years old, and is indescribably pretty. ‘What a lovely -child!’ says Crosby to himself. She holds out her hand to him frankly. - -‘But don’t tell anybody,’ says she, in an eager little whisper. - -‘Tell! “Is thy servant——” But the brother over there catching cold on -the grass with a book before him—he was with you, I think.’ - -‘Ah, Jacky and I are chums!’ says she. This seems to settle the -question. It occurs to Mr. Crosby that it would be rather nice to be -chums with Susan, and he vaguely wonders if she would accept a chum who -was not one of the family. Is Dominick a chum? But, then, he is one of -the family. When Susan has chums, does she trust them—have little -secrets with them? If so, he may clearly rise to the desired position in -time. He is conscious of a sense of exhilaration as he tells himself -that Susan once regarded him as a thief, and that he is bound by her to -keep that regard a secret. - -‘Oh, there you are, Mr. Crosby!’ says Carew, stopping in his discussion -with Betty; ‘come here and sit down.’ - -‘Don’t sit on Betty, whatever you do,’ says Dominick from his place -beside her on the grass; ‘she’d be sure to resent it. She takes after -our own particular auntie in the way of temper. Susan, my -darling’—making a grab at Susan’s ankle, which she has learned from long -practice to avoid—‘come and sit down by me. No? Your brainpower must be -weak. Have a cigarette, Mr. Crosby. You need not mind the girls. It is -all we can do to keep our “baccy” from them.’ - -‘If I wanted your nasty “baccy,”’ says Betty, ‘it isn’t likely you would -be able to keep it from me. Give Mr. Crosby a match.’ - -‘Thanks, I have one,’ says Crosby. He had accepted Dom’s offer of a -cigarette without hesitation, and, indeed, would have smoked it to the -bitter end rather than offend any member of the little group around him. -They all please him; they all seem in unison with him—frank, happy, -rollicking youngsters, without a scrap of real harm amongst them. -Perhaps the secret of their success with Crosby lies in the fact that, -in spite of his being well in the thirties, he is still a boy himself at -heart, with a spice of mischief in him not to be controlled. The -cigarette, however, proves very tolerable, and Susan having seated -herself where he can distinctly see her, he feels that he is going to -spend an uncommonly pleasant afternoon. - -‘It’s a shame to say Betty’s got a temper,’ says Susan. ‘I’m sure she -hasn’t—not a bad one, any way.’ - -‘You needn’t defend me, Susan,’ says Betty, clasping her long, lean arms -behind her head. ‘I prefer to do it for myself, and’—with a fell glance -at the doomed Dominick—‘I think I know where revenge lies.’ - -‘I give in!’ cries Mr. Fitzgerald frantically. ‘Betty, pax!’ - -‘Never,’ says Betty. - -‘If you burn my fly-book a second time, I warn you that there will be -murder,’ says Dom; and then Betty has mercy. - -‘A public retractation, then!’ demands she viciously. - -‘A hundred of them. I swear to you, Mr. Crosby, that I wronged her, and -that her temper is like that of an angel, and not a bit like our Aunt -Jeremiah’s’—softly, ‘May I be forgiven!’ - -‘Did you hear her in church?’ asks Carew, turning to Crosby. ‘Aunt -Jemima, I mean, not Betty. She was mad with Sarah this morning——’ - -Crosby looks rather helplessly round him. - -‘Another sister?’ asks he. - -‘No, no,’ says Susan, whilst the others explode; and Crosby, unable to -resist their gaiety, joins in the merriment. ‘A servant——’ - -‘Had a magenta feather in her hat!’ cries Betty, roaring with laughter, -‘and Aunt Jemima hates feathers, and——’ - -‘This is my story, Betty,’ interrupts Carew; ‘I insist on telling it. -When the Paradise hymn began, Aunt Jemima saw the feather——’ - -‘Pounced upon Sarah!’ cries Susan, who is nearly in hysterics. ‘Oh, did -you see her? She sang the most dreadful things at her until the poor -girl nearly fainted, and——’ - -‘And then our only auntie punched her in the back with her Prayer-book,’ -puts in Dom. ‘Really, Betty, I did wrong you! You aren’t in it with her. -She cussed and swore like anything, but worse than all, Susan, was her -ribald rendering of music-hall songs within the sainted precincts of the -church.’ - -‘Nonsense, Dom! you spoil the story by exaggeration.’ - -‘Exaggeration! My dear girl, didn’t you hear her? Why, she was shouting -it! She got rather mixed up in the music—I’m bound to say the two times -are not the same—but she managed it wonderfully. You heard her, Carew, -didn’t you? - - ‘“Where did you get that hat?” - -I waited for the rest, but I suppose her courage failed her, or else the -organ drowned it; at all events, the second line, - - ‘“Where did you get that tile?” - -did not come in. But I think we ought to speak to our auntie, Susan, -don’t you? That sort of thing is very well outside, but in a church! -Betty, you look as if you’d love to speak to somebody. We’ll put you on -for this job. You shall expostulate with Aunt Jemima on her deplorable -weakness for low-class comic songs.’ - -‘I shall leave you to interview her on the subject,’ says Betty. - -‘Interview! What a splendid word!’ says Dom. ‘What’ll you sell it for?’ -But Betty very properly decides on not hearing him. - -Softly, sweetly, the sun is going down, topping the distant hills, and -now falling behind them. A golden colour is lighting all around. -Overhead the swallows are darting here and there, and from the beds of -mignonette in the old-fashioned garden exquisite perfumes are wafted; -and now ‘at shut of evening flowers’ faint breezes rise, and corners -grow rich in shadows, and from the stream below comes a song that makes -musical the happy hours. - -Crosby, with a sigh of distinct regret, rises to his feet. - -‘I fear I must go,’ says he. - -‘What, not so soon?’ cries Carew, getting up too. Indeed, as Crosby -persists, though evidently with reluctance, in his determination to -leave them, they all get up, the innate courtesy of this noisy group -being their best point. - -‘Have another cigarette for the walk home?’ says Dom hospitably. - -‘We’ll all go with you to the gate!’ cries Betty. - -‘I suppose a big traveller like you doesn’t play tennis?’ says Carew -diffidently, but with an essence of hope in his tone. - -‘Oh, don’t I!’ says Crosby; ‘I’m quite a dab at it, I can tell you! If I -were to come down to-morrow afternoon, would there be any chance that -any of you would be here to play a game with me?’ - -He looks at Susan. - -‘We’ll all be here!’ cries Betty ecstatically. To have a new element -thrown into their daily games seems too enchanting for anything. ‘You -will come?’ - -‘May I?’ says Crosby. Susan has not answered, and now he purposely -addresses her. - -‘Oh, I hope you will!’ says she cordially. She had been thinking -hurriedly if it would be possible to ask him to luncheon—to their early -dinner. But with the children and Jane’s attendance! Oh no—a thousand -times no! Yet it seems so inhospitable. - -‘Thank you, I should very much like to come. It is quite taking pity on -an unfortunate bachelor,’ says he. And this being settled, they all in a -body prepare to accompany him to the gate. Even little Tom runs up to -them, and Bonnie, with uneven steps, hurries as fast as the poor mite -can. Susan turns to help him, and Crosby, watching her for a moment, -follows her, and, taking the child in his arms, without a word swings -him to his shoulder. - -At the gate, having bidden them good-bye, and Dom having taken Bonnie on -his back for a race home, Crosby looks at Susan. - -‘Are you fond of cherries?’ asks he. His face is profoundly grave, but -she can see the twinkle in his eyes, and her own give him back a -reproachful glance. - -This playing with fire is hardly prudent. - -‘Sometimes,’ says she demurely. - -‘And you, Bonnie?’ asks Crosby, pinching gently the child’s pale pretty -cheek as he rests on Dominick’s back. ‘You like them, I’m sure. Well, -I’ll send you some to-morrow and every day while they last, and perhaps -the red of their cheeks will run into yours. See that it does, now.’ - -The child laughs shyly, and Crosby turns to Susan again. - -‘Good-bye, Miss Barry.’ - -‘Oh, don’t call her that!’ cries Betty. ‘That makes her sound like Aunt -Jemima. Susan, tell him he can call you by your own name.’ - -This handsome advice ought, thinks Crosby, to fill Susan with angry -confusion. But it doesn’t. - -‘You may—you may indeed!’ says she, quite sweetly and naturally, looking -him fair in the eyes. ‘I should like you to call me Susan, and I am very -much obliged to you for promising the cherries to Bonnie.’ - -She gives him her hand; he presses it, and goes up the road towards his -home. A little thorn in his heart goes with him. If he had been her own -age, would she so readily have permitted him to call her Susan? No doubt -she regards him as quite a middle-aged old fellow, and truly, next to -her youth, that promises to be eternal, he is nothing less. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - - ‘Fear oftentimes restraineth words, - But makes not thoughts to cease.’ - - -The weather since the beginning of the summer has been exceptionally -warm, and to-day has outdone itself. - -Here in the Cottage garden, surrounded by its ivied walls, the heat is -excessive, and there is a certain languor in the lithe figure of the -girl as she comes forward, the dog beside her, to greet Wyndham, that -meets his eye. Perhaps nervousness has conduced to the pallor that is -whitening her lips and brow, and is making even more striking the -darkness of her appealing eyes. There is something about her so full of -grief suppressed that he hastens to allay it. - -‘I have come, you see,’ says he—he holds out his hand, and she lays hers -in it; he holds it a moment—‘to speak about our rent.’ He smiles at her. -The smile, to tell the truth, is a little grim, and hardly reassures -her. ‘I have come to the conclusion that, as you wish to become my -tenant, you must pay me a huge rent.’ - -‘Ah! and I have been thinking,’ says she very sadly, with the mournful -air of one who is giving up all that is worth having in this world, -‘that I shall not be your tenant at all, and shall never pay you any -rent.’ - -‘Do you mean to say,’ says Wyndham, reading her like a book, but -humouring her mood, ‘that you’ve found another house more suited to -you?’ - -‘Oh no, it isn’t that. There is no house I shall ever like so well as -this.’ - -‘Then, let me tell you beforehand that I shall charge you a very -handsome rent,’ persists Wyndham, trying to be genial. He smiles at her, -but the smile is a dismal failure. - -‘I can’t accept your offer—I can’t indeed,’ says the girl, who, in spite -of her protests, has brightened considerably beneath his apparent -determination to let the Cottage to her. ‘This is your own house. Your -mother gave it to you. Mrs. Denis has told me all about it, and if you -give it to me you will never come here again.’ - -‘I shall indeed—to collect my rent,’ says Wyndham, a little touched by -her evident earnestness, and assuming a more natural air of lightness. - -‘Ah, that,’ says she. She pauses a moment, and then: ‘If’—timidly—‘you -would promise to come here sometimes to see your dog and the flowers, I -might think of it.... I could keep out of your way when you came. I -could sit in my own room, and you could——’ - -‘What a cheerful prospect for you!’ says he. ‘I’m not a very agreeable -fellow, I know, when all is told; but I believe I am so far on the road -to respectability as to be incapable of enjoying myself at the expense -of another fellow-creature’s comfort. Fancy my taking the joys of the -country with the knowledge that you were stifling in some cellar -downstairs with a view to saving me from the annoyance of your -presence!’ - -‘It wouldn’t be a cellar, and it isn’t downstairs,’ says the girl -anxiously. ‘It is a pretty little room upstairs.’ - -‘It’s all the same,’ says Wyndham. ‘The prettiest little room in the -world is a bore if one is imprisoned in it.’ - -Silence follows upon this. Wyndham, going forward, stoops down to a bed -of seedlings that he had ordered to be planted a month ago. They are in -a very promising condition, and the regret he feels for this little home -of his that is slipping through his fingers increases. And yet to thrust -her out—he knows quite well now that he will never do that. - -‘Mr. Wyndham,’ says the girl—she is at his elbow now—‘don’t be so sorry -about it; I shall go—to-morrow, if possible.’ - -He is not prepared for this, nor for the soft breathings of her voice in -his ear. He turns abruptly. - -‘All that is arranged,’ says he peremptorily. ‘You cannot go; you have -nowhere to go to, as’—pointedly—‘you tell me. In the meantime, it is -absolutely necessary that you should have someone to live with you.’ - -‘There is Mrs. Denis,’ says she nervously. - -‘Not good enough for an heiress like you,’ returns he, smiling. Now that -he has finally, most unwillingly and most ungraciously, given in to the -fact that she is to be his tenant, he feels more kindly towards her, and -more human. ‘You will want a lady companion to read with you—you say you -wish to go on with your studies—and to go out with you.’ - -‘Go out!’ She regards him with quick horror. ‘I shall never go out of -this—never!’ cries she. - -The extraordinary passion of her manner checks him. She has sunk upon a -garden-chair, as if incapable of supporting herself any longer; and from -this she looks up at him with a sad and frightened face. - -‘I will leave,’ says she at last. It is a most mournful surrender of -hope, and all things that make life still dear to her. - -‘There is no necessity for that,’ says Wyndham hurriedly. ‘If I knew -more—if I knew how to help you—but’—breaking off abruptly—‘you yourself -have decided against that. You must pardon me. You have already told me -that you do not wish to tell me of yourself, your past——’ - -She makes a little gesture with her hand. Wyndham, standing still upon -the gravelled path, looks at her. - -‘I have been thinking about that,’ says she, ‘and’—with growing -agitation—‘it has seemed very ungrateful of me to distrust you—you who -have done so much for me, who are now giving up your lovely home for me. -Mr. Wyndham’—rising and coming towards him—‘I have made up my mind; I -will tell you all.’ - - - END OF VOL. I. - - - BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. - -[Illustration] - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - [_July, 1895._ - -[Illustration] - - =A List of Books Published by= - CHATTO & WINDUS - 214, Piccadilly, London, W. - - =ABOUT (EDMOND).—THE FELLAH=: An Egyptian Novel. Translated by Sir - RANDAL ROBERTS. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, =2s.= - - =ADAMS (W. 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MANVILLE FENN.= - - The New Mistress. - Witness to the Deed. - The Tiger Lily. - The White Virgin. - - =By PERCY FITZGERALD.= - - Fatal Zero. - - =By R. E. FRANCILLON.= - - One by One. - A Dog and his Shadow. - A Real Queen. - King or Knave? - Ropes of Sand. - Jack Doyle’s Daughter. - -Pref. by Sir BARTLE FRERE. - - Pandurang Hari. - - =By EDWARD GARRETT.= - - The Capel Girls. - - =By PAUL GAULOT.= - - The Red Shirts. - - =By CHARLES GIBBON.= - - Robin Gray. - Loving a Dream. - The Golden Shaft. - - =By E. GLANVILLE.= - - The Lost Heiress. - A Fair Colonist. - The Fossicker. - - =By E. J. GOODMAN.= - - The Fate of Herbert Wayne. - - =By CECIL GRIFFITH.= - - Corinthia Marazion. - - =By SYDNEY GRUNDY.= - - The Days of his Vanity. - - =By THOMAS HARDY.= - - Under the Greenwood Tree. - - =By BRET HARTE.