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diff --git a/7378-0.txt b/7378-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34b02b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/7378-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11052 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Chantry House, by Charlotte M. Yonge, +Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Chantry House + + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + + + +Release Date: November 14, 2014 [eBook #7378] +[This file was first posted on April 22, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHANTRY HOUSE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1905 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: What I do remember, is my mother reading to me as I lay in my + crib. p. 3] + + + + + + CHANTRY HOUSE + + + BY + CHARLOTTE M. YONGE + + AUTHOR OF ‘THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,’ ‘UNKNOWN TO HISTORY,’ ETC. + + [Picture: A feeble water-coloured drawing of the trio. p. 2] + + ILLUSTRATED BY W. J. HENNESSY + + * * * * * + + London + MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited + NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + 1905 + + _All rights reserved_ + + * * * * * + + + + +CONTENTS. + + CHAPTER I. + PAGE +A NURSERY PROSE 1 + CHAPTER II. +SCHOOLROOM DAYS 11 + CHAPTER III. +WIN AND SLOW 17 + CHAPTER IV. +UBI LAPSUS, QUID FECI 25 + CHAPTER V. +A HELPING HAND 34 + CHAPTER VI. +THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 43 + CHAPTER VII. +THE INHERITANCE 50 + CHAPTER VIII. +THE OLD HOUSE 59 + CHAPTER IX. +RATS 67 + CHAPTER X. +OUR TUNEFUL CHOIR 73 + CHAPTER XI. +‘THEY FORDYS’ 82 + CHAPTER XII. +MRS. SOPHIA’S FEUD 89 + CHAPTER XIII. +A SCRAPE 96 + CHAPTER XIV. +THE MULLION CHAMBER 107 + CHAPTER XV. +RATIONAL THEORIES 117 + CHAPTER XVI. +CAT LANGUAGE 126 + CHAPTER XVII. +THE SIEGE OF HILLSIDE 136 + CHAPTER XVIII. +THE PORTRAIT 149 + CHAPTER XIX. +THE WHITE FEATHER 159 + CHAPTER XX. +VENI, VIDI, VICI 171 + CHAPTER XXI. +THE OUTSIDE OF THE COURTSHIP 179 + CHAPTER XXII. +BRISTOL DIAMONDS 186 + CHAPTER XXIII. +QUICKSANDS 198 + CHAPTER XXIV. +AFTER THE TEMPEST 208 + CHAPTER XXV. +HOLIDAY-MAKING 217 + CHAPTER XXVI. +C. MORBUS, ESQ. 229 + CHAPTER XXVII. +PETER’S THUNDERBOLT 236 + CHAPTER XXVIII. +A SQUIRE OF DAMES 245 + CHAPTER XXIX. +LOVE AND OBEDIENCE 251 + CHAPTER XXX. +UNA OR DUESSA 260 + CHAPTER XXXI. +FACILIS DESCENSUS 269 + CHAPTER XXXII. +WALY, WALY 278 + CHAPTER XXXIII. +THE RIVER’S BANK 284 + CHAPTER XXXIV. +NOT IN VAIN 293 + CHAPTER XXXV. +GRIFF’S BIRD 299 + CHAPTER XXXVI. +SLACK WATER 307 + CHAPTER XXXVII. +OUTWARD BOUND 316 + CHAPTER XXXVIII. +TOO LATE 328 + CHAPTER XXXIX. +A PURPOSE 337 + CHAPTER XL. +THE MIDNIGHT CHASE 344 + CHAPTER XLI. +WILLS OLD AND NEW 350 + CHAPTER XLII. +ON A SPREE 357 + CHAPTER XLIII. +THE PRICE 364 + CHAPTER XLIV. +PAYING THE COST 371 + CHAPTER XLV. +ACHIEVED 378 + CHAPTER XLVI. +RESTITUTION 385 + CHAPTER XLVII. +THE FORDYCE STORY 392 + CHAPTER XLVIII. +THE LAST DISCOVERY 399 + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +‘What I do remember, is my mother reading to me as _Frontispiece_. +I lay in my crib’ +A feeble water-coloured drawing of the trio _Vignette_. +‘That is poor Margaret who married your ancestor’ _Page_ 154 +Lady Margaret’s ghost 346 + + + + +CHAPTER I. +A NURSERY PROSE. + + + ‘And if it be the heart of man + Which our existence measures, + Far longer is our childhood’s span + Than that of manly pleasures. + + ‘For long each month and year is then, + Their thoughts and days extending, + But months and years pass swift with men + To time’s last goal descending.’ + + ISAAC WILLIAMS. + +THE united force of the younger generation has been brought upon me to +record, with the aid of diaries and letters, the circumstances connected +with Chantry House and my two dear elder brothers. Once this could not +have been done without more pain than I could brook, but the lapse of +time heals wounds, brings compensations, and, when the heart has ceased +from aching and yearning, makes the memory of what once filled it a +treasure to be brought forward with joy and thankfulness. Nor would it +be well that some of those mentioned in the coming narrative should be +wholly forgotten, and their place know them no more. + +To explain all, I must go back to a time long before the morning when my +father astonished us all by exclaiming, ‘Poor old James Winslow! So +Chantry House is came to us after all!’ Previous to that event I do not +think we were aware of the existence of that place, far less of its being +a possible inheritance, for my parents would never have permitted +themselves or their family to be unsettled by the notion of doubtful +contingencies. + +My father, John Edward Winslow, was a barrister, and held an appointment +in the Admiralty Office, which employed him for many hours of the day at +Somerset House. My mother, whose maiden name was Mary Griffith, belonged +to a naval family. Her father had been lost in a West Indian hurricane +at sea, and her uncle, Admiral Sir John Griffith, was the hero of the +family, having been at Trafalgar and distinguished himself in cutting out +expeditions. My eldest brother bore his name. The second was named +after the Duke of Clarence, with whom my mother had once danced at a ball +on board ship at Portsmouth, and who had been rather fond of my uncle. +Indeed, I believe my father’s appointment had been obtained through his +interest, just about the time of Clarence’s birth. + +We three boys had come so fast upon each other’s heels in the Novembers +of 1809, 10, and 11, that any two of us used to look like twins. There +is still extant a feeble water-coloured drawing of the trio, in nankeen +frocks, and long white trowsers, with bare necks and arms, the latter +twined together, and with the free hands, Griffith holding a bat, +Clarence a trap, and I a ball. I remember the emulation we felt at +Griffith’s privilege of eldest in holding the bat. + +The sitting for that picture is the only thing I clearly remember during +those earlier days. I have no recollection of the disaster, which, at +four years old, altered my life. The catastrophe, as others have +described it, was that we three boys were riding cock-horse on the +balusters of the second floor of our house in Montagu Place, Russell +Square, when we indulged in a general _mêlée_, which resulted in all +tumbling over into the vestibule below. The others, to whom I served as +cushion, were not damaged beyond the power of yelling, and were quite +restored in half-an-hour, but I was undermost, and the consequence has +been a curved spine, dwarfed stature, an elevated shoulder, and a +shortened, nearly useless leg. + +What I do remember, is my mother reading to me Miss Edgeworth’s _Frank +and the little do Trusty_, as I lay in my crib in her bedroom. I made +one of my nieces hunt up the book for me the other day, and the story +brought back at once the little crib, or the watered blue moreen canopy +of the big four-poster to which I was sometimes lifted for a change; even +the scrawly pattern of the paper, which my weary eyes made into purple +elves perpetually pursuing crimson ones, the foremost of whom always +turned upside down; and the knobs in the Marseilles counterpane with +which my fingers used to toy. I have heard my mother tell that whenever +I was most languid and suffering I used to whine out, ‘O do read _Frank +and the little dog Trusty_,’ and never permitted a single word to be +varied, in the curious childish love of reiteration with its soothing +power. + +I am afraid that any true picture of our parents, especially of my +mother, will not do them justice in the eyes of the young people of the +present day, who are accustomed to a far more indulgent government, and +yet seem to me to know little of the loyal veneration and submission with +which we have, through life, regarded our father and mother. It would +have been reckoned disrespectful to address them by these names; they +were through life to us, in private, papa and mamma, and we never +presumed to take a liberty with them. I doubt whether the petting, +patronising equality of terms on which children now live with their +parents be equally wholesome. There was then, however, strong love and +self-sacrificing devotion; but not manifested in softness or cultivation +of sympathy. Nothing was more dreaded than spoiling, which was viewed as +idle and unjustifiable self-gratification at the expense of the objects +thereof. There were an unlucky little pair in Russell Square who were +said to be ‘spoilt children,’ and who used to be mentioned in our nursery +with bated breath as a kind of monsters or criminals. I believe our +mother laboured under a perpetual fear of spoiling Griff as the eldest, +Clarence as the beauty, me as the invalid, Emily (two years younger) as +the only girl, and Martyn as the after-thought, six years below our +sister. She was always performing little acts of conscientiousness, +little as we guessed it. + +Thus though her unremitting care saved my life, and was such that she +finally brought on herself a severe and dangerous illness, she kept me in +order all the time, never wailed over me nor weakly pitied me, never +permitted resistance to medicine nor rebellion against treatment, +enforced little courtesies, insisted on every required exertion, and +hardly ever relaxed the rule of Spartan fortitude in herself as in me. +It is to this resolution on her part, carried out consistently at +whatever present cost to us both, that I owe such powers of locomotion as +I possess, and the habits of exertion that have been even more valuable +to me. + +When at last, after many weeks, nay months, of this watchfulness, she +broke down, so that her life was for a time in danger, the lack of her +bracing and tender care made my life very trying, after I found myself +transported to the nursery, scarcely understanding why, accused of having +by my naughtiness made ray poor mamma so ill, and discovering for the +first time that I was a miserable, naughty little fretful being, and with +nobody but Clarence and the housemaid to take pity on me. + +Nurse Gooch was a masterful, trustworthy woman, and was laid under +injunctions not to indulge Master Edward. She certainly did not err in +that respect, though she attended faithfully to my material welfare; but +woe to me if I gave way to a little moaning; and what I felt still +harder, she never said ‘good boy’ if I contrived to abstain. + +I hear of carpets, curtains, and pictures in the existing nurseries. +They must be palaces compared with our great bare attic, where nothing +was allowed that could gather dust. One bit of drugget by the fireside, +where stood a round table at which the maids talked and darned stockings, +was all that hid the bare boards; the walls were as plain as those of a +workhouse, and when the London sun did shine, it glared into my eyes +through the great unshaded windows. There was a deal table for the meals +(and very plain meals they were), and two or three big presses painted +white for our clothes, and one cupboard for our toys. I must say that +Gooch was strictly just, and never permitted little Emily, nor +Griff—though he was very decidedly the favourite,—to bear off my beloved +woolly dog to be stabled in the houses of wooden bricks which the two +were continually constructing for their menagerie of maimed animals. + +Griff was deservedly the favourite with every one who was not, like our +parents, conscientiously bent on impartiality. He was so bright and +winning, he had such curly tight-rolled hair with a tinge of auburn, such +merry bold blue eyes, such glowing dimpled cheeks, such a joyous smile +all over his face, and such a ringing laugh; he was so strong, brave, and +sturdy, that he was a boy to be proud of, and a perfect king in his own +way, making every one do as he pleased. All the maids, and Peter the +footman, were his slaves, every one except nurse and mamma, and it was +only by a strong effort of principle that they resisted him; while he +dragged Clarence about as his devoted though not always happy follower. + +Alas! for Clarence! Courage was not in him. The fearless infant boy +chiefly dwells in conventional fiction, and valour seldom comes before +strength. Moreover, I have come to the opinion that though no one +thought of it at the time, his nerves must have had a terrible and +lasting shock at the accident and at the sight of my crushed and deathly +condition, which occupied every one too much for them to think of +soothing or shielding him. At any rate, fear was the misery of his life. +Darkness was his horror. He would scream till he brought in some one, +though he knew it would be only to scold or slap him. The housemaid’s +closet on the stairs was to him an abode of wolves. Mrs. Gatty’s tale of +_The Tiger in the Coal-box_ is a transcript of his feelings, except that +no one took the trouble to reassure him; something undefined and horrible +was thought to wag in the case of the eight-day clock; and he could not +bear to open the play cupboard lest ‘something’ should jump out on him. +The first time he was taken to the Zoological Gardens, the monkeys so +terrified him that a bystander insisted on Gooch’s carrying him away lest +he should go into fits, though Griffith was shouting with ecstasy, and +could hardly forgive the curtailment of his enjoyment. + +Clarence used to aver that he really did see ‘things’ in the dark, but as +he only shuddered and sobbed instead of describing them, he was punished +for ‘telling fibs,’ though the housemaid used to speak under her breath +of his being a ‘Sunday child.’ And after long penance, tied to his stool +in the corner, he would creep up to me and whisper, ‘But, Eddy, I really +did!’ + +However, it was only too well established in the nursery that Clarence’s +veracity was on a par with his courage. When taxed with any +misdemeanour, he used to look round scared and bewildered, and utter a +flat demur. One scene in particular comes before me. There were strict +laws against going into shops or buying dainties without express +permission from mamma or nurse; but one day when Clarence had by some +chance been sent out alone with the good natured housemaid, his fingers +were found sticky. + +‘Now, Master Clarence, you’ve been a naughty boy, eating of sweets,’ +exclaimed stern Justice in a mob cap and frills. + +‘No—no—’ faltered the victim; but, alas! Mrs. Gooch had only to thrust +her hand into the little pocket of his monkey suit to convict him on the +spot. + +The maid was dismissed with a month’s wages, and poor Clarence underwent +a strange punishment from my mother, who was getting about again by that +time, namely, a drop of hot sealing-wax on his tongue, to teach him +practically the doom of the false tongue. It might have done him good if +there had been sufficient encouragement to him to make him try to win a +new character, but it only added a fresh terror to his mind; and nurse +grew fond of manifesting her incredulity of his assertions by always +referring to Griff or to me, or even to little Emily. What was worse, +she used to point him out to her congeners in the Square or the Park as +‘such a false child.’ + +He was a very pretty little fellow, with a delicately rosy face, wistful +blue eyes, and soft, light, wavy hair, and perhaps Gooch was jealous of +his attracting more notice than Griffith, and thought he posed for +admiration, for she used to tell people that no one could guess what a +child he was for slyness; so that he could not bear going out with her, +and sometimes bemoaned himself to me. + +There must be a good deal of sneaking in the undeveloped nature, for in +those days I was ashamed of my preference for Clarence, the naughty one. +But there was no helping it, he was so much more gentle than Griff, and +would always give up any sport that incommoded me, instead of calling me +a stupid little ape, and becoming more boisterous after the fashion of +Griff. Moreover, he fetched and carried for me unweariedly, and would +play at spillekins, help to put up puzzles, and enact little dramas with +our wooden animals, such as Griff scorned as only fit for babies. Even +nurse allowed Clarence’s merits towards me and little Emily, but always +with the sigh: ‘If he was but as good in other respects, but them quiet +ones is always sly.’ + +Good Nurse Gooch! We all owe much to her staunch fidelity, strong +discipline, and unselfish devotion, but nature had not fitted her to deal +with a timid, sensitive child, of highly nervous temperament. Indeed, +persons of far more insight might have been perplexed by the fact that +Clarence was exemplary at church and prayers, family and +private,—whenever Griff would let him, that is to say,—and would add +private petitions of his own, sometimes of a startling nature. He never +scandalised the nursery, like Griff, by unseemly pranks on Sundays, nor +by innovations in the habits of Noah’s ark, but was as much shocked as +nurse when the lion was made to devour the elephant, or the lion and wolf +fought in an embrace fatal to their legs. Bible stories and Watt’s hymns +were more to Clarence than even to me, and he used to ask questions for +which Gooch’s theology was quite insufficient, and which brought the +invariable answers, ‘Now, Master Clarry, I never did! Little boys should +not ask such questions!’ ‘What’s the use of your pretending, sir! It’s +all falseness, that’s what it is! I hates hypercrīting!’ ‘Don’t worrit, +Master Clarence; you are a very naughty boy to say such things. I shall +put you in the corner!’ + +Even nurse was scared one night when Clarence had a frightful screaming +fit, declaring that he saw ‘her—her—all white,’ and even while being +slapped reiterated, ‘_her_, Lucy!’ + +Lucy was a kind elder girl in the Square gardens, a protector of little +timid ones. She was known to be at that time very ill with measles, and +in fact died that very night. Both my brothers sickened the next day, +and Emily and I soon followed their example, but no one had it badly +except Clarence, who had high fever, and very much delirium each night, +talking to people whom he thought he saw, so as to make nurse regret her +severity on the vision of Lucy. + + + + +CHAPTER II. +SCHOOLROOM DAYS. + + + ‘In the loom of life-cloth pleasure, + Ere our childish days be told, + With the warp and woof enwoven, + Glitters like a thread of gold.’—JEAN INGELOW. + +Looking back, I think my mother was the leading spirit in our household, +though she never for a moment suspected it. Indeed, the chess queen must +be the most active on the home board, and one of the objects of her life +was to give her husband a restful evening when he came home to the six +o’clock dinner. She also had to make both ends meet on an income which +would seem starvation at the present day; but she was strong, spirited, +and managing, and equal to all her tasks till the long attendance upon +me, and the consequent illness, forced her to spare herself—a little—a +very little. + +Previously she had been our only teacher, except that my father read a +chapter of the Bible with us every morning before breakfast, and heard +the Catechism on a Sunday. For we could all read long before young +gentlefolks nowadays can say their letters. It was well for me, since +books with a small quantity of type, and a good deal of frightful +illustration, beguiled many of my weary moments. You may see my special +favourites, bound up, on the shelf in my bedroom. Crabbe’s _Tales_, +_Frank_, _the Parent’s Assistant_, and later, Croker’s _Tales from +English History_, Lamb’s _Tales from Shakespeare_, _Tales of a +Grandfather_, and the _Rival Crusoes_ stand pre-eminent—also _Mrs. +Leicester’s School_, with the ghost story cut out. + +Fairies and ghosts were prohibited as unwholesome, and not unwisely. The +one would have been enervating to me, and the other would have been a +definite addition to Clarence’s stock of horrors. Indeed, one story had +been cut out of Crabbe’s _Tales_, and another out of an Annual presented +to Emily, but not before Griff had read the latter, and the version he +related to us probably lost nothing in the telling; indeed, to this day I +recollect the man, wont to slay the harmless cricket on the hearth, and +in a storm at sea pursued by a gigantic cockroach and thrown overboard. +The night after hearing this choice legend Clarence was found crouching +beside me in bed for fear of the cockroach. I am afraid the vengeance +was more than proportioned to the offence! + +Even during my illness that brave mother struggled to teach my brothers’ +daily lessons, and my father heard them a short bit of Latin grammar at +his breakfast (five was thought in those days to be the fit age to begin +it, and fathers the fit teachers thereof). And he continued to give this +morning lesson when, on our return from airing at Ramsgate after our +recovery from the measles, my mother found she must submit to transfer us +to a daily governess. + +Old Miss Newton’s attainments could not have been great, for her answers +to my inquiries were decidedly funny, and prefaced _sotto voce_ with, +‘What a child it is!’ But she was a good kindly lady, who had the +faculty of teaching, and of forestalling rebellion; and her little thin +corkscrew curls, touched with gray, her pale eyes, prim black silk apron, +and sandalled shoes, rise before me full of happy associations of tender +kindness and patience. She was wise, too, in her own simple way. When +nurse would have forewarned her of Clarence’s failings in his own +hearing, she cut the words short by declaring that she should like never +to find out which was the naughty one. And when habit was too strong, +and he had denied the ink spot on the atlas, she persuasively wiled out a +confession not only to her but to mamma, who hailed the avowal as the +beginning of better things, and kissed instead of punishing. + +Clarence’s queries had been snubbed into reserve, and I doubt whether +Miss Newton’s theoretic theology was very much more developed than that +of Mrs. Gooch, but her practice and devotion were admirable, and she +fostered religious sentiment among us, introducing little books which +were welcome in the restricted range of Sunday reading. Indeed, Mrs. +Sherwood’s have some literary merit, and her _Fairchild Family_ indulged +in such delicious and eccentric acts of naughtiness as quite atoned for +all the religious teaching, and fascinated Griff, though he was apt to be +very impatient of certain little affectionate lectures to which Clarence +listened meekly. My father and mother were both of the old-fashioned +orthodox school, with minds formed on Jeremy Taylor, Blair, South, and +Secker, who thought it their duty to go diligently to church twice on +Sunday, communicate four times a year (their only opportunities), after +grave and serious preparation, read a sermon to their household on Sunday +evenings, and watch over their children’s religious instruction, though +in a reserved undemonstrative manner. My father always read one daily +chapter with us every morning, one Psalm at family prayers, and my mother +made us repeat a few verses of Scripture before our other studies began; +besides which there was special teaching on Sunday, and an abstinence +from amusements, such as would now be called Sabbatarian, but a walk in +the Park with papa was so much esteemed that it made the day a happy and +honoured one to those who could walk. + +There was little going into society, comparatively, for people in our +station,—solemn dinner-parties from time to time—two a year, did we give, +and then the house was turned upside down,—and now and then my father +dined out, or brought a friend home to dinner; and there were so-called +morning calls in the afternoon, but no tea-drinking. For the most part +the heads of the family dined alone at six, and afterwards my father read +aloud some book of biography or travels, while we children were expected +to employ ourselves quietly, threading beads, drawing, or putting up +puzzles, and listen or not as we chose, only not interrupt, as we sat at +the big, central, round, mahogany table. To this hour I remember +portions of Belzoni’s Researches and Franklin’s terrible American +adventures, and they bring back tones of my father’s voice. As an +authority ‘papa’ was seldom invoked, except on very serious occasions, +such as Griffith’s audacity, Clarence’s falsehood, or my obstinacy; and +then the affair was formidable, he was judicial and awful, and, though he +would graciously forgive on signs of repentance, he never was +sympathetic. He had not married young, and there were forty years or +more between him and his sons, so that he had left too far behind him the +feelings of boyhood to make himself one with us, even if he had thought +it right or dignified to do so,—yet I cannot describe the depth of the +respect and loyalty he inspired in us nor the delight we felt in a word +of commendation or a special attention from him. + +The early part of Miss Newton’s rule was unusually fertile in such +pleasures, and much might have been spared, could Clarence have been +longer under her influence; but Griff grew beyond her management, and was +taunted by ‘fellows in the Square’ into assertions of manliness, such as +kicking his heels, stealing her odd little fringed parasol, pitching his +books into the area, keeping her in misery with his antics during their +walks, and finally leading Clarence off after Punch into the Rookery of +St. Giles’s, where she could not follow, because Emily was in her charge. + +This was the crisis. She had to come home without the boys, and though +they arrived long before any of the authorities knew of their absence, +she owned with tears that she could not conscientiously be responsible +any longer for Griffith,—who not only openly defied her authority, but +had found out how little she knew, and laughed at her. I have reason to +believe also that my mother had discovered that she frequented the +preachings of Rowland Hill and Baptist Noel; and had confiscated some +unorthodox tracts presented to the servants, thus being alarmed lest she +should implant the seeds of dissent. + +Parting with her after four years under her was a real grief. Even Griff +was fond of her; when once emancipated, he used to hug her and bring her +remarkable presents, and she heartily loved her tormentor. Everybody +did. It remained a great pleasure to get her to spend an evening with us +while the elders were gone out to dinner; nor do I think she ever did us +anything but good, though I am afraid we laughed at ‘Old Newton’ as we +grew older and more conceited. We never had another governess. My +mother read and enforced diligence on Emily and me, and we had masters +for different studies; the two boys went to school; and when Martyn began +to emerge from babyhood, Emily was his teacher. + + + + +CHAPTER III. +WIN AND SLOW. + + + ‘The rude will shuffle through with ease enough: + Great schools best suit the sturdy and the rough.’ + + COWPER. + +AT school Griffith was very happy, and brilliantly successful, alike in +study and sport, though sports were not made prominent in those days, and +triumphs in them were regarded by the elders with doubtful pride, lest +they should denote a lack of attention to matters of greater importance. +All his achievements were, however, poured forth by himself and Clarence +to Emily and me, and we felt as proud of them as if they had been our +own. + +Clarence was industrious, and did not fail in his school work, but when +he came home for the holidays there was a cowed look about him, and +private revelations were made over my sofa that made my flesh creep. The +scars were still visible, caused by having been compelled to grasp the +bars of the grate bare-handed; and, what was worse, he had been suspended +outside a third story window by the wrists, held by a schoolfellow of +thirteen! + +‘But what was Griff about?’ I demanded, with hot tears of indignation. + +‘Oh, Win!—that’s what they call him, and me Slow—he said it would do me +good. But I don’t think it did, Eddy. It only makes my heart beat fit +to choke me whenever I go near the passage window.’ + +I could only utter a vain wish that I had been there and able to fight +for him, and I attacked Griff on the subject on the first opportunity. + +‘Oh!’ was his answer, ‘it is only what all fellows have to bear if +there’s no pluck in them. They tried it on upon me, you know, but I soon +showed them it would not do’—with the cock of the nose, the flash of the +eyes, the clench of the fist, that were peculiarly Griff’s own; and when +I pleaded that he might have protected Clarence, he laughed scornfully. +‘As to Slow, wretched being, a fellow can’t help bullying him. It comes +as natural as to a cat with a mouse.’ On further and reiterated +pleadings, Griff declared, first, that it was the only thing to do Slow +any good, or make a man of him; and next, that he heartily wished that +Winslow junior had been Miss Clara at once, as the fellows called him—it +was really hard on him (Griff) to have such a sneaking little coward tied +to him for a junior! + +I particularly resented the term Slow, for Clarence had lately been the +foremost of us in his studies; but the idea that learning had anything to +do with the matter was derided, and as time went on, there was vexation +and displeasure at his progress not being commensurate with his +abilities. It would have been treason to schoolboy honour to let the +elders know that though a strong, high-spirited popular boy like ‘Win’ +might venture to excel big bullying dunces, such fair game as poor ‘Slow’ +could be terrified into not only keeping below them, but into doing their +work for them. To him Cowper’s ‘Tirocinium’ had only too much sad truth. + +As to his old failing, there were no special complaints, but in those +pre-Arnoldian times no lofty code of honour was even ideal among +schoolboys, or expected of them by masters; shuffling was thought +natural, and allowances made for faults in indolent despair. + +My mother thought the Navy the proper element of boyhood, and her uncle +the Admiral promised a nomination,—a simple affair in those happy days, +involving neither examination nor competition. Griffith was, however, +one of those independent boys who take an aversion to whatever is forced +on them as their fate. He was ready and successful with his studies, a +hero among his comrades, and preferred continuing at school to what he +pronounced, on the authority of the nautical tales freely thrown in our +way, to be the life of a dog, only fit for the fool of the family; +besides, he had once been out in a boat, tasted of sea-sickness, and been +laughed at. My father was gratified, thinking his brains too good for a +midshipman, and pleased that he should wish to tread in his own steps at +Harrow and Oxford, and thus my mother could not openly regret his +degeneracy when all the rest of us were crazy over _Tom Cringle’s Log_, +and ready to envy Clarence when the offer was passed on to him, and he +appeared in the full glory of his naval uniform. Not much choice had +been offered to him. My mother would have thought it shameful and +ungrateful to have no son available, my father was glad to have the boy’s +profession fixed, and he himself was rejoiced to escape from the miseries +he knew only too well, and ready to believe that uniform and dirk would +make a man of him at once, with all his terrors left behind. Perhaps the +chief drawback was that the ladies _would_ say, ‘What a darling!’ +affording Griff endless opportunities for the good-humoured mockery by +which he concealed his own secret regrets. Did not even Selina Clarkson, +whose red cheeks, dark blue eyes, and jetty profusion of shining curls, +were our notion of perfect beauty, select the little naval cadet for her +partner at the dancing master’s ball? + +In the first voyage, a cruise in the Pacific, all went well. The good +Admiral had carefully chosen ship and captain; there were an excellent +set of officers, a good tone among the midshipmen, and Clarence, who was +only twelve years old, was constituted the pet of the cockpit. One lad +in especial, Coles by name, attracted by Clarence’s pleasant gentleness, +and impelled by the generosity that shields the weak, became his guardian +friend, and protected him from all the roughnesses in his power. If +there were a fault in that excellent Coles, it was that he made too much +of a baby of his _protégé_, and did not train him to shift for himself: +but wisdom and moderation are not characteristics of early youth. At +home we had great enjoyment of his long descriptive letters, which came +under cover to our father at the Admiralty, but were chiefly intended for +my benefit. All were proud of them, and great was my elation when I +heard papa relate some fact out of them with the preface, ‘My boy tells +me, my boy Clarence, in the _Calypso_; he writes a capital letter.’ + +How great was our ecstasy when after three years and a half we had him at +home again; handsome, vigorous, well-grown, excellently reported of, +fully justifying my mother’s assurances that the sea would make a man of +him. There was Griffith in the fifth form and a splendid cricketer, but +Clarence could stand up to him now, and Harrovian exploits were tame +beside stories of sharks and negroes, monkeys and alligators. There was +one in particular, about a whole boat’s crew sitting down on what they +thought was a fallen tree, but which suddenly swept them all over on +their faces, and turned out to be a boa-constrictor, and would have +embraced one of them if he had not had the sail of the boat coiled round +the mast, and palmed off upon him, when he gorged it contentedly, and +being found dead on the next landing, his skin was used to cover the +captain’s sea-chest. Clarence declined to repeat this tale and many +others before the elders, and was displeased with Emily for referring to +it in public. As to his terrors, he took it for granted that an officer +of H.M.S. _Calypso_, had left them behind, and in fact, he naturally +forgot and passed over what he had not been shielded from, while his +hereditary love of the sea really made those incidental to his profession +much more endurable than the bullying he had undergone at school. + +We were very happy that Christmas, and very proud of our boys. One +evening we were treated to a box at the pantomime, and even I was able to +go to it. We put our young sailor and our sister in the forefront, and +believed that every one was as much struck with them as with the +wonderful transformations of Goody-Two-Shoes under the wand of Harlequin. +Brother-like, we might tease our one girl, and call her an affected +little pussy cat, but our private opinion was that she excelled all other +damsels with her bright blue eyes and pretty curling hair, which had the +same chestnut shine as Griff’s—enough to make us correct possible vanity +by terming it red, though we were ready to fight any one else who +presumed to do so. Indeed Griff had defended its hue in single combat, +and his eye was treated for it with beefsteak by Peter in the pantry. We +were immensely, though silently, proud of her in her white embroidered +cambric frock, red sash and shoes, and coral necklace, almost an +heirloom, for it had been brought from Sicily in Nelson’s days by my +mother’s poor young father. How parents and doctors in these days would +have shuddered at her neck and arms, bare, not only in the evening, but +by day! When she was a little younger she could so shrink up from her +clothes that Griff, or little Martyn, in a mischievous mood, would put +things down her back, to reappear below her petticoats. Once it was a +dead wasp, which descended harmlessly the length of her spine! She was a +good-humoured, affectionate, dear sister, my valued companion, submitting +patiently to be eclipsed when Clarence was present, and everything to me +in his absence. Sturdy little Martyn too, was held by us to be the most +promising of small boys. He was a likeness of Clarence, only stouter, +hardier, and without the delicate, girlish, wistful look; imitating Griff +in everything, and rather a heavy handful to Emily and me when left to +our care, though we were all the more proud of his high spirit, and were +fast becoming a mutual admiration society. + +What then were our feelings when Griff, always fearless, dashed to the +rescue of a boy under whom the ice had broken in St. James’ Park, and +held him up till assistance came? Martyn, who was with him, was sent +home to fetch dry clothes and reassure my mother, which he did by dashing +upstairs, shouting, ‘Where’s mamma? Here’s Griff been into the water and +pulled out a boy, and they don’t know if he is drowned; but he looks—oh!’ + +Even after my mother had elicited that Martyn’s _he_ meant the boy, and +not Griff, she could not rest without herself going to see that our +eldest was unhurt, greet him, and bring him home. What happy tears stood +in her eyes, how my father shook hands with him, how we drank his health +after dinner, and how ungrateful I was to think Clarence deserved his +name of Slow for having stayed at home to play chess with me because my +back was aching, when he might have been winning the like honours! How +red and gruff and shy the hero looked, and how he entreated no one to say +any more about it! + +He would not even look publicly at the paragraph about it in the paper, +only vituperating it for having made him into ‘a juvenile Etonian,’ and +hoping no one from Harrow would guess whom it meant. + +I found that paragraph the other day in my mother’s desk, folded over the +case of the medal of the Royal Humane Society, which Griff affected to +despise, but which, when he was well out of the way, used to be exhibited +on high days and holidays. It seems now like the boundary mark of the +golden days of our boyhood, and unmitigated hopes for one another. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. +UBI LAPSUS, QUID FECI. + + + ‘Clarence is come—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence.’ + + _King Richard III_. + +THERE was much stagnation in the Navy in those days in the reaction after +the great war; and though our family had fair interest at the Admiralty, +it was seven months before my brother went to sea again. To me they were +very happy months, with my helper of helpers, companion of companions, +who made possible to me many a little enterprise that could not be +attempted without him. My father made him share my studies, and thus +they became doubly pleasant. And oh, ye boys! who murmur at the Waverley +Novels as a dry holiday task, ye may envy us the zest and enthusiasm with +which we devoured them in their freshness. Strangely enough, the last +that we read together was the _Fair Maid of Perth_. + +Clarence and his friend Coles longed to sail together again, but Coles +was shelved; and when Clarence’s appointment came at last, it was to the +brig _Clotho_, Commander Brydone, going out in the Mediterranean Fleet, +under Sir Edward Codrington. My mother did not like brigs, and my father +did not like what he heard of the captain; but there had been jealous +murmurs about appointments being absorbed by sons of officials—he durst +not pick and choose; and the Admiral pronounced that if the lad had been +spoilt on board the _Calypso_, it was time for him to rough it—a dictum +whence there was no appeal. + +Half a year later the tidings of the victory of Navarino rang through +Europe, and were only half welcome to the conquerors; but in our +household it is connected with a terrible recollection. Though more than +half a century has rolled by, I shrink from dwelling on the shock that +fell on us when my father returned from Somerset House with such a +countenance that we thought our sailor had fallen; but my mother could +brook the fact far less than if her son had died a gallant death. The +_Clotho_ was on her way home, and Midshipman William Clarence Winslow was +to be tried by court-martial for insubordination, disobedience, and +drunkenness. My mother was like one turned to stone. She would hardly +go out of doors; she could scarcely bring herself to go to church; she +would have had my father give up his situation if there had been any +other means of livelihood. She could not talk; only when my father +sighed, ‘We should never have put him into the Navy,’ she hotly replied, + +‘How was I to suppose that a son of mine would be like that?’ + +Emily cried all day and all night. Some others would have felt it a +relief to have cried too. In more furious language than parents in those +days tolerated, Griff wrote to me his utter disbelief, and how he had +punched the heads of fellows who presumed to doubt that it was not all a +rascally, villainous plot. + +When the time came my father went down by the night mail to Portsmouth. +He could scarcely bear to face the matter; but, as he said, he could not +have it on his conscience if the boy did anything desperate for want of +some one to look after him. Besides, there might be some explanation. + +‘Explanation,’ said my mother bitterly. ‘That there always is!’ + +The ‘explanation’ was this—I have put together what came out in evidence, +what my father and the Admiral heard from commiserating officers, and +what at different times I learned from Clarence himself. Captain Brydone +was one of the rough old description of naval men, good sailors and stern +disciplinarians, but wanting in any sense of moral duties towards their +ship’s company. His lieutenant was of the same class, soured, moreover, +by tardy promotion, and prejudiced against a gentleman-like, fair-faced +lad, understood to have interest, and bearing a name that implied it. Of +the other two midshipmen, one was a dull lad of low stamp, the other a +youth of twenty, a born bully, with evil as well as tyrannical +propensities;—the crew conforming to severe discipline on board, but +otherwise wild and lawless. In such a ship a youth with good habits, +sensitive conscience, and lack of moral or physical courage, could not +but lead a life of misery, losing every day more of his self-respect and +spirit as he was driven to the evil he loathed, dreading the +consequences, temporal and eternal, with all his soul, yet without +resolution or courage to resist. + +As every one knows, the battle of Navarino came on suddenly, almost by +mistake; and though it is perhaps no excuse, the hurly-burly and horror +burst upon him at unawares. Though the English loss was comparatively +very small, the _Clotho_ was a good deal exposed, and two men were +killed—one so close to Clarence that his clothes were splashed with +blood. This entirely unnerved him; he did not even know what he did, but +he was not to be found when required to carry an order, and was +discovered hidden away below, shuddering, in his berth, and then made +some shallow excuse about misunderstanding orders. Whether this would +have been brought up against him under other circumstances, or whether it +would have been remembered that great men, including Charles V. and Henri +IV., have had their _moment de peur_, I cannot tell; but there were other +charges. I cannot give date or details. There is no record among the +papers before me; and I can only vaguely recall what could hardly be read +for the sense of agony, was never discussed, and was driven into the most +oblivious recesses of the soul fifty years ago. There was a story about +having let a boat’s crew, of which he was in charge, get drunk and +over-stay their time. One of them deserted; and apparently prevarication +ran to the bounds of perjury, if it did not overpass them. (N.B.—Seeing +seamen flogged was one of the sickening horrors that haunted Clarence in +the _Clotho_.) Also, when on shore at Malta with the young man whose +name I will not record—his evil genius—he was beguiled or bullied into a +wine-shop, and while not himself was made the cat’s-paw of some insolent +practical joke on the lieutenant; and when called to account, was so +bewildered and excited as to use unpardonable language. + +Whatever it might have been in detail, so much was proved against him +that he was dismissed his ship, and his father was recommended to +withdraw him from the service, as being disqualified by want of nerve. +Also, it was added more privately, that such vicious tendencies needed +home restraint. The big bully, his corrupter, bore witness against him, +but did not escape scot free, for one of the captains spoke to him in +scathing tones of censure. + +Whenever my mother was in trouble, she always re-arranged the furniture, +and a family crisis was always heralded by a revolution of chairs, +tables, and sofas. She could not sit still under suspense, and, during +these terrible days the entire house underwent a setting to rights. +Emily attended upon her, and I sat and dusted books. No doubt it was +much better for us than sitting still. My father’s letter came by the +morning mail, telling us of the sentence, and that he and our poor +culprit, as he said, would come home by the Portsmouth coach in the +evening. + +One room was already in order when Sir John Griffith kindly came to see +whether he could bring any comfort to a spirit which would infinitely +have preferred death to dishonour, and was, above all, shocked at the +lack of physical courage. Never had I liked our old Admiral so well as +when I heard how his chief anger was directed against the general +mismanagement, and the cruelty of blighting a poor lad’s life when not +yet seventeen. His father might have been warned to remove him without +the public scandal of a court-martial and dismissal. + +‘The guilt and shame would have been all the same to us,’ said my mother. + +‘Come, Mary, don’t be hard on the poor fellow. In quiet times like these +a poor boy can’t look over the wall where one might have stolen a horse, +ay, or a dozen horses, when there was something else to think about!’ + +‘You would not have forgiven such a thing, sir.’ + +‘It never would have happened under me, or in any decently commanded +ship!’ he thundered. ‘There wasn’t a fault to be found with him in the +_Calypso_. What possessed Winslow to let him sail with Brydone? But the +service is going,’ etc. etc., he ran on—forgetting that it was he himself +who had been unwilling, perhaps rightly, to press the Duke of Clarence +for an appointment to a crack frigate for his namesake. However, when he +took leave he repeated, as he kissed my mother, ‘Mind, Mary, don’t be set +against the lad. That’s the way to make ’em desperate, and he is a mere +boy, after all.’ + +Poor mother, it was not so much hardness as a wounded spirit that made +her look so rigid. It might have been better if the return could have +been delayed so as to make her yearn after her son, but there was nowhere +for him to go, and the coach was already on its way. How strange it was +to feel the wonted glow at Clarence’s return coupled with a frightful +sense of disgrace and depression. + +The time was far on in October, and it was thus quite dark when the +travellers arrived, having walked from Charing Cross, where the coach set +them down. My father came in first, and my mother clung to him as if he +had been absent for weeks, while all the joy of contact with my brother +swept over me, even though his hand hung limp in mine, and was icy cold +like his cheeks. My father turned to him with one of the little set +speeches of those days. ‘Here is our son, Mary, who has promised me to +do his utmost to retrieve his character, as far as may be possible, and +happily he is still young.’ + +My mother’s embrace was in a sort of mechanical obedience to her +husband’s gesture, and her voice was not perhaps meant to be so severe as +it sounded when she said, ‘You are very cold—come and warm yourself.’ + +They made room for him by the fire, and my father stood up in front of +it, giving particulars of the journey. Emily and Martyn were at tea in +the nursery, in a certain awe that hindered them from coming down; +indeed, Martyn seems to have expected to see some strange transformation +in his brother. Indeed, there was alteration in the absence of the blue +and gold, and, still more, in the loss of the lightsome, hopeful +expression from the young face. + +There is a picture of Ary Scheffer’s of an old knight, whose son had fled +from the battle, cutting the tablecloth in two between himself and the +unhappy youth. Like that stern baron’s countenance was that with which +my mother sat at the head of the dinner-table, and we conversed by jerks +about whatever we least cared for, as if we could hide our wretchedness +from Peter. When the children appeared each gave Clarence the shyest of +kisses, and they sat demurely on their chairs on either side of my father +to eat their almonds and raisins, after which we went upstairs, and there +was the usual reading. It is curious, but though none of us could have +told at the time what it was about, on turning over not long ago a copy +of Head’s _Pampas and Andes_, one chapter struck me with an intolerable +sense of melancholy, such as the bull chases of South America did not +seem adequate to produce, and by and by I remembered that it was the book +in course of being read at that unhappy period. My mother went on as +diligently as ever with some of those perpetual shirts which seemed to be +always in hand except before company, when she used to do tambour work +for Emily’s frocks. Clarence sat the whole time in a dark corner, never +stirring, except that he now and then nodded a little. He had gone +through many wakeful, and worse than wakeful, nights of wretched +suspense, and now the worst was over. + +Family prayers took place, chill good-nights were exchanged, and nobody +interfered with his helping me up to my bedroom as usual; but there was +something in his face to which I durst not speak, though perhaps I +looked, for he exclaimed, ‘Don’t, Ned!’ wrung my hand, and sped away to +his own quarters higher up. Then came a sound which made me open my door +to listen. Dear little Emily! She had burst out of her own room in her +dressing-gown, and flung herself upon her brother as he was plodding +wearily upstairs in the dark, clinging round his neck sobbing, ‘Dear, +dear Clarry! I can’t bear it! I don’t care. You’re my own dear +brother, and they are all wicked, horrid people.’ + +That was all I heard, except hushings on Clarence’s part, as if the +opening of my door and the thread of light from it warned him that there +was risk of interruption. He seemed to be dragging her up to her own +room, and I was left with a pang at her being foremost in comforting him. + +My father enacted that he should be treated as usual. But how could that +be when papa himself did not know how changed were his own ways from his +kindly paternal air of confidence? All trust had been undermined, so +that Clarence could not cross the threshold without being required to +state his object, and, if he overstayed the time calculated, he was +cross-examined, and his replies received with a sigh of doubt. + +He hung about the house, not caring to do much, except taking me out in +my Bath chair or languidly reading the most exciting books he could +get;—but there was no great stock of sensation then, except the Byronic, +and from time to time one of my parents would exclaim, ‘Clarence, I +wonder you can find nothing more profitable to occupy yourself with than +trash like that!’ + +He would lay down the book without a word, and take up Smith’s _Wealth of +Nations_ or Smollett’s _England_—the profitable studies recommended, and +speedily become lost in a dejected reverie, with fixed eyes and drooping +lips. + + + + +CHAPTER V. +A HELPING HAND. + + + ‘Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, + The poor bee in her hive must dwell.’—HENRY VAUGHAN. + +IN imagination the piteous dejection of our family seems to have lasted +for ages, but on comparison of dates it is plain that the first +lightening of the burthen came in about a fortnight’s time. + +The firm of Frith and Castleford was coming to the front in the Chinese +trade. The junior partner was an old companion of my father’s boyhood; +his London abode was near at hand, and he was a kind of semi-godfather to +both Clarence and me, having stood proxy for our nominal sponsors. He +was as good and open-hearted a man as ever lived, and had always been +very kind to us; but he was scarcely welcome when my father, finding that +he had come up alone to London to see about some repairs to his house, +while his family were still in the country, asked him to dine and +sleep—our first guest since our misfortune. + +My mother could hardly endure to receive any one, but she seemed glad to +see my father become animated and like himself while Roman Catholic +Emancipation was vehemently discussed, and the ruin of England hotly +predicted. Clarence moped about silently as usual, and tried to avoid +notice, and it was not till the next morning—after breakfast, when the +two gentlemen were in the dining-room, nearly ready to go their several +ways, and I was in the window awaiting my classical tutor—that Mr. +Castleford said, + +‘May I ask, Winslow, if you have any plans for that poor boy?’ + +‘Edward?’ said my father, almost wilfully misunderstanding. ‘His +ambition is to be curator of something in the British Museum, isn’t it?’ + +Mr. Castleford explained that he meant the other, and my father sadly +answered that he hardly knew; he supposed the only thing was to send him +to a private tutor, but where to find a fit one he did not know and +besides, what could be his aim? Sir John Griffith had said he was only +fit for the Church, ‘But one does not wish to dispose of a tarnished +article there.’ + +‘Certainly not,’ said Mr. Castleford; and then he spoke words that +rejoiced my heart, though they only made my father groan, bidding him +remember that it was not so much actual guilt as the accident of +Clarence’s being in the Navy that had given so serious a character to his +delinquencies. If he had been at school, perhaps no one would ever have +heard of them, ‘Though I don’t say,’ added the good man, casting a new +light on the subject, ‘that it would have been better for him in the +end.’ Then, quite humbly, for he knew my mother especially had a disdain +for trade, he asked what my father would think of letting him give +Clarence work in the office for the present. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘it is +not the line your family might prefer, but it is present occupation; and +I do not think you could well send a youth who has seen so much of the +world back to schooling. Besides, this would keep him under your own +eye.’ + +My father was greatly touched by the kindness, but he thought it right to +set before Mr. Castleford the very worst side of poor Clarence; declaring +that he durst not answer for a boy who had never, in spite of pains and +punishments, learnt to speak truth at home or abroad, repeating Captain +Brydone’s dreadful report, and even adding that, what was most grievous +of all, there was an affectation of piety about him that could scarcely +be anything but self-deceit and hypocrisy. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘my eldest +son, Griffith, is just a boy, makes no profession, is not—as I am afraid +you have seen—exemplary at church, when Clarence sits as meek as a mouse, +but then he is always above-board, frank and straightforward. You know +where to have a high-spirited fellow, who will tame down, but you never +know what will come next with the other. I sometimes wonder for what +error of mine Providence has seen fit to give me such a son.’ + +Just then an important message came for Mr. Winslow, and he had to hurry +away, but Mr. Castleford still remained, and presently said, + +‘Edward, I should like to know what your eyes have been trying to say all +this time.’ + +‘Oh, sir,’ I burst out, ‘do give him a chance. Indeed he never means to +do wrong. The harm is not in him. He would have been the best of us all +if he had only been let alone.’ + +Those were exactly my own foolish words, for which I could have beaten +myself afterwards; but Mr. Castleford only gave a slight grave smile, and +said, ‘You mean that your brother’s real defect is in courage, moral and +physical.’ + +‘Yes,’ I said, with a great effort at expressing myself. ‘When he is +frightened, or bullied, or browbeaten, he does not know what he is doing +or saying. He is quite different when he is his own self; only nobody +can understand.’ + +Strange that though the favoured home son and nearly sixteen years old, +it would have been impossible to utter so much to one of our parents. +Indeed the last sentence felt so disloyal that the colour burnt in my +cheeks as the door opened; but it only admitted Clarence, who, having +heard the front door shut, thought the coast was clear, and came in with +a load of my books and dictionaries. + +‘Clarence,’ said Mr. Castleford, and the direct address made him start +and flush, ‘supposing your father consents, should you be willing to turn +your mind to a desk in my counting-house?’ + +He flushed deeper red, and his fingers quivered as he held by the table. +‘Thank you, sir. Anything—anything,’ he said hesitatingly. + +‘Well,’ said Mr. Castleford, with the kindest of voices, ‘let us have it +out. What is in your mind? You know, I’m a sort of godfather to you.’ + +‘Sir, if you would only let me have a berth on board one of your vessels, +and go right away.’ + +‘Aye, my poor boy, that’s what you would like best, I’ve no doubt; but +look at Edward’s face there, and think what that would come to at the +best!’ + +‘Yes, I know I have no right to choose,’ said Clarence, drooping his head +as before. + +‘’Tis not that, my dear lad,’ said the good man, ‘but that packing you +off like that, among your inferiors in breeding and everything else, +would put an end to all hope of your redeeming the past—outwardly I mean, +of course—and lodge you in a position of inequality to your brothers and +sister, and all—’ + +‘That’s done already,’ said Clarence. + +‘If you were a man grown it might be so,’ returned Mr. Castleford, ‘but +bless me, how old are you?’ + +‘Seventeen next 1st of November,’ said Clarence. + +‘Not a bit too old for a fresh beginning,’ said Mr. Castleford cheerily. +‘God helping you, you will be a brave and good man yet, my boy—’ then as +my master rang at the door—‘Come with me and look at the old shop.’ + +Poor Clarence muttered something unintelligible, and I had to own for him +that he never went out without accounting for himself. Whereupon our +friend caused my mother to be hunted up, and explained to her that he +wanted to take Clarence out with him—making some excuse about something +they were to see together. + +That walk enabled him to say something which came nearer to cheering +Clarence than anything that had passed since that sad return, and made +him think that to be connected with Mr. Castleford was the best thing +that could befall him. Mr. Castleford on his side told my father that he +was sure that the boy was good-hearted all the time, and thoroughly +repentant; but this had the less effect because plausibility, as my +father called it, was one of the qualities that specially annoyed him in +Clarence, and made him fear that his friend might be taken in. However, +the matter was discussed between the elders, and it was determined that +this most friendly offer should be accepted experimentally. It was +impressed on Clarence, with unnecessary care, that the line of life was +inferior; but that it was his only chance of regaining anything like a +position, and that everything depended on his industry and integrity. + +‘Integrity!’ commented Clarence, with a burning spot on his cheek after +one of these lectures; ‘I believe they think me capable of robbing the +office!’ + +We found out, too, that the senior partner, Mr. Frith, a very crusty old +bachelor, did not like the appointment, and that it was made quite +against his will. ‘You’ll be getting your clerks next from Newgate!’ was +what some amiable friend reported him to have said. However, Mr. +Castleford had his way, and Clarence was to begin his work with the New +Year, being in the meantime cautioned and lectured on the crime and +danger of his evil propensities more than he could well bear. ‘Oh!’ he +groaned, ‘it serves me right, I know that very well, but if my father +only knew how I hate and abhor all those things—and how I loathed them at +the very time I was dragged into them!’ + +‘Why don’t you tell him so?’ I asked. + +‘That would make it no better.’ + +‘It is not so bad as if you had gone into it willingly, and for your own +pleasure.’ + +‘He would only think that another lie.’ + +No more could be said, for the idea of Clarence’s untruthfulness and +depravity had become so deeply rooted in our father’s mind that there was +little hope of displacing it, and even at the best his manner was full of +grave constrained pity. Those few words were Clarence’s first approach +to confidence with me, but they led to more, and he knew there was one +person who did not believe the defect was in the bent of his will so much +as in its strength. + +All the time the prospect of the counting-house in comparison with the +sea was so distasteful to him that I was anxious whenever he went out +alone, or even with Griffith, who despised the notion of, as he said, +sitting on a high stool, dealing in tea, so much that he was quite +capable of aiding and abetting in an escape from it. Two considerations, +however, held Clarence back; one, the timidity of nature which shrank +from so violent a step, and the other, the strong affections that bound +him to his home, though his sojourn there was so painful. He knew the +misery his flight would have been to me; indeed I took care to let him +see it. + +And Griffith’s return was like a fresh spring wind dispersing vapours. +He had gained an excellent scholarship at Brazenose, and came home +radiant with triumph, cheering us all up, and making a generous use of +his success. He was no letter-writer, and after learning that the +disaster and disgrace were all too certain, he ignored the whole, and +hailed Clarence on his return as if nothing had happened. As eldest son, +and almost a University man, he could argue with our parents in a manner +we never presumed on. At least I cannot aver what he actually uttered, +but probably it was a revised version of what he thundered forth to me. +‘Such nonsense! such a shame to keep the poor beggar going about with +that hang dog look, as if he had done for himself for life! Why, I’ve +known fellows do ever so much worse of their own accord, and nothing come +of it. If it was found out, there might be a row and a flogging, and +there was an end of it. As to going about mourning, and keeping the +whole house in doleful dumps, as if there was never to be any good again, +it was utter folly, and so I’ve told Bill, and papa and mamma, both of +them!’ + +How this was administered, or how they took it, there is no knowing, but +Griff would neither skate nor go to the theatre, nor to any other +diversion, without his brother; and used much kindly force and banter to +unearth him from his dismal den in the back drawing-room. He was only +let alone when there were engagements with friends, and indeed, when +meetings in the streets took place, by tacit agreement, Clarence would +shrink off in the crowd as if not belonging to his companion; and these +were the moments that stung him into longing to flee to the river, and +lose the sense of shame among common sailors: but there was always some +good angel to hold him back from desperate measures—chiefly just then, +the love between us three brothers, a love that never cooled throughout +our lives, and which dear old Griff made much more apparent at this +critical time than in the old Win and Slow days of school. That return +of his enlivened us all, and removed the terrible constraint from our +meals, bringing us back, as it were, to ordinary life and natural +intercourse among ourselves and with our neighbours. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. +THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION. + + + ‘But when I lay upon the shore, + Like some poor wounded thing, + I deemed I should not evermore + Refit my wounded wing. + Nailed to the ground and fastened there, + This was the thought of my despair.’ + + ABP. TRENCH. + +CLARENCE’S debut at the office was not wholly unsuccessful. He wrote a +good hand, and had a good deal of method and regularity in his nature, +together with a real sense of gratitude to Mr. Castleford; and this bore +him through the weariness of his new employment, and, what was worse, the +cold reception he met with from the other clerks. He was too quiet and +reserved for the wilder spirits, too much of a gentleman for others, and +in the eyes of the managers, and especially of the senior partner, a +disgraced, untrustworthy youth foisted on the office by Mr. Castleford’s +weak partiality. That old Mr. Frith had, Clarence used to say, a +perfectly venomous way of accepting his salute, and seemed always +surprised and disappointed if he came in in time, or showed up correct +work. Indeed, the old man was disliked and feared by all his +subordinates as much as his partner was loved; and while Mr. Castleford, +with his good-natured Irish wife and merry family, lived a life as +cheerful as it was beneficent, Mr. Frith dwelt entirely alone, in rooms +over the office, preserving the habits formed when his income had been +narrow, and mistrusting everybody. + +At the end of the first month of experiment, Mr. Castleford declared +himself contented with Clarence’s industry and steadiness, and permanent +arrangements were made, to which Clarence submitted with an odd sort of +passive gratitude, such as almost angered my father, who little knew how +trying the position really was, nor how a certain home-sickness for the +seafaring life was tugging at the lad’s heart, and making each morning’s +entrance at the counting-house an effort—each merchant-captain, redolent +of the sea, an object of envy. My mother would have sympathised here, +but Clarence feared her more than my father, and she was living in +continual dread of some explosion, so that her dark curls began to show +streaks of gray, and her face to lose its round youthfulness. + +Lent brought the question of Confirmation. Under the influence of good +Bishop Blomfield, and in the wave of evangelical revival—then at its +flood height—Confirmation was becoming a more prominent subject with +religious people than it had probably ever been in our Church, and it was +recognised that some preparation was desirable beyond the power of +repeating the Church Catechism. This was all that had been required of +my father at Harrow. My mother’s godfather, a dignified clergyman, had +simply said, ‘I suppose, my dear, you know all about it;’ and as for the +Admiral, he remarked, ‘Confirmed! I never was confirmed anything but a +post-captain!’ + +Our incumbent was more attentive to his duties, or rather recognised more +duties, than his predecessor. He preached on the subject, and formed +classes, sixteen being then the limit of age,—since the idea of the vow, +having become far more prominent than that of the blessing, it was held +that full development of the will and understanding was needful. + +I was of the requisite age, and my father spoke to the clergyman, who +called, and, as I could not attend the classes, gave me books to read and +questions to answer. Clarence read and discussed the questions with me, +showing so much more insight into them, and fuller knowledge of Scripture +than I possessed, that I exclaimed, ‘Why should you not go up for +Confirmation too?’ + +‘No,’ he answered mournfully. ‘I must take no more vows if I can’t keep +them. It would just be profane.’ + +I had no more to say; indeed, my parents held the same view. It was good +Mr. Castleford who saw things differently. He was a clergyman’s son, and +had been bred up in the old orthodoxy, which was just beginning to put +forth fresh shoots, and, as a quasi-godfather, he held himself bound to +take an interest in our religious life, while the sponsors, whose names +stood in the family Bible, and whose spoons reposed in the plate-chest, +never troubled themselves on the matter. I remember Clarence leaning +over me and saying, ‘Mr. Castleford thinks I might be confirmed. He says +it is not so much the promise we make as of coming to Almighty God for +strength to keep what we are bound by already! He is going to speak to +papa.’ + +Perhaps no one except Mr. Castleford could have prevailed over the fear +of profanation in the mind of my father, who was, in his old-fashioned +way, one of the most reverent of men, and could not bear to think of holy +things being approached by one under a stigma, nor of exposing his son to +add to his guilt by taking and breaking further pledges. However, he was +struck by his friend’s arguments, and I heard him telling my mother that +when he had wished to wait till there had been time to prove sincerity of +repentance by a course of steadiness, the answer had been that it was +hard to require strength, while denying the means of grace. My mother +was scarcely convinced, but as he had consented she yielded without a +protest; and she was really glad that I should have Clarence at my side +to help me at the ceremony. The clergyman was applied to, and consented +to let Clarence attend the classes, where his knowledge, comprehension, +and behaviour were exemplary, so that a letter was written to my father +expressive of perfect satisfaction with him. ‘There,’ said my father, ‘I +knew it would be so! It is not _that_ which I want.’ + +The Confirmation seemed at the time a very short and perfunctory result +of our preparation; and, as things were conducted or misconducted then, +involved so much crowding and distress that I recollect very little but +clinging to Clarence’s arm under a strong sense of my infirmities,—the +painful attempt at kneeling, and the big outstretched lawn sleeves while +the blessing was pronounced over six heads at once, and then the struggle +back to the pew, while the silver-pokered apparitor looked grim at us, as +though the maimed and halt had no business to get into the way. Yet this +was a great advance upon former Confirmations, and the Bishop met my +father afterwards, and inquired most kindly after his lame son. + +We were disappointed, and felt that we could not attain to the feelings +in the Confirmation poem in the _Christian Year_—Mr. Castleford’s gift to +me. Still, I believe that, though encumbered with such a drag as myself, +Clarence, more than I did, + + ‘Felt Him how strong, our hearts how frail, + And longed to own Him to the death.’ + +But the evangelical belief that dejection ought to be followed by a full +sense of pardon and assurance of salvation somewhat perplexed and dimmed +our Easter Communion. For one short moment, as Clarence turned to help +my father lift me up from the altar-rail, I saw his face and eyes radiant +with a wonderful rapt look; but it passed only too fast, and the more +than ordinary glimpse his spiritual nature had had made him all the more +sad afterwards, when he said, ‘I would give everything to know that there +was any steadfastness in my purpose to lead a new life.’ + +‘But you are leading a new life.’ + +‘Only because there is no one to bully me,’ he said. Still, there had +been no reproach against him all the time he had been at Frith and +Castleford’s, when suddenly we had a great shock. + +Parties were running very high, and there were scurrilous papers about, +which my father perfectly abhorred; and one day at dinner, when +declaiming against something he had seen, he laid down strict commands +that none should be brought into the house. Then, glancing at Clarence, +something possessed him to say, ‘You have not been buying any.’ + +‘No, sir,’ Clarence answered; but a few minutes later, when we were alone +together, the others having left him to help me upstairs, he exclaimed, +‘Edward, what is to be done? I didn’t buy it; but there is one of those +papers in my great-coat pocket. Pollard threw it on my desk; and there +was something in it that I thought would amuse you.’ + +‘Oh! why didn’t you say so?’ + +‘There I am again! I simply could not, with his eye on me! Miserable +being that I am! Oh, where is the spirit of ghostly strength?’ + +‘Helping you now to take it to papa in the study and explain!’ I cried; +but the struggle in that tall fellow was as if he had been seven years +old instead of seventeen, ere he put his hand over his face and gave me +his arm to come out into the hall, fetch the paper, and make his +confession. Alas! we were too late. The coat had been moved, the paper +had fallen out; and there stood my mother with it in her hand, looking at +Clarence with an awful stony face of mute grief and reproach, while he +stammered forth what he had said before, and that he was about to give it +to my father. She turned away, bitterly, contemptuously indignant and +incredulous; and my corroborations only served to give both her and my +father a certain dread of Clarence’s influence over me, as though I had +been either deceived or induced to back him in deceiving them. The +unlucky incident plunged him back into the depths, just as he had begun +to emerge. Slight as it was, it was no trifle to him, in spite of +Griffith’s exclamation, ‘How absurd! Is a fellow to be bound to give an +account of everything he looks at as if he were six years old? Catch me +letting my mother pry into my pockets! But you are too meek, Bill; you +perfectly invite them to make a row about nothing!’ + + + + +CHAPTER VII. +THE INHERITANCE. + + + ‘For he that needs five thousand pound to live + Is full as poor as he that needs but five. + But if thy son can make ten pound his measure, + Then all thou addest may be called his treasure.’ + + GEORGE HERBERT. + +IT was in the spring of 1829 that my father received a lawyer’s letter +announcing the death of James Winslow, Esquire, of Chantry House, +Earlscombe, and inviting him, as heir-at-law, to be present at the +funeral and opening of the will. The surprise to us all was great. Even +my mother had hardly heard of Chantry House itself, far less as a +possible inheritance; and she had only once seen James Winslow. He was +the last of the elder branch of the family, a third cousin, and older +than my father, who had known him in times long past. When they had last +met, the Squire of Chantry House was a married man, with more than one +child; my father a young barrister; and as one lived entirely in the +country and the other in town, without any special congeniality, no +intercourse had been kept up, and it was a surprise to hear that he had +left no surviving children. My father greatly doubted whether being +heir-at-law would prove to avail him anything, since it was likely that +so distant a relation would have made a will in favour of some nearer +connection on his wife’s or mother’s side. He was very vague about +Chantry House, only knowing that it was supposed to be a fair property, +and he would hardly consent to take Griffith with him by the Western +Royal Mail, warning him and all the rest of us that our expectations +would be disappointed. + +Nevertheless we looked out the gentlemen’s seats in _Paterson’s Road +Book_, and after much research, for Chantry House lay far off from the +main road, we came upon—‘Chantry House, Earlscombe, the seat of James +Winslow, Esquire, once a religious foundation; beautifully situated on a +rising ground, commanding an extensive prospect—’ + +‘A religious foundation!’ cried Emily. ‘It will be a dear delicious old +abbey, all Gothic architecture, with cloisters and ruins and ghosts.’ + +‘Ghosts!’ said my mother severely, ‘what has put such nonsense into your +head?’ + +Nevertheless Emily made up her mind that Chantry House would be another +Melrose, and went about repeating the moonlight scene in the _Lay of the +Last Minstrel_ whenever she thought no one was there to laugh at her. + +My father and Griffith returned with the good news that there was no +mistake. Chantry House was really his own, with the estate belonging to +it, reckoned at £5000 a year, exclusive of a handsome provision to Miss +Selby, the niece of the late Mrs. Winslow, a spinster of a certain age, +who had lived with her uncle, and now proposed to remove to Bath. Mr. +Winslow had, it appeared, lost his only son as a schoolboy, and his +daughters, like their mother, had been consumptive. He had always been +resolved that the estate should continue in the family; but reluctance to +see any one take his son’s place had withheld him from making any +advances to my father; and for several years past he had been in broken +health with failing faculties. + +Of course there was much elation. Griff described as charming the place, +perched on the southern slope of a wooded hill, with a broad fertile +valley lying spread out before it, and the woods behind affording every +promise of sport. The house, my father said, was good, odd and +irregular, built at different times, but quite habitable, and with plenty +of furniture, though he opined that mamma would think it needed +modernising, to which she replied that our present chattels would make a +great difference; whereat my father, looking at the effects of more than +twenty years of London blacks, gave a little whistle, for she was always +the economical one of the pair. + +Emily, with glowing cheeks and eager eyes, entreated to know whether it +was Gothic, and had a cloister! Papa nipped her hopes of a cloister, but +there were Gothic windows and doorway, and a bit of ruin in the garden, a +fragment of the old chapel. + +My father could not resign his office without notice, and, besides, he +wished Miss Selby to have leisure for leaving her home of many years; +after which there would be a few needful repairs. The delay was not a +great grievance to any of us except little Martyn. We were much more +Cockney than almost any one is in these days of railways. We were +unusually devoid of kindred on both sides, my father’s holidays were +short, I was not a very movable commodity, and economy forbade long +journeys, so that we had never gone farther than Ramsgate, where we +claimed a certain lodging-house as a sort of right every summer. + +Real country was as much unknown to us as the backwoods. My father alone +had been born and bred to village life and habits, for my mother had +spent her youth in a succession of seaport towns, frequented by +men-of-war. We heard, too, that Chantry House was very secluded, with +only a few cottages near at hand—a mile and a half from the church and +village of Earlscombe, three from the tiny country town of Wattlesea, +four from the place where the coach passed, connecting it with the +civilisation of Bath and Bristol, from each of which places it was about +half a day’s distance, according to the measures of those times. It was +a sort of banishment to people accustomed to the stream of life in +London; and though the consequence and importance derived from being +raised to the ranks of the Squirearchy were agreeable, they were a dear +purchase at the cost of being out of reach of all our friends and +acquaintances, as well as of other advantages. + +To my father, however, the retirement from his many years of drudgery was +really welcome, and he had preserved enough of country tastes to rejoice +that it was, as he said, a clear duty to reside on his estate and look +after his property. My mother saw his relief in the prospect, and +suppressed her sighs at the dislocation of her life-long habits, and the +loss of intercourse with the acquaintance whom separation raised to the +rank of intimate friends, even her misgivings as to butchers, bakers, and +grocers in the wilderness, and still worse, as to doctors for me. + +‘Humph!’ said the Admiral, ‘the boy will be all the better without them.’ + +And so I was; I can’t say they were the subject of much regret, but I was +really sorry to leave our big neighbour, the British Museum, where there +were good friends who always made me welcome, and encouraged me in +studies of coins and heraldry, which were great resources to me, so that +I used to spend hours there, and was by no means willing to resign my +ambition of obtaining an appointment there, when I heard my father say +that he was especially thankful for his good fortune because it enabled +him to provide for me. There were lessons, too, from masters in +languages, music, and drawing, which Emily and I shared, and which she +had just begun to value thoroughly. We had filled whole drawing-books +with wriggling twists of foliage in B B B marking pencil, and had just +been promoted to water-colours; and she was beginning to sing very +prettily. I feared, too, that I should no longer have a chance of +rivalling Griffith’s university studies. All this, with my sister’s girl +friends, and those kind people who used to drop in to play chess, and +otherwise amuse me, would all be left behind; and, sorest of all, +Clarence, who, whatever he was in the eyes of others, had grown to be my +mainstay during this last year. He it was who fetched me from the +Museum, took me into the gardens, helped me up and down stairs, spared no +pains to rout out whatever my fanciful pursuits required from shops in +the City, and, in very truth, spoilt me through all his hours that were +free from business, besides being my most perfect sympathising and +understanding companion. + +I feared, too, that he would be terribly lonesome, though of late he had +been less haunted by longings for the sea, had made some way with his +fellows, and had been commended by the managing clerk; and it was painful +to find the elders did not grieve on their own account at parting with +him. My mother told the Admiral that she thought it would be good for +Mr. Winslow’s spirits not to be continually reminded of his trouble; and +my father might be heard confiding to Mr. Castleford that the separation +might be good for both her and her son, if only the lad could be trusted. +To which that good man replied by giving him an excellent character; but +was only met by a sigh, and ‘Well, we shall see!’ + +Clarence was to be lodged with Peter, whose devotion would not extend to +following us into barbarism, where, as he told us, he understood there +was no such thing as a ‘harea,’ and master would have to kill his own +mutton. + +Peter had been tranquilly engaged to Gooch for years untold. They were +to be transformed into Mr. and Mrs. Robson, with some small appointment +about the Law Courts for him, and a lodging-house for her, where Clarence +was to abide, my mother feeling secure that neither his health, his +morals, nor his shirts could go much astray without her receiving warning +thereof. + +Meanwhile, by the help of an antiquarian friend of my father, Mr. +Stafford, who was great in county history, I hunted up in the Museum +library all I could discover about our new possession. + +The Chantry of St. Cecily at Earlscombe, in Somersetshire, had, it +appeared, been founded and endowed by Dame Isabel d’Oyley, in the year of +grace 1434, that constant prayers might be offered for the souls of her +husband and son, slain in the French wars. The poor lady’s intentions, +which to our Protestant minds appeared rather shocking than otherwise, +had been frustrated at the break up of such establishments, when the +Chantry, and the estate that maintained its clerks and bedesmen, was +granted to Sir Harry Power, from whom, through two heiresses, it had come +to the Fordyces, the last of whom, by name Margaret, had died childless, +leaving the estate to her stepson, Philip Winslow, our ancestor. + +Moreover, we learnt that a portion of the building was of ancient date, +and that there was an ‘interesting fragment’ of the old chapel in the +grounds, which our good friend promised himself the pleasure of +investigating on his first holiday. + +To add to our newly-acquired sense of consideration and of high pedigree, +the family chariot, after taking Miss Selby to Bath, came up post to +London to be touched up at the coachbuilder’s, have the escutcheon +altered so as to impale the Griffith coat instead of the Selby, and +finally to convey us to our new abode, in preparation for which all its +boxes came to be packed. + +A chariot! You young ones have as little notion of one as of a British +war-chariot armed with scythes. Yet people of a certain grade were as +sure to keep their chariot as their silver tea-pot; indeed we knew one +young couple who started in life with no other habitation, but spent +their time as nomads, in visits to their relations and friends, for +visits _were_ visits then. + +The capacities of a chariot were considerable. Within, there was a +good-sized seat for the principal occupants, and outside a dickey behind, +and a driving box before, though sometimes there was only one of these, +and that transferable. The boxes were calculated to hold family luggage +on a six months’ tour. There they lay on the spare-room floor, ready to +be packed, the first earnest of our new possessions—except perhaps the +five-pound note my father gave each of us four elder ones, on the day the +balance at the bank was made over to him. There was the imperial, a +grand roomy receptacle, which was placed on the top of the carriage, and +would not always go upstairs in small houses; the capbox, which fitted +into a curved place in front of the windows, and could not stand alone, +but had a frame to support it; two long narrow boxes with the like +infirmity of standing, which fitted in below; square ones under each +seat; and a drop box fastened on behind. There were pockets beneath each +window, and, curious relic in name and nature of the time when every +gentleman carried his weapon, there was the sword case, an excrescence +behind the back of the best seat, accessible by lifting a cushion, where +weapons used to be carried, but where in our peaceful times travellers +bestowed their luncheon and their books. + +Our chariot was black above, canary yellow below, beautifully varnished, +and with our arms blazoned on each door. It was lined with dark blue +leather and cloth, picked out with blue and yellow lace in accordance +with our liveries, and was a gorgeous spectacle. I am afraid Emily did +not share in Mistress Gilpin’s humility when + + ‘The chaise was brought, + But yet was not allowed + To drive up to the door, lest all + Should say that she was proud!’ + +It was then that Emily and I each started a diary to record the events of +our new life. Hers flourished by fits and starts; but I having perforce +more leisure than she, mine has gone on with few interruptions till the +present time, and is the backbone of this narrative, which I compile and +condense from it and other sources before destroying it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. +THE OLD HOUSE. + + + ‘Your history whither are you spinning? + Can you do nothing but describe? + A house there is, and that’s enough!’ + + GRAY. + +How we did enjoy our journey, when the wrench from our old home was once +made. We did not even leave Clarence behind, for Mr. Castleford had +given him a holiday, so that he might not appear to be kept at a +distance, as if under a cloud, and might help me through our travels. + +My mother and I occupied the inside of the carriage, with Emily between +us at the outset; but when we were off the London stones she was often +allowed to make a third on the dickey with Clarence and Martyn, whose +ecstatic heels could be endured for the sake of the free air and the +view. Of course we posted, and where there were severe hills we indulged +in four horses. The varieties of the jackets of our post-boys, blue or +yellow, as supposed to indicate the politics of their inns, were +interesting to us, as everything was interesting then. Otherwise their +equipment was exactly alike—neat drab corduroy breeches and top-boots, +and hats usually white, and they were all boys, though the red faces and +grizzled hair of some looked as if they had faced the weather for at +least fifty years. + +It was a beautiful August, and the harvest fields were a sight perfectly +new, filling us with rapture unspeakable. At every hill which offered an +excuse, our outsiders were on their feet, thrusting in their heads and +hands to us within with exclamations of delight, and all sorts of +discoveries—really new to us three younger ones. Ears of corn, bearded +barley, graceful oats, poppies, corn-flowers, were all delicious +novelties to Emily and me, though Griff and my father laughed at our +ecstasies, and my mother occasionally objected to the wonderful +accumulation of curiosities thrust into her lap or the door pockets, and +tried to persuade Martyn that rooks’ wings, dead hedgehogs, sticks and +stones of various merits, might be found at Earlscombe, until Clarence, +by the judicious purchase of a basket at Salisbury, contrived to satisfy +all parties and safely dispose of the treasures. The objects that stand +out in my memory on that journey were Salisbury Spire, and a long hill +where the hedgebank was one mass of the exquisite rose-bay willow herb—a +perfect revelation to our city-bred eyes; but indeed, the whole route was +like one panorama to us of _L’Allegro_ and other descriptions on which we +had fed. For in those days we were much more devoted to poetry than is +the present generation, which has a good deal of false shame on that +head. + +Even dining and sleeping at an inn formed a pleasing novelty, though we +did not exactly sympathise with Martyn when he dashed in at breakfast +exulting in having witnessed the killing of a pig. As my father +observed, it was too like realising Peter’s forebodings of our return to +savage life. + +Demonstrations were not the fashion of these times, and there was a good +deal of dull discontent and disaffection in the air, so that no tokens of +welcome were prepared for us—not even a peal of bells; nor indeed should +we have heard them if they had been rung, for the church was a mile and a +half beyond the house, with a wood between cutting off the sound, except +in certain winds. We did not miss a reception, which would rather have +embarrassed us. We began to think it was time to arrive, and my father +believed we were climbing the last hill, when, just as we had passed a +remarkably pretty village and church, Griffith called out to say that we +were on our own ground. He had made his researches with the game keeper +while my father was busy with the solicitor, and could point to our +boundary wall, a little below the top of the hill on the northern side. +He informed us that the place we had passed was Hillside—Fordyce +property,—but this was Earlscombe, our own. It was a great stony bit of +pasture with a few scattered trees, but after the flat summit was past, +the southern side was all beechwood, where a gate admitted us into a +drive cut out in a slant down the otherwise steep descent, and coming out +into an open space. And there we were! + +The old house was placed on the widest part of a kind of shelf or natural +terrace, of a sort of amphitheatre shape, with wood on either hand, but +leaving an interval clear in the midst broad enough for house and +gardens, with a gentle green slope behind, and a much steeper one in +front, closed in by the beechwoods. The house stood as it were sideways, +or had been made to do so by later inhabitants. I know this is very +long-winded, but there have been such alterations that without minute +description this narrative will be unintelligible. + +The aspect was northwards so far as the lie of the ground was concerned, +but the house stood across. The main body was of the big symmetrical +Louis XIV. style—or, as it is now the fashion to call it, Queen +Anne—brick, with stone quoins, big sash-windows, and a great square hall +in the midst, with the chief rooms opening into it. The principal +entrance had been on the north, with a huge front door and a flight of +stone steps, and just space enough for a gravel coach ring before the +rapid grassy descent. Later constitutions, however, must have eschewed +that northern front door, and later nerves that narrow verge, and on the +eastern front had been added that Gothic porch of which Emily had +heard,—and a flagrantly modern Gothic porch it was, flanked by two +comical little turrets, with loopholes, from which a thread-paper or Tom +Thumb might have defended it. Otherwise it resembled a church porch, +except for the formidable points of a sham portcullis; but there was no +denying that it greatly increased the comfort of the house, with its two +sets of heavy doors, and the seats on either side. The great hall door +had been closed up, plastered over within, and rendered inoffensive. +Towards the west there was another modern addition of drawing and dining +rooms, and handsome bedchambers above, in Gothic taste, _i.e._ with +pointed arches filled up with glass over the sash-windows. The +drawing-room was very pretty, with a glass door at the end leading into +an old-fashioned greenhouse, and two French windows to the south opening +upon the lawn, which soon began to slope upwards, curving, as I said, +like an amphitheatre, and was always shady and sheltered, tilting its +flower-beds towards the house as if to display them. The dining-room +had, in like manner, one west and two north windows, the latter +commanding a grand view over the green meadow-land below, dotted with +round knolls, and rising into blue hills beyond. We became proud of +counting the villages and church towers we could see from thence. + +There was a still older portion, more ancient than the square _corps de +logis_, and built of the cream-coloured stone of the country. It was at +the south-eastern angle, where the ground began sloping so near the house +that this wing—if it may so be called—containing two good-sized rooms +nearly on a level with the upper floor, had nothing below but some open +stone vaultings, under which it was only just possible for my tall +brothers to stand upright, at the innermost end. These opened into the +cellars which, no doubt, belonged to the fifteenth-century structure. +There seemed to have once been a door and two or three steps to the +ground, which rose very close to the southern end; but this had been +walled up. The rooms had deep mullioned windows east and west, and very +handsome groined ceilings, and were entered by two steps down from the +gallery round the upper part of the hall. There was a very handsome +double staircase of polished oak, shaped like a Y, the stem of which +began just opposite the original front door—making us wonder if people +knew what draughts were in the days of Queen Anne, and remember Madame de +Maintenon’s complaint that health was sacrificed to symmetry. Not far +from this oldest portion were some broken bits of wall and stumps of +columns, remnants of the chapel, and prettily wreathed with ivy and +clematis. We rejoiced in such a pretty and distinctive ornament to our +garden, and never troubled ourselves about the desecration; and certainly +ours was one of the most delightful gardens that ever existed, what with +green turf, bright flowers, shapely shrubs, and the grand beech-trees +enclosing it with their stately white pillars, green foliage, and the +russet arcades beneath them. The stillness was wonderful to ears +accustomed to the London roar—almost a new sensation. Emily was found, +as she said, ‘listening to the silence;’ and my father declared that no +one could guess at the sense of rest that it gave him. + + [Picture: Map of the house] + +Of space within there was plenty, though so much had been sacrificed to +the hall and staircase; and this was apparently the cause of the modern +additions, as the original sitting-rooms, wainscotted and double-doored, +were rather small for family requirements. One of these, once the +dining-room, became my father’s study, where he read and wrote, saw his +tenants, and by and by acted as Justice of the Peace. The opposite one, +towards the garden, was termed the book-room. Here Martyn was to do his +lessons, and Emily and I carry on our studies, and do what she called +keeping up her accomplishments. My couch and appurtenances abode there, +and it was to be my retreat from company,—or on occasion could be made a +supplementary drawing-room, as its fittings showed it had been the +parlour. It communicated with another chamber, which became my +own—sparing the difficulties that stairs always presented; and beyond +lay, niched under the grand staircase, a tiny light closet, a +passage-room, where my mother put a bed for a man-servant, not liking to +leave me entirely alone on the ground floor. It led to a passage to the +garden door, also to my mother’s den, dedicated to housewifely cares and +stores, and ended at the back stairs, descending to the servants’ region. +This was very old, handsomely vaulted with stone, and, owing to the fall +of the ground, had ample space for light on the north side,—where, beyond +the drive, the descent was so rapid as to afford Martyn infinite delight +in rolling down, to the horror of all beholders and the detriment of his +white duck trowsers. + +I don’t know much about the upper story, so I spare you that. Emily had +a hankering for one of the pretty old mullioned-windowed rooms—the +mullion chambers, as she named them; but Griff pounced on them at once, +the inner for his repose, the outer for his guns and his studies—not +smoking, for young men were never permitted to smoke within doors, nor +indeed in any home society. The choice of the son and heir was +undisputed, and he proceeded to settle his possessions in his new +domains, where they made an imposing appearance. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. +RATS. + + + ‘As louder and louder, drawing near, + The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.’ + + SOUTHEY. + +‘WHAT a ridiculous old fellow that Chapman is,’ said Griff, coming in +from a conference with the gaunt old man who acted as keeper to our not +very extensive preserves. ‘I told him to get some gins for the rats in +my rooms, and he shook his absurd head like any mandarin, and said, +“There baint no trap as will rid you of them kind of varmint, sir.”’ + +‘Of course,’ my father said, ‘rats are part of the entail of an old +house. You may reckon on them.’ + +‘Those rooms of yours are the very place for them,’ added my mother. ‘I +only hope they will not infest the rest of the house.’ + +To which Griff rejoined that they perpetrated the most extraordinary +noises he had ever heard from rats, and told Emily she might be thankful +to him for taking those rooms, for she would have been frightened out of +her little wits. He meant, he said, to get a little terrier, and have a +thorough good rat hunt, at which Martyn capered about in irrepressible +ecstasy. + +This, however, was deferred by the unwillingness of old Chapman, of whom +even Griff was somewhat in awe. His fame as a sportsman had to be made, +and he had had only such practice as could be attained by shooting at a +mark ever since he had been aware of his coming greatness. So he was +desirous of conciliating Chapman, and not getting laughed at as the +London young gentleman who could not hit a hay-stack. My father, who had +been used to carrying a gun in his younger days, was much amused, in his +quiet way, at seeing Griff watch Chapman off on his rounds, and then +betake himself to the locality most remote from the keeper’s ears to +practise on the rook or crow. Martyn always ran after him, having +solemnly promised not to touch the gun, and to keep behind. He was too +good-natured to send the little fellow back, though he often tried to +elude the pursuit, not wishing for a witness to his attempts; and he +never invited Clarence, who had had some experience of curious game but +never mentioned it. + +Clarence devoted himself to Emily and me, tugging my garden-chair along +all the paths where it would go without too much jolting, and when I had +had enough, exploring those hanging woods, either with her or on his own +account. They used to come home with their hands full of flowers, and +this resulted in a vehement attack of botany,—a taste that has lasted all +our lives, together with the _hortus siccus_ to which we still make +additions, though there has been a revolution there as well as everywhere +else, and the Linnæan system we learnt so eagerly from Martin’s _Letters_ +is altogether exploded and antiquated. Still, my sister refuses to own +the scientific merits of the natural system, and can point to school-bred +and lectured young ladies who have no notion how to discover the name or +nature of a live plant. + +On the Friday after our arrival the noises had been so fearful that Griff +had been exasperated into going off across the hills, accompanied by his +constant shadow, Martyn, in search of the professional ratcatcher of the +neighbourhood, in spite of Chapman’s warning—that Tom Petty was the +biggest rascal in the neighbourhood, and a regular out and out poacher; +and as to the noises—he couldn’t ‘tackle the like of they.’ After +revelling in the beauty of the beechwoods as long as was good for me or +for Clarence, I was left in the garden to sketch the ruin, while my two +companions started on one of their exploring expeditions. + +It was getting late enough to think of going to prepare for the six +o’clock dinner when Emily came forth alone from the path between the +trees, announcing—‘An adventure, Edward! We have had such an adventure.’ + +‘Where’s Clarence?’ + +‘Gone for the doctor! Oh, no; Griff hasn’t shot anybody. He is gone for +the ratcatcher, you know. It is a poor little herdboy, who tumbled out +of a tree; and oh! such a sweet, beautiful, young lady—just like a book!’ + +When Emily became less incoherent, it appeared that on coming out on the +bit of common above the wood, as she and Clarence were halting on the +brow of the hill to admire the view, they heard a call for help, and +hurrying down in the direction whence it proceeded they saw a stunted +ash-tree, beneath which were a young lady and a little child bending over +a village lad who lay beneath moaning piteously. The girl, whom Emily +described as the most beautiful creature she ever saw, explained that the +boy, who had been herding the cattle scattered around, had been climbing +the tree, a limb of which had broken with him. She had seen the fall +from a distance, and hurried up; but she hardly knew what to do, for her +little sister was too young to be sent in quest of assistance. Clarence +thought one leg seriously injured, and as the young lady seemed to know +the boy, offered to carry him home. School officers were yet in the +future; children were set to work almost as soon as they could walk, and +this little fellow was so light and thin as to shock Clarence when he had +been taken up on his back, for he weighed quite a trifle. The young lady +showed the way to a wretched little cottage, where a bigger girl had just +come in with a sheaf of corn freshly gleaned poised on her head. They +sent her to fetch her mother, and Clarence undertook to go for a doctor, +but to the surprise and horror of Emily, there was a demur. Something +was said of old Molly and her ‘ile’ and ‘yarbs,’ or perhaps Madam could +step round. When Clarence, on this being translated to him, pronounced +the case beyond such treatment, it was explained outside the door that +this was a terribly poor family, and the doctor would not come to parish +patients for an indefinite time after his summons, besides which, he +lived at Wattlesea. ‘Indeed mamma does almost all the doctoring with her +medicine chest,’ said the girl. + +On which Clarence declared that he would let the doctor know that he +himself would be responsible for the cost of the attendance, and set off +for Wattlesea, a kind of town village in the flat below. He could not +get back till dinner was half over, and came in alarmed and apologetic; +but he had nothing worse to encounter than Griff’s unmerciful banter (or, +as you would call it, chaff) about his knight errantry, and Emily’s +lovely heroine in the sweetest of cottage bonnets. + +Griff could be slightly tyrannous in his merry mockery, and when he found +that on the ensuing day Clarence proposed to go and inquire after the +patient, he made such wicked fun of the expectations the pair entertained +of hearing the sweet cottage bonnet reading a tract in a silvery voice +through the hovel window, that he fairly teased and shamed Clarence out +of starting till the renowned Tom Petty arrived and absorbed all the +three brothers, and even their father, in delights as mysterious to me as +to Emily. How she shrieked when Martyn rushed triumphantly into the room +where we were arranging books with the huge patriarch of all the rats +dangling by his tail! Three hopeful families were destroyed; rooms, +vaults, and cellars examined and cleared; and Petty declared the race to +be exterminated, picturesque ruffian that he was, in his shapeless hat, +rusty velveteen, long leggings, a live ferret in his pocket, and festoons +of dead rats over his shoulder. + +Chapman, who regarded him much as the ferret did the rat, declared that +the rabbits and hares would suffer from letting ‘that there chap’ show +his face here on any plea; and, moreover, gave a grunt very like a scoff; +at the idea of slumbers in the mullion rooms (as they were called) being +secured by his good offices. + +And Chapman was right. The unaccountable noises broke out +again—screaming, wailing, sobbing—sounds scarcely within the power of cat +or rat, but possibly the effect of the wind in the old building. At any +rate, Griff could not stand them, and declared that sleep was impossible +when the wind was in that quarter, so that he must shift his bedroom +elsewhere, though he still wished to retain the outer apartment, which he +had taken pleasure in adorning with his special possessions. My mother +would scarcely have tolerated such fancies in any one else, but Griff had +his privileges. + + + + +CHAPTER X. +OUR TUNEFUL CHOIR. + + + ‘The church has been whitewashed, but right long ago, + As the cracks and the dinginess amply doth show; + About the same time that a strange petrifaction + Confined the incumbent to mere Sunday action. + So many abuses in this place are rife, + The only church things giving token of life + Are the singing within and the nettles without— + Both equally rampant without any doubt.’ + + F. R. HAVERGAL. + +ALL Griff’s teasing could not diminish—nay, rather increased—Emily’s +excitement in the hope of seeing and identifying the sweet cottage bonnet +at church on Sunday. The distance we had to go was nearly two miles, and +my mother and I drove thither in a donkey chair, which had been hunted up +in London for that purpose because the ‘pheeāton’ (as the servants +insisted on calling it) was too high for me. My father had an +old-fashioned feeling about the Fourth Commandment, which made him +scrupulous as to using any animal on Sunday; and even when, in bad +weather, or for visitors, the larger carriage was used, he always walked. +He was really angry with Griff that morning for mischievously maintaining +that it was a greater breach of the commandment to work an ass than a +horse. + +It was a pretty drive on a road slanting gradually through the brushwood +that clothed the steep face of the hillside, and passing farms and +meadows full of cattle—all things quieter and stiller than ever in their +Sunday repose. We knew that the living was in Winslow patronage, but +that it was in the hands of one of the Selby connection, who held it, +together with it is not safe to say how many benefices, and found it +necessary for his health to reside at Bath. The vicarage had long since +been turned into a farmhouse, and the curate lived at Wattlesea. All +this we knew, but we had not realised that he was likewise assistant +curate there, and only favoured Earlscombe with alternate morning and +evening services on Sundays. + +Still less were we prepared for the interior of the church. It had a +picturesque square tower covered with ivy, and a general air of fitness +for a sketch; indeed, the photograph of it in its present beautified +state will not stand a comparison with our drawings of it, in those days +of dilapidation in the middle of the untidy churchyard, with little boys +astride on the sloping, sunken lichen-grown headstones, mullein spikes +and burdock leaves, more graceful than the trim borders and zinc crosses +which are pleasanter to the mental eye. + +The London church we had left would be a fearful shock to the present +generation, but we were accustomed to decency, order, and reverence; and +it was no wonder that my father was walking about the churchyard, +muttering that he never saw such a place, while my brothers were full of +amusement. Their spruce looks in their tall hats, bright ties, dark +coats, and white trowsers strapped tight under their boots, looked +incongruous with the rest of the congregation, the most distinguished +members of which were farmers in drab coats with huge mother-of-pearl +buttons, and long gaiters buttoned up to their knees and strapped up to +their gay waistcoats over their white corduroys. Their wives and +daughters were in enormous bonnets, fluttering with ribbons; but then +what my mother and Emily wore were no trifles. The rest of the +congregation were—the male part of it—in white or gray smock-frocks, the +elderly women in black bonnets, the younger in straw; but we had not long +to make our observations, for Chapman took possession of us. He was +parish clerk, and was in great glory in his mourning coat and hat, and +his object was to marshal us all into our pew before he had to attend +upon the clergyman; and of course I was glad enough to get as soon as +possible out of sight of all the eyes not yet accustomed to my figure. + +And hidden enough I was when we had been introduced through the little +north chancel door into a black-curtained, black-cushioned, black-lined +pew, well carpeted, with a table in the midst, and a stove, whose pipe +made its exit through the floriated tracery of the window overhead. The +chancel arch was to the west of us, blocked up by a wooden parcel-gilt +erection, and to the east a decorated window that would have been very +handsome if two side-lights had not been obscured by the two Tables of +the Law, with the royal arms on the top of the first table, and over the +other our own, with the Fordyce in a scutcheon of pretence; for, as an +inscription recorded, they had been erected by Margaret, daughter of +Christopher Fordyce, Esquire, of Chantry House, and relict of Sir James +John Winslow, Kt., sergeant-at-law, A.D. 1700—the last date, I verily +believe, at which anything had been done to the church. And on the wall, +stopping up the southern chancel window, was a huge marble slab, +supported by angels blowing trumpets, with a very long inscription about +the Fordyce family, ending with this same Margaret, who had married the +Winslow, lost two or three infants, and died on 1st January 1708, three +years later than her husband. + +Thus far I could see; but Griff was standing lifting the curtain, and +showing by the working of his shoulders his amazement and diversion, so +that only the daggers in my mother’s eyes kept Martyn from springing up +after him. What he beheld was an altar draped in black like a coffin, +and on the step up to the rail, boys and girls eating apples and +performing antics to beguile the waiting time, while a row of +white-smocked old men occupied the bench opposite to our seat, conversing +loud enough for us to hear them. + +My father and Clarence came in; the bells stopped; there was a sound of +steps, and in the fabric in front of us there emerged a grizzled head and +the back of a very dirty surplice besprinkled with iron moulds, while +Chapman’s back appeared above our curtain, his desk (full of dilapidated +prayer-books) being wedged in between us and the reading-desk. + +The duet that then took place between him and the curate must have been +heard to be credible, especially as, being so close behind the old man, +we could not fail to be aware of all the remarkable shots at long words +which he bawled out at the top of his voice, and I refrain from +recording, lest they should haunt others as they have done by me all my +life. Now and then Chapman caught up a long switch and dashed out at +some obstreperous child to give an audible whack; and towards the close +of the litany he stumped out—we heard his tramp the whole length of the +church, and by and by his voice issued from an unknown height, +proclaiming—‘Let us sing to the praise and glory — in an anthem taken +from the 42d chapter of Genesis.’ + +There was an outburst of bassoon, clarionet, and fiddle, and the +performance that followed was the most marvellous we had ever heard, +especially when the big butcher—fiddling all the time—declared in a +mighty solo, ‘I am Jo—Jo—Jo—Joseph!’ and having reiterated this +information four or five times, inquired with equal pertinacity, +‘Doth—doth my fa-a-u-ther yet live?’ Poor Emily was fairly ‘convulsed;’ +she stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth, and grew so crimson that my +mother was quite frightened, and very near putting her out at the little +door of excommunication. To our last hour we shall never forget the +shock of that first anthem. + +The Commandments were read from the desk, Chapman’s solitary response +coming from the gallery; and while the second singing—four verses from +Tate and Brady—was going on, we beheld the surplice stripped off,—like +the slough of a May-fly, as Griff said,—when a rusty black gown was +revealed, in which the curate ascended the pulpit and was lost to our +view before the concluding verse of the psalm, which we had reason to +believe was selected in compliment to us, as well as to Earlscombe,— + + ‘My lot is fall’n in that blest land + Where God is truly know, + He fills my cup with liberal hand; + ’Tis He—’tis He—’tis He—supports my throne.’ + +We had great reason to doubt how far the second line could justly be +applied to the parish! but there was no judging of the sermon, for only +detached sentences reached us in a sort of mumble. Griff afterwards +declared churchgoing to be as good as a comedy, and we all had to learn +to avoid meeting each other’s eyes, whatever we might hear. When the +scuffle and tramp of the departing congregation had ceased, we came forth +from our sable box, and beheld the remnants of a once handsome church, +mauled in every possible way, green stains on the walls, windows bricked +up, and a huge singing gallery. Good bits of carved stall work were +nailed anyhow into the pews; the floor was uneven; no font was visible; +there was a mouldy uncared-for look about everything. The curate in +riding-boots came out of the vestry,—a pale, weary-looking man, painfully +meek and civil, with gray hair sleeked round his face. He ‘louted low,’ +and seemed hardly to venture on taking the hand my father held out to +him. There was some attempt to enter into conversation with him, but he +begged to be excused, for he had to hurry back to Wattlesea to a funeral. +Poor man! he was as great a pluralist as his vicar, for he kept a boys’ +school, partially day, partially boarding, and his eyes looked hungrily +at Martyn. + +If the ‘sweet cottage bonnet’ had been at church there would have been +little chance of discovering her, but we found that we were the only +‘quality,’ as Chapman called it, or things might not have been so bad. +Old James Winslow had been a mere fox-hunting squire till he became a +valetudinarian; nor had he ever cared for the church or for the poor, so +that the village was in a frightful state of neglect. There was a +dissenting chapel, old enough to be overgrown with ivy and not too +hideous, erected by the Nonconformists in the reign of the Great +Deliverer, but this partook of the general decadence of the parish, and, +as we found, the chapel’s principal use was to serve as an excuse for not +going to church. + +My father always went to church twice, so he and Clarence walked to +Wattlesea, where appearances were more respectable; but they heard the +same sermon over again, and, as my father drily remarked, it was not a +composition that would bear repetition. + +He was much distressed at the state of things, and intended to write to +the incumbent, though, as he said, whatever was done would end by being +at his own expense, and the move and other calls left him so little in +hand that he sighed over the difficulties, and declared that he was +better off in London, except for the honour of the thing. Perhaps my +mother was of the same opinion after a dreary afternoon, when Griff and +Martyn had been wandering about aimlessly, and were at length betrayed by +the barking of a little terrier, purchased the day before from Tom Petty, +besieging the stable cat, who stood with swollen tail, glaring eyes, and +thunderous growls, on the top of the tallest pillar of the ruins. Emily +nearly cried at their cruelty. Martyn was called off by my mother, and +set down, half sulky, half ashamed, to _Henry and his Bearer_; and Griff, +vowing that he believed it was that brute who made the row at night, and +that she ought to be exterminated, strolled off to converse with Chapman, +who was a quaint compound of clerk and keeper—in the one capacity +upholding his late master, in the other bemoaning Mr. Mears’ +unpunctualities, specially as regarded weddings and funerals; one ‘corp’ +having been kept waiting till a messenger had been sent to Wattlesea, who +finding both clergy out for the day, had had to go to Hillside, ‘where +they was always ready, though the old Squire would have been mad with him +if he’d a-guessed one of they Fordys had ever set foot in the parish.’ + +The only school in the place was close to the meeting-house, ‘a very +dame’s school indeed,’ as Emily described it after a peep on Monday. +Dame Dearlove, the old woman who presided, was a picture of Shenstone’s +schoolmistress,—black bonnet, horn spectacles, fearful birch rod, +three-cornered buff ’kerchief, checked apron and all, but on meddling +with her, she proved a very dragon, the antipodes of her name. Tattered +copies of the _Universal Spelling-Book_ served her aristocracy, ragged +Testaments the general herd, whence all appeared to be shouting aloud at +once. She looked sour as verjuice when my mother and Emily entered, and +gave them to understand that ‘she wasn’t used to no strangers in her +school, and didn’t want ’em.’ We found that in Chapman’s opinion she +‘didn’t larn ’em nothing.’ She had succeeded her aunt, who had taught +him to read ‘right off,’ but ‘her baint to be compared with she.’ And +now the farmers’ children, and the little aristocracy, including his own +grand-children,—all indeed who, in his phrase, ‘cared for +eddication,’—went to Wattlesea. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. +‘THEY FORDYS.’ + + + ‘Of honourable reckoning are you both, + And pity ’tis, you lived at odds so long.’ + + SHAKESPEARE. + +MY father had a good deal of business in hand, and was glad of Clarence’s +help in writing and accounts,—a great pleasure, though it prevented his +being Griff’s companion in his exploring and essays at shooting. He had +time, however, to make an expedition with me in the donkey chair to +inquire after the herdboy, Amos Bell, and carry him some kitchen physic. +To our horror we found him quite alone in the wretched cottage, while +everybody was out harvesting; but he did not seem to pity himself, or +think it otherwise than quite natural, as he lay on a little bed in the +corner, disabled by what Clarence thought a dislocation. Miss Ellen had +brought him a pudding, and little Miss Anne a picture-book. + +He was not so dense and shy as the children of the hamlet near us, and +Emily extracted from him that Miss Ellen was ‘Our passon’s young lady.’ + +‘Mr. Mears’!’ she exclaimed. + +‘No: ourn be Passon Fordy.’ + +It turned out that this place was not in Earlscombe at all, but in +Hillside, a different parish; and the boy, Amos, further communicated +that there was old Passon Fordy, and Passon Frank, and Madam, what was +Mr. Frank’s lady. Yes, he could read, he could; he went to Sunday +School, and was in Miss Ellen’s class; he had been to school worky days, +only father was dead, and Farmer Hartop gave him a job. + +It was plain that Hillside was under a very different rule from +Earlscombe; and Emily was delighted to have discovered that the sweet +cottage bonnet’s owner was called Ellen, which just then was the pet +Christian name of romance, in honour of the _Lady of the Lake_. + +In the midst of her raptures, however, just as we were about to turn in +at our own gate into the wood, we heard horses’ hoofs, and then came, +careering by on ponies, a very pretty girl and a youth of about the same +age. Clarence’s hand rose to his hat, and he made his eager bow; but the +young lady did not vouchsafe the slightest acknowledgment, turned her +head away, and urged her pony to speed. + +Emily broke out with an angry disappointed exclamation. Clarence’s face +was scarlet, and he said low and hoarsely, ‘That’s Lester. He was in the +_Argus_ at Portsmouth two years ago;’—and then, as our little sister +continued her indignant exclamations, he added, ‘Hush! Don’t on any +account say a word about it. I had better get back to my work. I am +only doing you harm by staying here.’ + +At which Emily shed tears, and together we persuaded him not to curtail +his holiday, which, indeed, he could not have done without assigning the +reason to the elders, and this was out of the question. Nor did he +venture to hang back when, as our service was to be on Sunday afternoon, +my father proposed to walk to Hillside Church in the morning. They came +back well pleased. There was care and decency throughout. The psalms +were sung to a ‘grinder organ’—which was an advanced state of things in +those days—and very nicely. Parson Frank read well and impressively, and +the old parson, a fine venerable man, had preached an excellent +sermon—really admirable, as my father repeated. Our party had been +scarcely in time, and had been disposed of in seats close to the door, +where Clarence was quite out of sight of the disdainful young lady and +her squire, of whom Emily begged to hear no more. + +She looked askance at the cards left on the hall table the next day—‘The +Rev. Christopher Fordyce,’ and ‘The Rev. F. C. Fordyce,’ also ‘Mrs. F. C. +Fordyce, Hillside Rectory.’ + +We had found out that Hillside was a family living, and that there was +much activity there on the part of the father and son—rector and curate; +and that the other clerical folk, ladies especially, who called on us, +spoke of Mrs. F. C. Fordyce with a certain tone, as if they were afraid +of her, as Sir Horace Lester’s sister,—very superior, very active, very +strict in her notions,—as if these were so many defects. They were an +offshoot of the old Fordyces of Chantry House, but so far back that all +recollection of kindred or connection must have worn out. Their +property—all in beautiful order—marched with ours, and Chapman was very +particular about the boundaries. ‘Old master he wouldn’t have a bird +picked up if it fell over on they Fordys’ ground—not he! He couldn’t +abide passons, couldn’t the old Squire—not Miss Hannah More, and all they +Cheddar lot, and they Fordys least of all. My son’s wife, she was for +sending her little maid to Hillside to Madam Fordys’ school, but, bless +your heart, ’twould have been as much as my place was worth if master had +known it.’ + +The visit was not returned till after Clarence had gone back to his +London work. Sore as was the loss of him from my daily life, I could see +that the new world and fresh acquaintances were a trial to him, and +especially since the encounter with young Lester had driven him back into +his shell, so that he would be better where he was already known and had +nothing new to overcome. Emily, though not yet sixteen, was emancipated +from schoolroom habits, and the dear girl was my devoted slave to an +extent that perhaps I abused. + +Not being ‘come out,’ she was left at home on the day when we set out on +a regular progress in the chariot with post-horses. The britshka and +pair, which were our ambition, were to wait till my father’s next rents +came in. Morning calls in the country were a solemn and imposing +ceremony, and the head of the family had to be taken on the first +circuit; nor was there much scruple as to making them in the forenoon, so +several were to be disposed of before fulfilling an engagement to +luncheon at the farthest point, where some old London friends had +borrowed a house for the summer, and had included me in their invitation. + +Here alone did I leave the carriage, but I had Cooper’s _Spy_ and my +sketch-book as companions while waiting at doors where the inhabitants +were at home. The last visit was at Hillside Rectory, a house of +architecture somewhat similar to our own, but of the soft creamy stone +which so well set off the vine with purple clusters, the myrtles and +fuchsias, that covered it. I was wishing we had drawn up far enough off +for a sketch to be possible, when, from a window close above, I heard the +following words in a clear girlish voice— + +‘No, indeed! I’m not going down. It is only those horrid Earlscombe +people. I can’t think how they have the face to come near us!’ + +There was a reply, perhaps that the parents had made the first visit, for +the rejoinder was—‘Yes; grandpapa said it was a Christian duty to make an +advance; but they need not have come so soon. Indeed, I wonder they show +themselves at all. I am sure I would not if I had such a dreadful son.’ +Presently, ‘I hate to think of it. That I should have thanked him. +Depend upon it, he will never pay the doctor. A coward like that is +capable of anything.’ + +The proverb had been realised, but there could hardly have been a more +involuntary or helpless listener. Presently my parents came back, +escorted by both the gentlemen of the house, tall fine-looking men, the +elder with snowy hair, and the dignity of men of the old school; the +younger with a joyous, hearty, out-of-door countenance, more like a +squire than a clergyman. + +The visit seemed to have been gratifying. Mrs. Fordyce was declared to +be of higher stamp than most of the neighbouring ladies; and my father +was much pleased with the two clergymen, while as we drove along he kept +on admiring the well-ordered fields and fences, and contrasting the +pretty cottages and trim gardens with the dreary appearance of our own +village. I asked why Amos Bell’s home had been neglected, and was +answered with some annoyance, as I pointed down the lane, that it was on +our land, though in Hillside parish. ‘I am glad to have such +neighbours!’ observed my mother, and I kept to myself the remarks I had +heard, though I was still tingling with the sting of them. + +We heard no more of ‘they Fordys’ for some time. The married pair went +away to stay with friends, and we only once met the old gentleman, when I +was waiting in the street at Wattlesea in the donkey chair, while my +mother was trying to match netting silk in the odd little shop that +united fancy work, toys, and tracts with the post office. Old Mr. +Fordyce met us as we drew up, handed her out with a grand seigneur’s +courtesy, and stood talking to me so delightfully that I quite forgot it +was from Christian duty. + +My father corresponded with the old Rector about the state of the parish, +and at last went over to Bath for a personal conference, but without much +satisfaction. The Earlscombe people were pronounced to be an ungrateful +good-for-nothing set, for whom it was of no use to do anything; and +indeed my mother made such discoveries in the cottages that she durst not +let Emily fulfil her cherished scheme of visiting them. The only +resemblance to the favourite heroines of religious tales that could be +permitted was assembling a tiny Sunday class in Chapman’s lodge; and it +must be confessed that her brothers thought she made as much fuss about +it as if there had been a hundred scholars. + +However, between remonstrances and offers of undertaking a share of the +expense, my father managed to get Mr. Mears’ services dispensed with from +the ensuing Lady Day, and that a resident curate should be appointed, the +choice of whom was to rest with himself. It was then and there decided +that Martyn should be ‘brought up to the Church,’ as people then used to +term destination to Holy Orders. My father said he should feel justified +in building a good house when he could afford it, if it was to be a +provision for one of his sons, and he also felt that as he had the charge +of the parish as patron, it was right and fitting to train one of his +sons up to take care of it. Nor did Martyn show any distaste to the +idea, as indeed there was less in it then than at present to daunt the +imagination of an honest, lively boy, not as yet specially thoughtful or +devout, but obedient, truthful, and fairly reverent, and ready to grow as +he was trained. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. +MRS. SOPHIA’S FEUD. + + + ‘O’er all there hung the shadow of a fear, + A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, + And said as plain as whisper in the ear, + The place is haunted.’—HOOD. + +WE had a houseful at Christmas. The Rev. Charles Henderson, a Fellow of +Trinity College, Oxford, lately ordained a deacon, had been recommended +to us by our London vicar, and was willing not only to take charge of the +parish, but to direct my studies, and to prepare Martyn for school. He +came to us for the Christmas vacation to reconnoitre and engage lodgings +at a farmhouse. We liked him very much—my mother being all the better +satisfied after he had shown her a miniature, and confided to her that +the original was waiting till a college living should come to him in the +distant future. + +Admiral Griffith could not tear himself from his warm rooms and his club, +but our antiquarian friend, Mr. Stafford, came with his wife, and +revelled in the ceilings of the mullion room, where he would much have +liked to sleep, but that its accommodations were only fit for a bachelor. + +Our other visitor was Miss Selby, or rather Mrs. Sophia Selby, as she +designated herself, according to the becoming fashion of elderly +spinsters, which to my mind might be gracefully resumed. It irked my +father to think of the good lady’s solitary Christmas at Bath, and he +asked her to come to us. She travelled half-way in a post-chaise, and +then was met by the carriage. A very nice old lady she was, with a meek, +delicate babyish face, which could not be spoilt by the cap of the +period, one of the most disfiguring articles of head gear ever devised, +though nobody thought so then. She was full of kindness; indeed, if she +had a fault it was the abundant pity she lavished on me, and her +determination to amuse me. The weather was of the kind that only the +healthy and hardy could encounter, and when every one else was gone out, +and I was just settling in with a new book, or an old crabbed Latin +document, that Mr. Stafford had entrusted to me to copy out fairly and +translate, she would glide in with her worsted work on a charitable +mission to enliven poor Mr. Edward. + +However, this was the means of my obtaining some curious enlightenments. +A dinner-party was in contemplation, and she was dismayed at the choice +of the fashionable London hour of seven, and still more by finding that +the Fordyces were to be among the guests. She was too well-bred to +manifest her feelings to her hosts, but alone with me, she could not +refrain from expressing her astonishment to me, all the more when she +heard this was reciprocity for an invitation that it had not been +possible to accept. Her poor dear uncle would never hear of intercourse +with Hillside. On being asked why, she repeated what Chapman had said, +that he could not endure any one connected with Mrs. Hannah More and her +canting, humbugging set, as the ungodly old man had chosen to call them, +imbuing even this good woman with evil prejudices against their noble +work at Cheddar. + +‘Besides this, Fordyces and Winslows could never be friends, since the +Fordyces had taken on themselves to dispute the will, and say it had been +improperly obtained.’ + +‘What will?’ + +‘Mrs. Winslow’s—Margaret Fordyce that was. She was the heiress, and had +every right to dispose of her property.’ + +‘But that was more than a hundred years ago!’ + +‘So it was, my dear; but though the law gave it to us—to my uncle’s +grandfather (or great-grandfather, was it?)—those Fordyces never could +rest content. Why, one of them—a clergyman’s son too—shot young Philip +Winslow dead in a duel. They have always grudged at us. Does your papa +know it, my dear Mr. Edward? He ought to be aware.’ + +‘I do not know,’ I said; ‘but he would hardly care about what happened in +the time of Queen Anne.’ + +It was curious to see how the gentle little lady espoused the family +quarrel, which, after all, was none of hers. + +‘Well, you are London people, and the other branch, and may not feel as +we do down here; but I shall always say that Madam Winslow’s husband’s +son had every right to come before her cousin once removed.’ + +I asked if we were descended from her, for, having a turn for heraldry +and genealogy, I wanted to make out our family tree. Mrs. Sophia was +ready to hold up her hands at the ignorance of the ‘other branch.’ This +poor heiress had lost all her children in their infancy, and bequeathed +the estate to her stepson, the Fordyce male heir having been endowed by +her father with the advowson of Hillside and a handsome estate there, +which Mrs. Selby thought ought to have contented him, ‘but some people +never know when they have enough;’ and, on my observing that it might +have been a matter of justice, she waxed hotter, declaring that what the +Winslows felt so much was the accusation of violence against the poor +lady. She spoke as if it were a story of yesterday, and added, ‘Indeed, +they made the common people have all sorts of superstitious fancies about +the room where she died—that old part of the house.’ Then she added in a +low mysterious voice, ‘I hear that your brother Mr. Griffith Winslow +could not sleep there;’ and when the rats and the wind were +mentioned—‘Yes, that was what my poor dear uncle used to say. He always +called it nonsense; but we never had a servant who would sleep there. +You’ll not mention it, Mr. Edward, but I could not help asking that very +nice housemaid, Jane, whether the room was used, and she said how Mr. +Griffith had given it up, and none of the servants could spend a night +there when they are sleeping round. Of course I said all in my power to +dispel the idea, and told her that there was no accounting for all the +noises in old houses; but you never can reason with that class of +people.’ + +‘Did you ever hear the noises, Mrs. Selby?’ + +‘Oh, no; I wouldn’t sleep there for thousands! Not that I attach any +importance to such folly,—my poor dear uncle would never hear of such a +thing; but I am such a nervous creature, I should lie awake all night +expecting the rats to run over me. I never knew of any one sleeping +there, except in the gay times when I was a child, and the house used to +be as full as, or fuller than, it could hold, for the hunt breakfast or a +ball, and my poor aunt used to make up ever so many beds in the two +rooms, and then we never heard of any disturbance, except what they made +themselves.’ + +This chiefly concerned me, because home cosseting had made me old woman +enough to be uneasy about unaired beds; and I knew that my mother meant +to consign Clarence to the mullion chamber. So, without betraying Jane, +I spoke to her, and was answered, ‘Oh, sir, I’ll take care of that; I’ll +light a fire and air the mattresses well. I wish that was all, poor +young gentleman!’ + +To the reply that the rats were slaughtered and the wind stopped out, +Jane returned a look of compassion; but the subject was dropped, as it +was supposed to be the right thing to hush up, instead of fostering, any +popular superstition; but it surprised me that, as all our servants were +fresh importations, they should so soon have become imbued with these +undefined alarms. + +My father was much amused at being successor to this family feud, and +said that when he had time he would look up the documents. + +Mrs. Sophia was a sight when Mr. Fordyce and his son and daughter-in-law +were announced; she was so comically stiff between her deference to her +hosts and her allegiance to her poor dear uncle; but her coldness melted +before the charms of old Mr. Fordyce, who was one of the most delightful +people in the world. She even was his partner at whist, and won the +game, and that she _did_ like. + +Parson Frank, as we naughty young ones called him, was all good-nature +and geniality—a thorough clergyman after the ideas of the time, and a +thorough farmer too; and in each capacity, as well as in politics, he +suited my father or Mr. Henderson. His lady, in a blonde cap, exactly +like the last equipment my mother had provided herself with in London, +and a black satin dress, had much more style than the more gaily-dressed +country dames, and far more conversation. Mr. Stafford, who had dreaded +the party, pronounced her a sensible, agreeable woman, and she was +particularly kind and pleasant to me, coming and talking over the botany +of the country, and then speaking of my brother’s kindness to poor Amos +Bell, who was nearly recovered, but was a weakly child, for whom she +dreaded the toil of a ploughboy in thick clay with heavy shoes. + +I was sorry when, after Emily’s well-studied performance on the piano, +Mrs. Fordyce was summoned away from me to sing, but her music and her +voice were both of a very different order from ordinary drawing-room +music; and when our evening was over, we congratulated ourselves upon our +neighbours, and agreed that the Fordyces were the gems of the party. + +Only Mrs. Sophia sighed at us as degenerate Winslows, and Emily reserved +to herself the right of believing that the daughter was ‘a horrid girl.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. +A SCRAPE. + + + ‘Though bound with weakness’ heavy chain + We in the dust of earth remain; + Not all remorseful be our tears, + No agony of shame or fears, + Need pierce its passion’s bitter tide.’ + + _Verses and Sonnets_. + +PERHAPS it was of set purpose that our dinner-party had been given before +Clarence’s return. Griffith had been expected in time for it, but he had +preferred going by way of London to attend a ball given by the daughter +of a barrister friend of my father’s. Selina Clarkson was a fine showy +girl, with the sort of beauty to inspire boyish admiration, and Griff’s +had been a standing family joke, even my father condescending to tease +him when the young lady married Sir Henry Peacock, a fat vulgar old man +who had made his fortune in the commissariat, and purchased a baronetcy. +He was allowing his young wife her full swing of fashion and enjoyment. +My mother did not think it a desirable acquaintance, and was restless +until both the brothers came home together, long after dark on Christmas +Eve, having been met by the gig at the corner where the coach stopped. +The dinner-hour had been put off till half-past six, and we had to wait +for them, the coach having been delayed by setting down Christmas guests +and Christmas fare. They were a contrast; Griffith looking very handsome +and manly, all in a ruddy glow from the frosty air, and Clarence, though +equally tall, well-made, and with more refined features, looked pale and +effaced, now that his sailor tan was worn off. The one talked as eagerly +as he ate, the other was shy, spiritless, and with little appetite; but +as he always shrank into himself among strangers, it was the less wonder +that he sat in his drooping way behind my sofa, while Griffith kept us +all merry with his account of the humours of the ‘Peacock at home;’ the +lumbering efforts of old Sir Henry to be as young and gay as his wife, in +spite of gout and portliness; and the extreme delight of his lady in her +new splendours—a gold spotted muslin and white plumes in a diamond +agraffe. He mimicked Sir Henry’s cockneyisms more than my father’s +chivalry approved towards his recent host, as he described the complaints +he had heard against ‘my Lady being refused the hentry at Halmack’s, but +treated like the wery canal;’ and how the devoted husband ‘wowed he would +get up a still more hexclusive circle, and shut hout these himpertinent +fashionables who regarded Halmack’s as the seventh ’eaven.’ + +My mother shook her head at his audacious fun about Paradise and the +Peri, but he was so brilliant and good-humoured that no one was ever long +displeased with him. At night he followed when Clarence helped me to my +room, and carefully shutting the door, Griff began. ‘Now, Teddy, you’re +always as rich as a Jew, and I told Bill you’d help him to set it +straight. I’d do it myself, but that I’m cleaned out. I’d give ten +times the cash rather than see him with that hang-dog look again for just +nothing at all, if he would only believe so and be rational.’ + +Clarence did look indescribably miserable while it was explained that he +had been commissioned to receive about £20 which was owing to my father, +and to discharge therewith some small debts to London tradesmen. All +except the last, for a little more than four pounds, had been paid, when +Clarence met in the street an old messmate, a good-natured rattle-pated +youth,—one of those who had thought him harshly treated. There was a +cordial greeting, and an invitation to dine at once at a hotel, where +they were joined by some other young men, and by and by betook themselves +to cards, when my poor brother’s besetting enemy prevented him from +withdrawing when he found the points were guineas. Thus he lost the +remaining amount in his charge, and so much of his own that barely enough +was left for his journey. His salary was not due till Lady Day; Mr. +Castleford was in the country, and no advances could be asked from Mr. +Frith. Thus Griff had found him in utter despair, and had ever since +been trying to cheer him and make light of his trouble. If I advanced +the amount, which was no serious matter to me, Clarence could easily get +Peter to pay the bill, and if my father should demand the receipt too +soon, it would be easy to put him off by saying there had been a delay in +getting the account sent in. + +‘I couldn’t do that,’ said Clarence. + +‘Well, I should not have thought you would have stuck at that,’ returned +Griff. + +‘There must be no untruth,’ I broke in; ‘but if without _that_, he can +avoid getting into a scrape with papa—’ + +Clarence interrupted in the wavering voice we knew so well, but growing +clearer and stronger. + +‘Thank you, Edward, but—but—no, I can’t. There’s the Sacrament +to-morrow.’ + +‘Oh—h!’ said Griff, in an indescribable tone. But he will never believe +you, nor let you go.’ + +‘Better so,’ said Clarence, half choked, ‘than go profanely—deceiving—or +not knowing whether I shall—’ + +Just then we heard our father wishing the other gentlemen good-night, and +to our surprise Clarence opened the door, though he was deadly white and +with dew starting on his forehead. + +My father turned good-naturedly. ‘Boys, boys, you are glad to be +together, but mamma won’t have you talking here all night, keeping her +baby up.’ + +‘Sir,’ said Clarence, holding by the rail of the bed, ‘I was waiting for +you. I have something to tell you—’ + +The words that followed were incoherent and wrong end foremost; nor had +many, indeed, been uttered before my father cut them short with— + +‘No false excuses, sir; I know you too well to listen. Go. I have +ceased to hope for anything better.’ + +Clarence went without a word, but Griff and I burst out with entreaties +to be listened to. Our father thought at first that ours were only the +pleadings of partiality, and endeavours to shield the brother we both so +heartily loved; but when he understood the circumstances, the real amount +of the transgression, and Clarence’s rejection of our united advice and +assistance to conceal it, he was greatly touched and softened. ‘Poor +lad! poor fellow!’ he muttered, ‘he is really doing his best. I need not +have cut him so short. I was afraid of more falsehoods if I let him open +his mouth. I’ll go and see.’ + +He went off, and we remained in suspense, Griff observing that he had +done his best, but poor Bill always would be a fool, and that no one who +had not always lived at home like me would have let out that we had been +for the suppression policy. As I was rather shocked, he went off to bed, +saying he should look in to see what remained of Clarence after the +pelting of the pitiless storm he was sure to bring on himself by his +ridiculous faltering instead of speaking out like a man. + +I longed to have been able to do the same, but my father kindly came back +to relieve my mind by telling me that he was better satisfied about +Clarence than ever he had been before. When encouraged to speak out, the +narrative of the temptation had so entirely agreed with what we had said +as to show there had been no prevarication, and this had done more to +convince my father that he was on the right track than the having found +him on his knees. He had had a patient hearing, and thus was able to +command his nerves enough to explain himself, and it had ended in my +father giving entire forgiveness for what, as Griff truly said, would +have been a mere trifle but for the past. The voluntary confession had +much impressed my father, and he could not help adding a word of gentle +reproof to me for having joined in aiding him to withhold it, but he +accepted my explanation and went away, observing, ‘By the by, I don’t +wonder at what Griffith says of that room; I never heard such strange +effects of currents of air.’ + +Clarence was in my room before I was drest, full of our father’s +‘wonderful goodness’ to him. He had never experienced anything like it, +he said. ‘Why! he really seemed hopeful about me,’ were words uttered +with a gladness enough to go to one’s heart. ‘O Edward, I feel as if +there was some chance of “steadfastly purposing” this time.’ + +It was not the way of the family to say much of religious feeling, and +this was much for Clarence to utter. He looked white and tired, but +there was an air of rest and peace about him, above all when my mother +met him with a very real kiss. Moreover, Mr. Castleford had taken care +to brighten our Christmas with a letter expressive of great satisfaction +with Clarence for steadiness and intelligence. Even Mr. Frith allowed +that he was the most punctual of all those young dogs. + +‘I do believe,’ said my father, ‘that his piety is doing him some good +after all.’ + +So our mutual wishes of a happy Christmas were verified, though not much +according to the notions of this half of the century. People made their +Christmas day either mere merriment, or something little different from +the grave Sunday of that date. And ours, except for the Admiral’s dining +with us, had always been of the latter description, all the more that +when celebrations of the Holy Communion were so rare they were treated +with an awe and reverence which frequency has perhaps diminished, and a +feeling (possibly Puritanical) prevailed which made it appear incongruous +to end with festivity a day so begun. That we had a Christmas Day +Communion at all at Earlscombe was an innovation only achieved by Mr. +Henderson going to assist the old Rector at Wattlesea; and there were no +communicants except from our house, besides Chapman, his daughter-in-law, +and five old creatures between whom the alms were immediately divided. +We afterwards learnt that our best farmer and his wife were much +disappointed at the change from Sunday interfering with the family +jollification; and Mrs. Sophia Selby was annoyed at the contradiction to +her habits under the rule of her poor dear uncle. + +Of the irregularities, irreverences, and squalor of the whole I will not +speak. They were not then such stumbling-blocks as they would be now, +and many passed unperceived by us, buried as we were in our big pew, with +our eyes riveted on our books; yet even thus there was enough evident to +make my mother rejoice that Mr. Henderson would be with us before Easter. +Still this could not mar the thankful gladness that was with us all that +day, and which shone in Clarence’s eyes. His countenance always had a +remarkable expression in church, as if somehow his spirit went farther +than ours did, and things unseen were more real to him. + +Hillside, as usual, had two services, and my father and his friend were +going to walk thither in the afternoon, but it was a raw cold day, +threatening snow, and Emily was caught by my mother in the hail and +ordered back, as well as Clarence, who had shown symptoms of having +caught cold on his dismal journey. Emily coaxed from her permission to +have a fire in the bookroom, and there we three had a memorably happy +time. We read our psalms and lessons, and our _Christian Year_, which +was more and more the lodestar of our feelings. We compared our +favourite passages, and discussed the obscurer ones, and Clarence was led +to talk out more of his heart than he had ever shown to us before. +Perhaps he had lost some of his reserve through his intercourse with our +good old governess, Miss Newton, who was still grinding away at her daily +mill, though with somewhat failing eyesight, so that she could do nothing +but knit in the long evenings, and was most grateful to her former pupil +for coming, as often as he could, to talk or read to her. + +She was a most excellent and devout woman, and when Emily, who in +youthful _gaieté de cœur_ had got a little tired of her, exclaimed at his +taste, and asked if she made him read nothing but Pike’s Early _Piety_, +he replied gravely, ‘She showed me where to lay my burthen down,’ and +turned to the two last verses of the poem for ‘Good Friday’ in the +_Christian Year_, as well as to the one we had just read on the Holy +Communion. + +My father’s kindness had seemed to him the pledge of the Heavenly +Father’s forgiveness; and he added, perhaps a little childishly, that it +had been his impulse to promise never to touch a card again, but that he +dreaded the only too familiar reply, ‘What availed his promises?’ + +‘Do promise, Clarry!’ cried Emily, ‘and then you won’t have to play with +that tiresome old Mrs. Sophia.’ + +‘That would rather deter me,’ said Clarence good-humouredly. + +‘A card-playing old age is despicable,’ pronounced Miss Emily, much to +our amusement. + +After that we got into a bewilderment. We knew nothing of the future +question of temperance _versus_ total abstinence; but after it had been +extracted that Miss Newton regarded cards as the devil’s books, the +inconsistent little sister changed sides, and declared it narrow and +evangelical to renounce what was innocent. Clarence argued that what +might be harmless for others might be dangerous for such as himself, and +that his real difficulty in making even a mental vow was that, if broken, +there was an additional sin. + +‘It is not oneself that one trusts,’ I said. + +‘No,’ said Clarence emphatically; ‘and setting up a vow seems as if it +might be sticking up the reed of one’s own word, and leaning on +_that_—when it breaks, at least mine does. If I could always get the +grasp of Him that I felt to-day, there would be no more bewildered heart +and failing spirit, which are worse than the actual falls they cause.’ +And as Emily said she did not understand, he replied in words I wrote +down and thought over, ‘What we _are_ is the point, more than even what +we _do_. We _do_ as we _are_; and yet we form ourselves by what we +_do_.’ + +‘And,’ I put in, ‘I know somebody who won a victory last night over +himself and his two brothers. Surely _doing_ that is a sign that he _is_ +more than he used to be.’ + +‘If he were, it would not have been an effort at all,’ said Clarence, but +with his rare sweet smile. + +Just then Griff called him away, and Emily sat pondering and impressed. +‘It did seem so odd,’ she said, ‘that Clarry should be so much the best, +and yet so much the worst of us.’ + +I agreed. His insight into spiritual things, and his enjoyment of them, +always humiliated us both, yet he fell so much lower in practice,—‘But +then we had not his temptations.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Emily; ‘but look at Griff! He goes about like other young +men, and keeps all right, and yet he doesn’t care about religious things +a bit more than he can help.’ + +It was quite true. Religion was life to the one and an insurance to the +other, and this had been a mystery to us all our young lives, as far as +we had ever reflected on the contrast between the practical failure and +success of each. Our mother, on the other hand, viewed Clarence’s +tendencies as part of an unreal, self-deceptive nature, and regretted his +intimacy with Miss Newton, who, she said, had fostered ‘that kind of +thing’ in his childhood—made him fancy talk, feeling, and preaching were +more than truth and honour—and might lead him to run after Irving, +Rowland Hill, or Baptist Noel, about whose tenets she was rather +confused. It would be an additional misfortune if he became a fanatical +Evangelical light, and he was just the character to be worked upon. + +My father held that she might be thankful for any good influence or safe +resort for a young man in lodgings in London, and he merely bade Clarence +never resort to any variety of dissenting preacher. We were of the +school called—a little later—high and dry, but were strictly orthodox +according to our lights, and held it a prime duty to attend our parish +church, whatever it might be; nor, indeed, had Clarence swerved from +these traditions. + +Poor Mrs. Sophia was baulked of the game at whist, which she viewed as a +legitimate part of the Christmas pleasures; and after we had eaten our +turkey, we found the evening long, except that Martyn escaped to +snapdragon with the servants; and, by and by, Chapman, magnificent in +patronage, ushered in the church singers into the hall, and clarionet, +bassoon, and fiddle astonished our ears. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. +THE MULLION CHAMBER. + + + ‘A lady with a lamp I see, + Pass through the glimmering gloom, + And flit from room to room.’ + + LONGFELLOW. + +FOR want of being able to take exercise, the first part of the night had +always been sleepless with me, though my dear mother thought it wrong to +recognise the habit or allow me a lamp. A fire, however, I had, and by +its light, on the second night after Christmas, I saw my door noiselessly +opened, and Clarence creeping in half-dressed and barefooted. To my +frightened interrogation the answer came, through chattering teeth, ‘It’s +I—only I—Ted—no—nothing’s the matter, only I can’t stand it any longer!’ + +His hands were cold as ice when he grasped mine, as if to get hold of +something substantial, and he trembled so as to shake the bed. ‘That +room,’ he faltered. ‘’Tis not only the moans! I’ve seen her!’ + +‘Whom?’ + +‘I don’t know. There she stands with her lamp, crying!’ I could +scarcely distinguish the words through the clashing of his teeth, and as +I threw my arms round him the shudder seemed to pass to me; but I did my +best to warm him by drawing the clothes over him, and he began to gather +himself together, and speak intelligibly. There had been sounds the +first night as of wailing, but he had been too much preoccupied to attend +to them till, soon after one o’clock, they ended in a heavy fall and long +shriek, after which all was still. Christmas night had been undisturbed, +but on this the voices had begun again at eleven, and had a strangely +human sound; but as it was windy, sleety weather, and he had learnt at +sea to disregard noises in the rigging, he drew the sheet over his head +and went to sleep. ‘I was dreaming that I was at sea,’ he said, ‘as I +always do on a noisy night, but this was not a dream. I was wakened by a +light in the room, and there stood a woman with a lamp, moaning and +sobbing. My first notion was that one of the maids had come to call me, +and I sat up; but I could not speak, and she gave another awful +suppressed cry, and moved towards that walled-up door. Then I saw it was +none of the servants, for it was an antique dress like an old picture. +So I knew what it must be, and an unbearable horror came over me, and I +rushed into the outer room, where there was a little fire left; but I +heard her going on still, and I could endure it no longer. I knew you +would be awake and would bear with me, so I came down to you.’ + +Then this was what Chapman and the maids had meant. This was Mrs. Sophia +Selby’s vulgar superstition! I found that Clarence had heard none of the +mysterious whispers afloat, and only knew that Griff had deserted the +room after his own return to London. I related what I had learnt from +the old lady, and in that midnight hour we agreed that it could be no +mere fancy or rumour, but that cruel wrong must have been done in that +chamber. Our feeling was that all ought to be made known, and in that +impression we fell asleep, Clarence first. + +By and by I found him moving. He had heard the clock strike four, and +thought it wiser to repair to his own quarters, where he believed the +disturbance was over. Lucifer matches as yet were not, but he had always +been a noiseless being, with a sailor’s foot, so that, by the help of the +moonlight through the hall windows, he regained his room. + +And when morning had come, the nocturnal visitation wore such a different +aspect to both our minds that we decided to say nothing to our parents, +who, said Clarence, would simply disbelieve him; and, indeed, I inclined +to suppose it had been an uncommonly vivid dream, produced in that +sensitive nature by the uncanny sounds of the wind in the chinks and +crannies of the ancient chamber. Had not Scott’s _Demonology and +Witchcraft_, which we studied hard on that day, proved all such phantoms +to be explicable? The only person we told was Griff, who was amused and +incredulous. He had heard the noises—oh yes! and objected to having his +sleep broken by them. It was too had to expose Clarence to them—poor +Bill—on whom they worked such fancies! + +He interrogated Chapman, however, but probably in that bantering way +which is apt to produce reserve. Chapman never ‘gave heed to them +fictious tales,’ he said; but, when hard pressed, he allowed that he had +‘heerd that a lady do walk o’ winter nights,’ and that was why the garden +door of the old rooms was walled up. Griff asked if this was done for +fear she should catch cold, and this somewhat affronted him, so that he +averred that he knew nought about it, and gave no thought to such like. + +Just then they arrived at the Winslow Arms, and took each a glass of ale, +when Griff, partly to tease Chapman, asked the landlady—an old Chantry +House servant—whether she had ever met the ghost. She turned rather +pale, which seemed to have impressed him, and demanded if he had seen it. +‘It always walked at Christmas time—between then and the New Year.’ She +had once seen a light in the garden by the ruin in winter-time, and once +last spring it came along the passage, but that was just before the old +Squire was took for death,—folks said that was always the way before any +of the family died—‘if you’ll excuse it, sir.’ Oh no, she thought +nothing of such things, but she had heard tell that the noises were such +at all times of the year that no one could sleep in the rooms, but the +light wasn’t to be seen except at Christmas. + +Griff with the philosophy of a university man, was certain that all was +explained by Clarence having imbibed the impression of the place being +haunted; and going to sleep nervous at the noises, his brain had shaped a +phantom in accordance. Let Clarence declare as he might that the legends +were new to him, Griff only smiled to think how easily people forgot, and +he talked earnestly about catching ideas without conscious information. + +However, he volunteered to sit up that night to ascertain the exact +causes of the strange noises and convince Clarence that they were nothing +but the effects of draughts. The fire in his gunroom was surreptitiously +kept up to serve for the vigil, which I ardently desired to share. It +was an enterprise; it would gratify my curiosity; and besides, though +Griffith was good-natured and forbearing in a general way towards +Clarence, I detected a spirit of mockery about him which might break out +unpleasantly when poor Clarry was convicted of one of his unreasonable +panics. + +Both brothers were willing to gratify me, the only difficulty being that +the tap of my crutches would warn the entire household of the expedition. +However, they had—all unknown to my mother—several times carried me about +queen’s cushion fashion, as, being always much of a size, they could do +most handily; and as both were now fine, strong, well-made youths of +twenty and nineteen, they had no doubt of easily and silently conveying +me up the shallow-stepped staircase when all was quiet for the night. + +Emily, with her sharp ears, guessed that something was in hand, but we +promised her that she should know all in time. I believe Griff, being a +little afraid of her quickness, led her to suppose he was going to hold +what he called a symposium in his rooms, and to think it a mystery of +college life not intended for young ladies. + +He really had prepared a sort of supper for us when, after my father’s +resounding turn of the key of the drawing-room door, my brothers, in +their stocking soles, bore me upstairs, the fun of the achievement for +the moment overpowering all sense of eeriness. Griff said he could not +receive me in his apartment without doing honour to the occasion, and +that Dutch courage was requisite for us both; but I suspect it was more +in accordance with Oxford habits that he had provided a bottle of sherry +and another of ale, some brandy cherries, bread, cheese, and biscuits, by +what means I do not know, for my mother always locked up the wine. He +was disappointed that Clarence would touch nothing, and declared that +inanition was the preparation for ghost-seeing or imagining. I drank his +health in a glass of sherry as I looked round at the curious old room, +with its panelled roof, the heraldic devices and badges of the Power +family, and the trophy of swords, dirks, daggers, and pistols, chiefly +relics of our naval grandfather, but reinforced by the sword, helmet, and +spurs of the county Yeomanry which Griff had joined. + +Griff proposed cards to drive away fancies, especially as the sounds were +beginning; but though we generally yielded to him we _could_ not give our +attention to anything but these. There was first a low moan. ‘No great +harm in that,’ said Griff; ‘it comes through that crack in the wainscot +where there is a sham window. Some putty will put a stop to that.’ + +Then came a more decided wail and sob much nearer to us. Griff hastily +swallowed the ale in his tumbler, and, striking a theatrical attitude, +exclaimed, ‘Angels and ministers of grace defend us!’ + +Clarence held up his hand in deprecation. The door into his bedroom was +open, and Griff, taking up one of the flat candlesticks, pursued his +researches, holding the flame to all chinks or cracks in the wainscotting +to detect draughts which might cause the dreary sounds, which were much +more like suppressed weeping than any senseless gust of wind. Of +draughts there were many, and he tried holding his hand against each +crevice to endeavour to silence the wails; but these became more human +and more distressful. Presently Clarence exclaimed, ‘There!’ and on his +face there was a whiteness and an expression which always recurs to me on +reading those words of Eliphaz the Temanite, ‘Then a spirit passed before +my face, and the hair of my flesh stood up.’ Even Griff was awestruck as +we cried, ‘Where? what?’ + +‘Don’t you see her? There! By the press—look!’ + +‘I see a patch of moonlight on the wall,’ said Griff. + +‘Moonlight—her lamp. Edward, don’t you see her?’ + +I could see nothing but a spot of light on the wall. Griff (plainly +putting a force on himself) came back and gave him a good-natured shake. +‘Dreaming again, old Bill. Wake up and come to your senses.’ + +‘I am as much in my senses as you are,’ said Clarence. ‘I see her as +plainly as I see you.’ + +Nor could any one doubt either the reality of the awe in his voice and +countenance, nor of the light—a kind of hazy ball—nor of the choking +sobs. + +‘What is she like?’ I asked, holding his hand, for, though infected by +his dread, my fears were chiefly for the effect on him; but he was much +calmer and less horror-struck than on the previous night, though still he +shuddered as he answered in a low voice, as if loth to describe a lady in +her presence, ‘A dark cloak with the hood fallen back, a kind of lace +headdress loosely fastened, brown hair, thin white face, eyes—oh, poor +thing!—staring with fright, dark—oh, how swollen the lids! all red below +with crying—black dress with white about it—a widow kind of look—a glove +on the arm with the lamp. Is she beckoning—looking at us? Oh, you poor +thing, if I could tell what you mean!’ + +I felt the motion of his muscles in act to rise, and grasped him. Griff +held him with a strong hand, hoarsely crying, ‘Don’t!—don’t—don’t follow +the thing, whatever you do!’ + +Clarence hid his face. It was very awful and strange. Once the thought +of conjuring her to speak by the Holy Name crossed me, but then I saw no +figure; and with incredulous Griffith standing by, it would have been +like playing, nor perhaps could I have spoken. How long this lasted +there is no knowing; but presently the light moved towards the walled-up +door and seemed to pass into it. Clarence raised his head and said she +was gone. We breathed freely. + +‘The farce is over,’ said Griff. ‘Mr. Edward Winslow’s carriage stops +the way!’ + +I was hoisted up, candle in hand, between the two, and had nearly reached +the stairs when there came up on the garden side a sound as of tipsy +revellers in the garden. ‘The scoundrels! how can they have got in?’ +cried Griff, looking towards the window; but all the windows on that side +had peculiarly heavy shutters and bars, with only a tiny heart-shaped +aperture very high up, so they somewhat hurried their steps downstairs, +intending to rush out on the intruders from the back door. But suddenly, +in the middle of the staircase, we heard a terrible heartrending woman’s +shriek, making us all start and have a general fall. My brothers managed +to seat me safely on a step without much damage to themselves, but the +candle fell and was extinguished, and we made too heavy a weight to fall +without real noise enough to bring the household together before we could +pick ourselves up in the dark. + +We heard doors opening and hurried calls, and something about pistols, +impelling Griff to call out, ‘It’s nothing, papa; but there are some +drunken rascals in the garden.’ + +A light had come by this time, and we were detected. There was a general +sally upon the enemy in the garden before any one thought of me, except a +‘You here!’ when they nearly fell over me. And there I was left sitting +on the stair, helpless without my crutches, till in a few minutes all +returned declaring there was nothing—no signs of anything; and then as +Clarence ran up to me with my crutches my father demanded the meaning of +my being there at that time of night. + +‘Well, sir,’ said Griff, ‘it is only that we have been sitting up to +investigate the ghost.’ + +‘Ghost! Arrant stuff and nonsense! What induced you to be dragging +Edward about in this dangerous way?’ + +‘I wished it,’ said I. + +‘You are all mad together, I think. I won’t have the house disturbed for +this ridiculous folly. I shall look into it to-morrow!’ + + + + +CHAPTER XV. +RATIONAL THEORIES. + + + ‘These are the reasons, they are natural.’ + + _Julius Cæsar_. + +IF anything could have made our adventure more unpleasant to Mr. and Mrs. +Winslow, it would have been the presence of guests. However, inquiry was +suppressed at breakfast, in deference to the signs my mother made to +enjoin silence before the children, all unaware that Emily was nearly +frantic with suppressed curiosity, and Martyn knew more about the popular +version of the legend than any of us. + +Clarence looked wan and heavy-eyed. His head was aching from a bump +against the edge of a step, and his cold was much worse; no wonder, said +my mother; but she was always softened by any ailment, and feared that +the phantoms were the effect of coming illness. I have always thought +that if Clarence could have come home from his court-martial with a brain +fever he would have earned immediate forgiveness; but unluckily for him, +he was a very healthy person. + +All three of us were summoned to the tribunal in the study, where my +father and my mother sat in judgment on what they termed ‘this +preposterous business.’ In our morning senses our impressions were much +more vague than at midnight, and we betrayed some confusion; but Griff +and I had a strong instinct of sheltering Clarence, and we stoutly +declared the noises to be beyond the capacities of wind, rats, or cats; +that the light was visible and inexplicable; and that though we had seen +nothing else, we could not doubt that Clarence did. + +‘Thought he did,’ corrected my father. + +‘Without discussing the word,’ said Griff, ‘I mean that the effect on his +senses was the same as the actual sight. You could not look at him +without being certain.’ + +‘Exactly so,’ returned my mother. ‘I wish Dr. Fellowes were near.’ + +Indeed nothing saved Clarence from being consigned to medical treatment +but the distance from Bath or Bristol, and the contradictory advice that +had been received from our county neighbours as to our family doctor. +However, she formed her theory that his nervous imaginings—whether +involuntary or acted, she hoped the former, and wished she could be +sure—had infected us; and, as she was really uneasy about him, she would +not let him sleep in the mullion room, but having nowhere else to bestow +him, she turned out the man-servant and put him into the little room +beyond mine, and she also forbade any mention of the subject to him that +day. + +This was a sore prohibition to Emily, who had been discussing it with the +other ladies, and was in a mingled state of elation at the romance, and +terror at the supernatural, which found vent in excited giggle, and moved +Griff to cram her with raw-head and bloody-bone horrors, conventional +enough to be suspicious, and send her to me tearfully to entreat to know +the truth. If by day she exulted in a haunted chamber, in the evening +she paid for it by terrors at walking about the house alone, and, when +sent on an errand by my mother, looked piteous enough to be laughed at or +scolded on all sides. + +The gentlemen had more serious colloquies, and the upshot was a +determination to sit up together and discover the origin of the +annoyance. Mr. Stafford’s antiquarian researches had made him familiar +with such mysteries, and enough of them had been explained by natural +causes to convince him that there was a key to all the rest. Owls, +coiners, and smugglers had all been convicted of simulating ghosts. In +one venerable mansion, behind the wainscot, there had been discovered +nine skeletons of cats in different stages of decay, having trapped +themselves at various intervals of time, and during the gradual +extinction of their eighty-one lives having emitted cries enough to +establish the ghastly reputation of the place. Perhaps Mr. Henderson was +inclined to believe there were more things in heaven and earth than were +dreamt of in even an antiquary’s philosophy. He owned himself perplexed, +but reserved his opinion. + +At breakfast Clarence was quite well, except for the remains of his sore +throat, and the two seniors were gruff and brief as to their watch. They +had heard odd noises, and should discover the cause; the carpenter had +already been sent for, and they had seen a light which was certainly due +to reflection or refraction. Mr. Henderson committed himself to nothing +but that ‘it was very extraordinary;’ and there was a wicked look of +diversion on Griff’s face, and an exchange of glances. Afterwards, in +our own domain, we extracted a good deal more from them. + +Griff told us how the two elders started on politics, and denounced +Brougham and O’Connell loud enough to terrify any save the most undaunted +ghost, till Henderson said ‘Hush!’ and they paused at the moan with which +the performance always commenced, making Mr. Stafford turn, as Griff +said, ‘white in the gills,’ though he talked of the wind on the stillest +of frosty nights. Then came the sobbing and wailing, which certainly +overawed them all; Henderson called them ‘agonising,’ but Griff was in a +manner inured to this, and felt as if master of the ceremonies. Let them +say what they would by daylight about owls, cats, and rats, they owned +the human element then, and were far from comfortable, though they would +not compromise their good sense by owning what both their younger +companions had perceived—their feeling of some undefinable presence. +Vain attempts had been made to account for the light or get rid of it by +changing the position of candles or bright objects in the outer room; and +Henderson had shut himself into the bedroom with it; but there he still +only saw the hazy light—though all was otherwise pitch dark, except the +keyhole and the small gray patch of sky at the top of the +window-shutters. ‘You saw nothing else?’ said Griff. ‘I thought I heard +you break out as Clarence did, just before my father opened the door.’ + +‘Perhaps I did so. I had the sense strongly on me of some being in +grievous distress very near me.’ + +‘And you should have power over it,’ suggested Emily. + +‘I am afraid,’ he said, ‘that more thorough conviction and comprehension +are needed before I could address the thing with authority. I should +like to have stayed longer and heard the conclusion.’ + +For Mr. Stafford had grown impatient and weary, and my father having +satisfied himself that there was something to be detected, would not +remain to the end, and not only carried his companions off, but locked +the doors, perhaps expecting to imprison some agent in a trick, and find +him in the morning. + +Indeed Clarence had a dim remembrance of having been half wakened by some +one looking in on him in the night, when he was sleeping heavily after +his cold and the previous night’s disturbance, and we suspected, though +we would not say, that our father might have wished to ascertain that he +had no share in producing these appearances. He was, however, fully +acquitted of all wilful deception in the case, and he was not surprised, +though he was disappointed, that his vision of the lady was supposed to +be the consequence of excited imagination. + +‘I can’t help it,’ he said to me in private. ‘I have always seen or +felt, or whatever you may call it, things that others do not. Don’t you +remember how nobody would believe that I saw Lucy Brooke?’ + +‘That was in the beginning of the measles.’ + +‘I know; and I will tell you something curious. When I was at Gibraltar +I met Mrs. Emmott—’ + +‘Mary Brooke?’ + +‘Yes; I spent a very happy Sunday with her. We talked over old times, +and she told me that Lucy had all through her illness been very uneasy +about having promised to bring me a macaw’s feather the next time we +played in the Square gardens. It could not be sent to me for fear of +carrying the infection, but the dear girl was too light-headed to +understand, and kept on fretting and wandering about breaking her word. +I have no doubt the wish carried her spirit to me the moment it was +free,’ he added, with tears springing to his eyes. He also said that +before the court-martial he had, night after night, dreams of sinking and +drowning in huge waves, and his friend Coles struggling to come to his +aid, but being forcibly withheld; and he had since learnt that Coles had +actually endeavoured to come from Plymouth to bear testimony to his +previous character, but had been refused leave, and told that he could do +no good. + +There had been other instances of perception of a presence and of a +prescient foreboding. ‘It is like a sixth sense,’ he said, ‘and a very +uncomfortable one. I would give much to be rid of it, for it is +connected with all that is worst in my life. I had it before Navarino, +when no one expected an engagement. It made me believe I should be +killed, and drove me to what was much worse—or at least I used to think +so.’ + +‘Don’t you now?’ I asked. + +‘No,’ said Clarence. ‘It was a great mercy that I did not die then. +There’s something to conquer first. But you’ll never speak of this, Ted. +I have left off telling of such things—it only gives another reason for +disbelieving me.’ + +However, this time his veracity was not called in question,—but he was +supposed to be under a hallucination, the creation of the noises acting +on his imagination and memory of the persecuted widow, which must have +been somewhere dormant in his mind, though he averred that he had never +heard of it. It had now, however, made a strong impression on him; he +was convinced that some crime or injustice had been perpetrated, and +thought it ought to be investigated; but Griffith made us laugh at his +championship of this shadow of a shade, and even wrote some mock heroic +verses about it,—nor would it have been easy to stir my father to seek +for the motives of an apparition which no one in the family save Clarence +professed to have seen. + +The noises were indisputable, but my mother began to suspect a cause for +them. To oblige a former cook we had brought down with us as stable-boy +her son, George Sims, an imp accustomed to be the pet and jester of a +mews. Martyn was only too fond of his company, and he made no secret of +his contempt for the insufferable dulness of the country, enlivening it +by various acts of monkey-mischief, in some of which Martyn had been +implicated. That very afternoon, as Mrs. Sophia Selby was walking home +in the twilight from Chapman’s lodge, in company with Mr. Henderson, an +eldritch yell proceeding from the vaults beneath the mullion chambers +nearly frightened her into fits. Henderson darted in and captured the +two boys in the fact. Martyn’s asseveration that he had taken the pair +for Griff and Emily would have pacified the good-natured clergyman, but +Mrs. Sophia was too much agitated, or too spiteful, as we declared, not +to make a scene. + +Martyn spent the evening alone and in disgrace, and only his +unimpeachable character for truth caused the acceptance of his +affirmation that the yell was an impromptu fraternal compliment, and that +he had nothing to do with the noises in the mullion chamber. He had been +supposed to be perfectly unconscious of anything of the kind, and to have +never so much as heard of a phantom, so my mother was taken somewhat +aback when, in reply to her demand whether he had ever been so naughty as +to assist George in making a noise in Clarence’s room, he said, ‘Why, +that’s the ghost of the lady that was murdered atop of the steps, and +always walks every Christmas!’ + +‘Who told you such ridiculous nonsense?’ + +The answer ‘George’ was deemed conclusive that all had been got up by +that youth; and there was considerable evidence of his talent for +ventriloquism and taste for practical jokes. My mother was certain that, +having heard of the popular superstition, he had acted ghost. She +appealed to _Woodstock_ to prove the practicability of such feats; and +her absolute conviction persuaded the maids (who had given warning _en +masse_) that the enemy was exorcised when George Sims had been sent off +on the Royal Mail under Clarence’s guardianship. + +None of the junior part of the family believed him guilty, but he had +hunted the cows round the paddock, mounted on my donkey, had nearly shot +the kitchen-maid with Griff’s gun, and, if not much maligned, knew the +way to the apple-chamber only too well,—so that he richly deserved his +doom, rejoiced in it himself, and was unregretted save by Martyn. +Clarence viewed him in the light of a victim, and tried to keep an eye on +him, but he developed his talent as a ventriloquist, made his fortune, +and retired on a public-house. + +My mother would fain have had the vaults under the mullion rooms bricked +up, but Mr. Stafford cried out on the barbarism of such a proceeding. +The mystery was declared to be solved, and was added to Mr. Stafford’s +good stories of haunted houses. + +And at home my father forbade any further mention of such rank folly and +deception. The inner mullion chamber was turned into a lumber-room, and +as weeks passed by without hearing or seeing any more of lady or of lamp, +we began to credit the wonderful freaks of the goblin page. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. +CAT LANGUAGE. + + + Soon as she parted thence—the fearful twayne, + That blind old woman and her daughter deare, + Came forth, and finding Kirkrapine there slayne, + For anguish greate they gan to rend their heare + And beate their breasts, and naked flesh to teare; + And when they both had wept and wayled their fill, + Then forth they ran, like two amazèd deere, + Half mad through malice and revenging will, + To follow her that was the causer of their ill.’—SPENSER. + +THE Christmas vacation was not without another breeze about Griffith’s +expenses at Oxford. He held his head high, and declared that people +expected something from the eldest son of a man of property, and my +father tried to convince him that a landed estate often left less cash +available than did the fixed salary of an office. Griff treated all in +his light, good-humoured way, promised to be careful, and came to me to +commiserate the poor old gentleman’s ignorance of the ways of the new +generation. + +There ensued some trying weeks of dark days, raw frost, and black east +wind, when the home party cast longing, lingering recollections back to +the social intercourse, lamp-lit streets, and ready interchange of books +and other amenities we had left behind us. We were not accustomed to +have our nearest neighbours separated from us by two miles of dirty lane, +or road mended with excruciating stones, nor were they very congenial +when we did see them. The Fordyce family might be interesting, but we +younger ones could not forget the slight to Clarence, and, besides, the +girls seemed to be entirely in the schoolroom, Mrs. Fordyce was delicate +and was shut up all the winter, and the only intercourse that took place +was when my father met the elder Mr. Fordyce at the magistrates’ bench; +also there was a conference about Amos Bell, who was preferred to the +post left vacant by George Sims, in right of his being our tenant, but +more civilised than Earlscombers, a widow’s son, and not sufficiently +recovered from his accident to be exposed to the severe tasks of a +ploughboy in the winter. + +Mrs. Fordyce was the manager of a book-club, which circulated volumes +covered in white cartridge paper, with a printed list of the subscribers’ +names. Two volumes at a time might be kept for a month by each member in +rotation, novels were excluded, and the manager had a veto on all orders. +We found her more liberal than some of our other neighbours, who looked +on our wants and wishes with suspicion as savouring of London notions. +Happily we could read old books and standard books over again, and we +gloated over _Blackwood_ and the _Quarterly_, enjoying, too, every +out-of-door novelty of the coming spring, as each revealed itself. Emily +will never forget her first primroses, nor I the first thrush in early +morning. + +Blankets, broth, and what were uncomfortably termed broken victuals had +been given away during the winter, and a bewildering amount of begging +women and children used to ask interviews with ‘the Lady Winslow,’ with +stories that crumbled on investigation so as to make us recollect the +Rector’s character of Earlscombe. + +However, Mr. Henderson came in the second week of Lent, and what our +steps towards improvement introduced would have seemed almost as shocking +to you youngsters, as what they displaced. For instance, a plain crimson +cloth covered the altar, instead of the rags in the colours of the +Winslow livery, presented, according to the queer old register, by the +unfortunate Margaret. There was talk of velvet and the gold monogram, +surrounded by rays, alternately straight and wavy, as in our London +church, but this was voted ‘unfit for a plain village church.’ Still, +the new hangings of pulpit, desk, and altar were all good in quality and +colour, and huge square cushions were provided as essential to each. +Moreover, the altar vessels were made somewhat more respectable,—all this +being at my father’s expense. + +He also carried in the Vestry, though not without strong opposition from +a dissenting farmer, that new linen and a fresh surplice should be +provided by the parish, which surplice would have made at least six of +such as are at present worn. The farmers were very jealous of the +interference of the Squire in the Vestry—‘what he had no call to,’ and of +church rates applied to any other object than the reward of birdslayers, +as thus, in the register— + +Hairy Wills, 1 score sprows heds 2d. +Jems Brown, 1 poulcat 6d. +Jarge Bell, 2 howls 6d. + +It was several years before this appropriation of the church rates could +be abolished. The year 1830, with a brand new squire and parson, was too +ticklish a time for many innovations. + +Hillside Church was the only one in the neighbourhood where Holy Week or +Ascension Day had been observed in the memory of man. When we proposed +going to church on the latter day the gardener asked my mother ‘if it was +her will to keep Thursday holy,’ as if he expected its substitution for +Sunday. Monthly Communions and Baptisms after the Second Lesson were +viewed as ‘not fit for a country church,’ and every attempt at even more +secular improvements was treated with the most disappointing distrust and +aversion. When my father laid out the allotment grounds, the labourers +suspected some occult design for his own profit, and the farmers objected +that the gardens would be used as an excuse for neglecting their work and +stealing their potatoes. Coal-club and clothing-club were regarded in +like manner, and while a few took advantage of these offers in a grudging +manner, the others viewed everything except absolute gifts as ‘me-an’ on +our part, the principle of aid to self-help being an absolute novelty. +When I look back to the notes in our journals of that date I see how much +has been overcome. + +Perhaps we listened more than was strictly wise to the revelations of +Amos Bell, when he attended Emily and me on our expeditions with the +donkey. Though living over the border of Hillside, he had a family of +relations at Earlscombe, and for a time lodged with his grandmother +there. When his shyness and lumpishness gave way, he proved so bright +that Emily undertook to carry on his education. He soon had a wonderful +eye for a wild flower, and would climb after it with the utmost agility; +and when once his tongue was loosed, he became almost too communicative, +and made us acquainted with the opinions of ‘they Earlscoom folk’ with a +freedom not to be found in an elder or a native. + +Moreover, he was the brightest light of the Sunday school which Mr. +Henderson opened at once—for want of a more fitting place—in the disused +north transept of the church. It was an uncouth, ill-clad crew which +assembled on those dilapidated paving tiles. Their own grandchildren +look almost as far removed from them in dress and civilisation as did my +sister in her white worked cambric dress, silk scarf, huge Tuscan bonnet, +and the little curls beyond the lace quilling round her bright face, far +rosier than ever it had been in town. And what would the present +generation say to the odd little contrivances in the way of cotton +sun-bonnets, check pinafores, list tippets, and print capes, and other +wonderful manufactures from the rag-bag, which were then grand prizes and +stimulants? + +Previous knowledge or intelligence scarcely existed, and then was not due +to Dame Dearlove’s tuition. Mr. Henderson pronounced an authorised +school a necessity. My father had scruples as to vested rights, for the +old woman was the last survivor of a family who had had recourse to +primer and hornbook after their ejection on ‘black Bartholomew’s Day;’ +and when the meeting-house was built after the Revolution, had combined +preaching with teaching. Monopoly had promoted degeneracy, and this last +of the race was an unfavourable specimen in all save outward +picturesqueness. However, much against Henderson’s liking, an +accommodation was proposed, by which books were to be supplied to her, +and the Church Catechism be taught in her school, with the assistance of +the curate and Miss Winslow. + +The terms were rejected with scorn. No School Board could be more +determined against the Catechism, nor against ‘passons meddling wi’ she;’ +and as to assistance, ‘she had been a governess this thirty year, and +didn’t want no one trapesing in and out of her school.’ + +She was warned, but probably did not believe in the possibility of an +opposition school; and really there were children enough in the place to +overfill both her room and that which was fitted up after a very humble +fashion in one of our cottages. H.M. Inspector would hardly have thought +it even worth condemnation any more than the attainments of the mistress, +the young widow of a small Bristol skipper. Her qualifications consisted +in her piety and conscientiousness, good temper and excellent needlework, +together with her having been a scholar in one of Mrs. Hannah More’s +schools in the Cheddar district. She could read and teach reading well; +but as for the dangerous accomplishments of writing and arithmetic, such +as desired to pass beyond the rudiments of them must go to Wattlesea. + +So nice did she look in her black that Earlscombe voted her a mere town +lady, and even at a penny a week hesitated to send its children to her. +Indeed it was currently reported that her school was part of a deep and +nefarious scheme of the gentlefolks for reducing the poor-rates by +enticing the children, and then shipping them off to foreign parts from +Bristol. + +But the great crisis was one unlucky summer evening when Emily and I were +out with the donkey, and Griffith, just come home from Oxford, was airing +the new acquisition of a handsome black retriever. + +Close by the old chapel, a black cat was leisurely crossing the road. At +her dashed Nero, stimulated perhaps by an almost involuntary +scss—scss—from his master, if not from Amos and me. The cat flew up a +low wall, and stood at bay on the top on tiptoe, with bristling tail, +arched back, and fiery eyes, while the dog danced round in agony on his +hind legs, barking furiously, and almost reaching her. Female sympathy +ever goes to the cat, and Emily screamed out in the fear that he would +seize her, or even that Griff might aid him. Perhaps Amos would have +done so, if left to himself; but Griff, who saw the cat was safe, could +not help egging on his dog’s impotent rage, when in the midst, out flew +pussy’s mistress, Dame Dearlove herself, broomstick in hand, using +language as vituperative as the cat’s, and more intelligible. + +She was about to strike the dog—indeed I fancy she did, for there was a +howl, and Griff sprang to his defence with—‘Don’t hurt my dog, I say! He +hasn’t touched the brute! She can take care of herself. Here, there’s +half-a-crown for the fright,’ as the cat sprang down within the wall, and +Nero slunk behind him. But Dame Dearlove was not so easily appeased. +Her blood was up after our long series of offences, and she broke into a +regular tirade of abuse. + +‘That’s the way with you fine folk, thinking you can tread down poor +people like the dirt under your feet, and insult ’em when you’ve taken +the bread out of the mouths of them that were here before you. Passons +and ladies a meddin’ where no one ever set a foot before! Ay, ay, but +ye’ll all be down before long.’ + +Griff signed to us to go on, and thundered out on her to take care what +she was about and not be abusive; but this brought a fresh volley on him, +heralded by a derisive laugh. ‘Ha! ha! fine talking for the likes of +you, Winslows that you are. But there’s a curse on you all! The poor +lady as was murdered won’t let you be! Why, there’s one of you, poor +humpy object—’ + +At this savage attack on me, Griff waxed furious, and shouted at her to +hold her confounded tongue, but this only diverted the attack on himself. +‘And as for you—fine chap as ye think yourself, swaggering and swearing +at poor folk, and setting your dog at them—your time’s coming. Look out +for yourself. It’s well known as how the curse is on the first-born. +The Lady Margaret don’t let none of ’em live to come after his father.’ + +Griff laughed and said, ‘There, we have had enough of this;’ and in fact +we had already moved on, so that he had to make some long steps to +overtake us, muttering, ‘So we’ve started a Meg Merrilies! My father +won’t keep such a foul-mouthed hag in the parish long!’ + +To which I had to respond that her cottage belonged to the trustees of +the chapel, whereat he whistled. I don’t think he knew that we had heard +her final denunciation, and we did not like to mention it to him, +scarcely to each other, though Emily looked very white and scared. + +We talked it over afterwards in private, and with Henderson, who +confessed that he had heard of the old woman’s saying something of the +kind to other persons. We consulted the registers in hopes of confuting +it, but did not satisfy ourselves. The last Squire had lost his only son +at school. He himself had been originally second in the family, and in +the generation before him there had been some child-deaths, after which +we came back to a young man, apparently the eldest, who, according to +Miss Selby’s story, had been killed in a duel by one of the Fordyces. It +was not comfortable, till I remembered that our family Bible recorded the +birth, baptism, and death of a son who had preceded Griffith, and only +borne for a day the name afterwards bestowed on me. + +And Henderson, who was so little our elder as to discuss things on fairly +equal grounds, had some very interesting talks with us two over ancestral +sin and its possible effects, dwelling on the 18th of Ezekiel as a +comment on the Second Commandment. Indeed, we agreed that the +uncomfortable state of disaffection which, in 1830, was becoming only too +manifest in the populace, was the result of neglect in former ages, and +that, even in our own parish, the bitterness, distrust, and ingratitude +were due to the careless, riotous, and oppressive family whom we +represented. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. +THE SIEGE OF HILLSIDE. + + + ‘Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar, + Represt ambition struggles round the shore; + Till, overwrought, the general system feels + Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels.’ + + GOLDSMITH. + +GRIFFITH had come straight home this year. There were no Peacock +gaieties to tempt him in London, for old Sir Henry had died suddenly soon +after the ball in December; nor was there much of a season that year, +owing to the illness and death of George IV. + +A regiment containing two old schoolmates of his was at Bristol, and he +spent a good deal of time there, and also in Yeomanry drill. As autumn +came on we rejoiced in having so stalwart a protector, for the +agricultural riots had begun, and the forebodings of another French +Revolution seemed about to be realised. We stayed on at Chantry House. +My father thought his duty lay there as a magistrate, and my mother would +not leave him; nor indeed was any other place much safer, certainly not +London, whence Clarence wrote accounts of formidable mobs who were +expected to do more harm than they accomplished; though their hatred of +the hero of our country filled us with direful prognostications, and made +us think of the guillotine, which was linked with revolution in our +minds, before we had I beheld the numerous changes that followed upon the +thirty years of peace in which we grew up. + +The ladies did not much like losing so stalwart a defender when Griff +returned to Oxford; and Jane the housemaid went to bed every night with +the pepper-pot and a poker, the first wherewith to blind the enemy, the +second to charge them with. From our height we could more than once see +blazing ricks, and were glad that the home farm was not in our own hands, +and that our only stack of hay was a good way from the house. When the +onset came at last, it was December, and the enemy only consisted of +about thirty dreary-looking men and boys in smock-frocks and chalked or +smutted faces, armed only with sticks and an old gun diverted from its +purpose of bird-scaring. They shouted for food, money, and arms; but my +father spoke to them from the hall steps, told them they had better go +home and learn that the public-house was a worse enemy to them than any +machine that had ever been invented, and assured them that they would get +no help from him in breaking the laws and getting themselves into +trouble. A stone or two was picked up, whereupon he went back and had +the hall door shut and barred, the heavy shutters of the windows having +all been closed already, so that we could have stood a much more severe +siege than from these poor fellows. One or two windows were broken, as +well as the glass of the conservatory, and the flower beds were trampled; +but finding our fortress impregnable they sneaked away before dark. We +fared better than our neighbours, some of whom were seriously frightened, +and suffered loss of property. Old Mr. Fordyce had for many years past +been an active magistrate—that a clergyman should be on the bench having +been quite correct according to the notions of his younger days; and in +spite of his beneficence he incurred a good deal of unpopularity for +withstanding the lax good-nature which made his brother magistrates give +orders for parish relief refused to able-bodied paupers by their own +Vestries. This was a mischievous abuse of the old poor-law times, which +made people dispose of every one’s money save their own. He had also +been a keen sportsman; and though his son had given up field sports in +deference to higher notions of clerical duty (his wife’s, as people +said), the old man’s feeling prompted him to severity on poachers. Frank +Fordyce, while by far the most earnest, hardworking clergyman in the +neighbourhood, worked off his superfluous energy on scientific farming, +making the glebe and the hereditary estate as much the model farm as +Hillside was the model parish. He had lately set up a threshing-machine +worked by horses, which was as much admired by the intelligent as it was +vituperated by the ignorant. + +Neither paupers nor poachers abounded in Hillside; the natives were +chiefly tenants and employed on the property, and, between good +management and beneficence, there was little real want and much friendly +confidence and affection; and thus, in spite of surrounding riots, +Hillside seemed likely to be an exception, proving what could he done by +rightful care and attention. Nor indeed did the attack come from thence; +but the two parsons were bitterly hated by outsiders beyond the reach of +their personal influence and benevolence. + +It was on a Saturday evening, the day after Griff had come back for the +Christmas vacation, that, as Emily was giving Amos his lesson, she saw +that the boy was crying, and after examination he let out that ‘folk +should say that the lads were agoing to break Parson Fordy’s machine and +fire his ricks that very night;’ but he would not give his authority, and +when he saw her about to give warning, entreated, ‘Now, dont’ze say +nothing, Miss Emily—’ + +‘What?’ she cried indignantly; ‘do you think I could hear of such a thing +without trying to stop it?’ + +‘Us says,’ he blurted out, ‘as how Winslows be always fain of ought as +happens to the Fordys—’ + +‘We are not such wicked Winslows as you have heard of,’ returned Emily +with dignity; and she rushed off in quest of papa and Griff, but when she +brought them to the bookroom, Amos had decamped, and was nowhere to be +found that night. We afterwards learnt that he lay hidden in the +hay-loft, not daring to return to his granny’s, lest he should be +suspected of being a traitor to his kind; for our lawless, untamed, +discontented parish furnished a large quota to the rioters, and he has +since told me that though all seemed to know what was about to be done, +he did not hear it from any one in particular. + +It was no time to make light of a warning, but very difficult to know +what to do. Rural police were non-existent; there were no soldiers +nearer than Keynsham, and the Yeomanry were all in their own homesteads. +However, the captain of Griff’s troop, Sir George Eastwood, lived about +three miles beyond Wattlesea, and had a good many dependants in the +corps, so it was resolved to send him a note by the gardener, good James +Ellis, a steady, resolute man, on Emily’s fast-trotting pony, while my +father and Griff should hasten to Hillside to warn the Fordyces, who were +not unlikely to be able to muster trustworthy defenders among their own +people, and might send the ladies to take shelter at Chantry House. + +My mother’s brave spirit disdained to detain an effective man for her own +protection, and the groom was to go to Hillside; he was in the Yeomanry, +and, like Griff, put on his uniform, while my father had the Riot Act in +his pocket. All the horses were thus absorbed, but Chapman and the +man-servant followed on foot. + +Never did I feel my incapacity more than on that strange night, when +Emily was flying about with Martyn to all the doors and windows in a wild +state of excitement, humming to herself— + + ‘When the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, + My true love has mounted his steed and away.’ + +My mother was equally restless, prolonging as much as possible the +preparation of rooms for possible guests; and when she did come and sit +down, she netted her purse with vehement jerks, and scolded Emily for +jumping up and leaving doors open. + +At last, after an hour according to the clock, but far more by our +feelings, wheels were heard in the distance; Emily was off like a shot to +reconnoitre, and presently Martyn bounced in with the tidings that a pair +of carriage lamps were coming up the drive. My mother hurried out into +the hall; I made my best speed after her, and found her hastily undoing +the door-chain as she recognised the measured, courteous voice of old Mr. +Fordyce. In a moment more they were all in the house, the old gentleman +giving his arm to his daughter-in-law, who was quite overcome with +distress and alarm; then came his tall, slim granddaughter, carrying her +little sister with arms full of dolls, and sundry maid-servants completed +the party of fugitives. + +‘We are taking advantage of Mr. Winslow’s goodness,’ said the old Rector. +‘He assured us that you would be kind enough to receive those who would +only be an encumbrance.’ + +‘Oh, but I must go back to Frank now that you and the children are safe,’ +cried the poor lady. ‘Don’t send away the carriage; I must go back to +Frank.’ + +‘Nonsense, my dear,’ returned Mr. Fordyce, ‘Frank is in no danger. He +will get on much better for knowing you are safe. Mrs. Winslow will tell +you so.’ + +My mother was enforcing this assurance, when the little girl’s sobs burst +out in spite of her sister, who had been trying to console her. ‘It is +Celestina Mary,’ she cried, pointing to three dolls whom she had carried +in clasped to her breast. ‘Poor Celestina Mary! She is left behind, and +Ellen won’t let me go and see if she is in the carriage.’ + +‘My dear, if she is in the carriage, she will be quite safe in the +morning.’ + +‘Oh, but she will be so cold. She had nothing on but Rosella’s old +petticoat.’ + +The distress was so real that I had my hand on the bell to cause a search +to be instituted for the missing damsel, when Mrs. Fordyce begged me to +do no such thing, as it was only a doll. The child, while endeavouring +to shelter with a shawl the dolls, snatched in their night-gear from +their beds, wept so piteously at the rebuff that her grandfather had +nearly gone in quest of the lost one, but was stopped by a special +entreaty that he would not spoil the child. Martyn, however, who had +been standing in open-mouthed wonder at such feeling for a doll, +exclaimed, ‘Don’t cry, don’t cry. I’ll go and get it for you;’ and +rushed off to the stable-yard. + +This episode had restored Mrs. Fordyce, and while providing some of our +guests with wine, and others with tea, we heard the story, only +interrupted by Martyn’s return from a vain search, and Anne’s consequent +tears, which, however, were somehow hushed and smothered by fears of +being sent to bed, coupled with his promises to search every step of the +way to-morrow. + +It appeared that while the Fordyce family were at dinner, shouts, howls +and yells had startled them. The rabble had surrounded the Rectory, +bawling out abuse of the parsons and their machines, and occasionally +throwing stones. There was no help to be expected; the only hope was in +the strength of the doors and windows, and the knowledge that personal +violence was very uncommon; but those were terrible moments, and poor +Mrs. Fordyce was nearly dead with suppressed terror when her husband +tried haranguing from an upper window, and was received with execrations +and a volley of stones, while the glass crashed round him. + +At that instant the shouts turned to yells of dismay, ‘The so’diers! the +so’diers!’ + +Our party had found everything still and dark in the village, for in +truth the men had hidden themselves. They were being too much attached +to their masters to join in the attack, but were afraid of being +compelled to assist the rioters, and not resolute enough against their +own class either to inform against them or oppose them. + +Through the midnight-like stillness of the street rose the tumult around +the Rectory; and by the light of a few lanterns, and from the upper +windows, they could see a mass of old hats, smock-frocked shoulders, and +the tops of bludgeons; while at soonest, Sir George Eastwood’s troop +could not be expected for an hour or more. + +‘We must get to them somehow,’ said my father and Griff to one another; +and Griff added, ‘These rascals are arrant cowards, and they can’t see +the number of us.’ + +Then, before my father knew what he was about—certainly before he could +get hold of the Riot Act—he found the stable lantern made over to him, +and Griff’s sword flashing in light, as, making all possible clatter and +jingling with their accoutrements, the two yeomen dashed among the +throng, shouting with all their might, and striking with the flat of +their swords. The rioters, ill-fed, dull-hearted men for the most +part—many dragged out by compulsion, and already terrified—went tumbling +over one another and running off headlong, bearing off with them (as we +afterwards learnt) their leaders by their weight, taking the blows and +pushes they gave one another in their pell-mell rush for those of the +soldiery, and falling blindly against the low wall of the enclosure. The +only difficulty was in clearing them out at the two gates of the drive. + +When Mr. Fordyce opened the door to hail his rescuers he was utterly +amazed to behold only three, and asked in a bewildered voice, ‘Where are +the others?’ + +There were two prisoners, Petty the ratcatcher, who had attempted some +resistance and had been knocked down by Griff’s horse, and a young lad in +a smock-frock who had fallen off the wall and hurt his knee, and who +blubbered piteously, declaring that them chaps had forced him to go with +them, or they would duck him in the horse-pond. They were supposed to be +given in charge to some one, but were lost sight of, and no wonder! For +just then it was discovered that the machine shed was on fire. The +rioters had apparently detached one of their number to kindle the flame +before assaulting the house. The matter was specially serious, because +the stackyard was on a line with the Rectory, at some distance indeed, +but on lower ground; and what with barns, hay and wheat ricks, sheds, +cowhouses and stables, all thatched, a big wood-pile, and a long +old-fashioned greenhouse, there was almost continuous communication. +Clouds of smoke and an ominous smell were already perceptible on the +wind, generated by the heat, and the loose straw in the centre of the +farmyard was beginning to be ignited by the flakes and sparks, carrying +the mischief everywhere, and rendering it exceedingly difficult to +release the animals and drive them to a place of safety. Water was +scarce. There were only two wells, besides the pump in the house, and a +shallow pond. The brook was a quarter of a mile off in the valley, and +the nearest engine, a poor feeble thing, at Wattlesea. Moreover, the +assailants might discover how small was the force of rescuers, and return +to the attack. Thus, while Griff, who had given amateur assistance at +all the fires he could reach in London; was striving to organise +resistance to this new enemy, my father induced the gentlemen to cause +the horses to be put to the various vehicles, and employ them in carrying +the women and children to Chantry House. The old Rector was persuaded to +go to take care of his daughter-in-law, and she only thought of putting +her girls in safety. She listened to reason, and indeed was too much +exhausted to move when once she was laid on the sofa. She would not hear +of going to bed, though her little daughter Anne was sent off with her +nurse, grandpapa persuading her that Rosella and the others were very +much tired. When she was gone, he declared his fears that he had sat +down on Celestina’s head, and showed so much compunction that we were +much amused at his relief when Martyn assured him of having searched the +carriage with a stable lantern, so that whatever had befallen the lady he +was not the guilty person. He really seemed more concerned about this +than at the loss of all his own barns and stores. And little Anne was +certainly as lovely and engaging a little creature as ever I saw; while, +as to her elder sister, in all the trouble and anxiety of the night, I +could not help enjoying the sight of her beautiful eager face and form. +She was tall and very slight, sylph-like, as it was the fashion to call +it, but every limb was instinct with grace and animation. Her face was, +perhaps, rather too thin for robust health, though this enhanced the idea +of her being all spirit, as also did the transparency of complexion, +tinted with an exquisite varying carnation. Her eyes were of a clear, +bright, rather light brown, and were sparkling with the lustre of +excitement, her delicate lips parted, showing the pretty pearly teeth, as +she was telling Emily, in a low voice of enthusiasm, scarcely designed +for my ears, how glorious a sight our brother had been, riding there in +his glancing silver, bearing down all before him with his good sword, +like the Captal de Buch dispersing the Jacquerie. + +To which Emily responded, ‘Oh, don’t you love the Captal de Buch?’ And +their friendship was cemented. + +Next I heard, ‘And that you should have been so good after all my +rudeness. But I thought you were like the old Winslows; and instead of +that you have come to the rescue of your enemies. Isn’t it beautiful?’ + +‘Oh no, not enemies,’ said Emily. ‘That was all over a hundred years +ago!’ + +‘So my papa and grandpapa say,’ returned Miss Fordyce; ‘but the last Mr. +Winslow was not a very nice man, and never would be civil to us.’ + +A report was brought that the glare of the fire could be seen over the +hill from the top of the house, and off went the two young ladies to the +leads, after satisfying themselves that Anne was