= - - A Waif of the Plains. - A Ward of the Golden Gate. - A Sappho of Green Springs. - Col. 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LYNN LINTON.= - - Patricia Kemball. - Under which Lord? - “My Love!” - Ione. - Paston Carew. - Sowing the Wind. - The Atonement of Leam Dundas. - The World Well Lost. - The One Too Many. - - =By H. W. LUCY.= - - Gideon Fleyce. - - =By JUSTIN MCCARTHY.= - - A Fair Saxon. - Linley Rochford. - Miss Misanthrope. - Donna Quixote. - Maid of Athens. - Camiola. - Waterdale Neighbours. - My Enemy’s Daughter. - Red Diamonds. - Dear Lady Disdain. - The Dictator. - The Comet of a Season. - - =By GEORGE MACDONALD.= - - Heather and Snow. - Phantastes. - - =By L. T. MEADE.= - - A Soldier of Fortune. - - =By BERTRAM MITFORD.= - - The Gun-Runner. - The Luck of Gerard Ridgeley. - The King’s Assegai. - Renshaw Fanning’s Quest. - - =By J. E. MUDDOCK.= - - Maid Marian and Robin Hood. - - =By D. 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CHRISTIE MURRAY.= - - A Model Father. - Joseph’s Coat. - Coals of Fire. - Val Strange. - Old Blazer’s Hero. - Hearts. - The Way of the World. - Cynic Fortune. - A Life’s Atonement. - By the Gate of the Sea. - A Bit of Human Nature. - First Person Singular. - Bob Martin’s Little Girl. - Time’s Revenges. - A Wasted Crime. - - =By HENRY MURRAY.= - - A Game of Bluff. - A Song of Sixpence. - - =By HUME NISBET.= - - “Ball Up!” - Dr. Bernard St. Vincent. - - =By ALICE O’HANLON.= - - The Unforeseen. - Chance? or Fate? - - =By GEORGES OHNET.= - - Dr. Rameau. - A Last Love. - A Weird Gift. - - =By Mrs. OLIPHANT.= - - Whiteladies. - The Primrose Path. - The Greatest Heiress in England. - - =By Mrs. ROBERT O’REILLY.= - - Phœbe’s Fortunes. - - =By OUIDA.= - - Held in Bondage. - Strathmore. - Chandos. - Idalia. - Under Two Flags. - Cecil Castlemaine’s Gage. - Tricotrin. - Puck. - Folle Farine. - A Dog of Flanders. - Pascarel. - Signa. - Princess Napraxine. - In a Winter City. - Ariadne. - Friendship. - Two Little Wooden Shoes. - Moths. - Bimbi. - Pipistrello. - A Village Commune. - Wanda. - Othmar. - Frescoes. - In Maremma. - Guilderoy. - Ruffino. - Syrlin. - Santa Barbara. - Ouida’s Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos. - - =By MARGARET AGNES PAUL.= - - Gentle and Simple. - - =By C. L. PIRKIS.= - - Lady Lovelace. - - =By EDGAR A. POE.= - - The Mystery of Marie Roget. - - =By Mrs. CAMPBELL PRAED.= - - The Romance of a Station. - The Soul of Countess Adrian. - Outlaw and Lawmaker. - - =By E. C. PRICE.= - - Valentina. - The Foreigners. - Mrs. Lancaster’s Rival. - Gerald. - - =By RICHARD PRYCE.= - - Miss Maxwell’s Affections. - - =By JAMES PAYN.= - - Bentinck’s Tutor. - Murphy’s Master. - A County Family. - At Her Mercy. - Cecil’s Tryst. - The Clyffards of Clyffe. - The Foster Brothers. - Found Dead. - The Best of Husbands. - Walter’s Word. - Halves. - Fallen Fortunes. - Humorous Stories. - £200 Reward. - A Marine Residence. - Mirk Abbey. - By Proxy. - Under One Roof. - High Spirits. - Carlyon’s Year. - From Exile. - For Cash Only. - Kit. - The Canon’s Ward. - Talk of the Town. - Holiday Tasks. - A Perfect Treasure. - What He Cost Her. - A Confidential Agent. - Glow-worm Tales. - The Burnt Million. - Sunny Stories. - Lost Sir Massingberd. - A Woman’s Vengeance. - The Family Scapegrace. - Gwendoline’s Harvest. - Like Father, Like Son. - Married Beneath Him. - Not Wooed, but Won. - Less Black than We’re Painted. - Some Private Views. - A Grape from a Thorn. - The Mystery of Mirbridge. - The Word and the Will. - A Prince of the Blood. - A Trying Patient. - - =By CHARLES READE.= - - It is Never Too Late to Mend. - Christie Johnstone. - The Double Marriage. - Put Yourself in His Place. - Love Me Little, Love Me Long. - The Cloister and the Hearth. - The Course of True Love. - The Jilt. - The Autobiography of a Thief. - A Terrible Temptation. - Foul Play. - The Wandering Heir. - Hard Cash. - Singleheart and Doubleface. - Good Stories of Men and other Animals. - Peg Woffington. - Griffith Gaunt. - A Perilous Secret. - A Simpleton. - Readiana. - A Woman-Hater. - - =By Mrs. J. H. RIDDELL.= - - Weird Stories. - Fairy Water. - Her Mother’s Darling. - The Prince of Wales’s Garden Party. - The Uninhabited House. - The Mystery in Palace Gardens. - The Nun’s Curse. - Idle Tales. - - =By AMELIE RIVES.= - - Barbara Dering. - - =By F. W. ROBINSON.= - - Women are Strange. - The Hands of Justice. - - =By JAMES RUNCIMAN.= - - Skippers and Shellbacks. - Grace Balmaign’s Sweetheart. - Schools and Scholars. - - =By W. CLARK RUSSELL.= - - Round the Galley Fire. - On the Fo’k’sle Head. - In the Middle Watch. - A Voyage to the Cape. - A Book for the Hammock. - The Mystery of the “Ocean Star.” - The Romance of Jenny Harlowe. - An Ocean Tragedy. - My Shipmate Louise. - Alone on a Wide Wide Sea. - - =By GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.= - - Gaslight and Daylight. - - =By JOHN SAUNDERS.= - - Guy Waterman. - The Two Dreamers. - The Lion in the Path. - - =By KATHARINE SAUNDERS.= - - Joan Merryweather. - The High Mills. - Heart Salvage. - Sebastian. - Margaret and Elizabeth. - - =By GEORGE R. SIMS.= - - Rogues and Vagabonds. - The Ring o’ Bells. - Mary Jane’s Memoirs. - Mary Jane Married. - Tales of To-day. - Dramas of Life. - Tinkletop’s Crime. - Zeph. - My Two Wives. - Memoirs of a Landlady. - Scenes from the Show. - - =By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY.= - - A Match in the Dark. - - =By HAWLEY SMART.= - - Without Love or Licence. - - =By T. W. SPEIGHT.= - - The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. - The Golden Hoop. - Hoodwinked. - By Devious Ways. - Back to Life. - The Loudwater Tragedy. - Burgo’s Romance. - Quittance in Full. - - =By R. A. STERNDALE.= - - The Afghan Knife. - - =By R. LOUIS STEVENSON.= - - New Arabian Nights. - Prince Otto. - - =By BERTHA THOMAS.= - - Cressida. - Proud Maisie. - The Violin-Player. - - =By WALTER THORNBURY.= - - Tales for the Marines. - Old Stories Retold. - -T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. - - Diamond Cut Diamond. - - =By F. ELEANOR TROLLOPE.= - - Like Ships upon the Sea. - Anne Furness. - Mabel’s Progress. - - =By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.= - - Frau Frohmann. - Marion Fay. - Kept in the Dark. - John Caldigate. - The Way We Live Now. - The Land-Leaguers. - The American Senator. - Mr. Scarborough’s Family. - The Golden Lion of Granpere. - - =By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.= - - Farnell’s Folly. - - =By IVAN TURGENIEFF, &c.= - - Stories from Foreign Novelists. - - =By MARK TWAIN.= - - A Pleasure Trip on the Continent. - The Gilded Age. - Huckleberry Finn. - Mark Twain’s Sketches. - Tom Sawyer. - A Tramp Abroad. - Stolen White Elephant. - Life on the Mississippi. - The Prince and the Pauper. - A Yankee at the Court of King Arthur. - The £1,000,000 Bank-Note. - - =By C. C. FRASER-TYTLER.= - - Mistress Judith. - - =By SARAH TYTLER.= - - The Bride’s Pass. - Buried Diamonds. - St. Mungo’s City. - Lady Bell. - Noblesse Oblige. - Disappeared. - The Huguenot Family. - The Blackhall Ghosts. - What She Came Through. - Beauty and the Beast. - Citoyenne Jaqueline. - - =By ALLEN UPWARD.= - - The Queen against Owen. - - =By AARON WATSON and= - -LILLIAS WASSERMANN. - - The Marquis of Carabas. - - =By WILLIAM WESTALL.= - - Trust-Money. - - =By Mrs. F. H. WILLIAMSON.= - - A Child Widow. - - =By J. S. WINTER.= - - Cavalry Life. - Regimental Legends. - - =By H. F. WOOD.= - - The Passenger from Scotland Yard. - The Englishman of the Rue Cain. - - =By Lady WOOD.= - - Sabina. - - =By CELIA PARKER WOOLLEY.= - - Rachel Armstrong; or, Love and Theology. - - =By EDMUND YATES.= - - The Forlorn Hope. - Land at Last. - Castaway. - - OGDEN, SMALE AND CO. 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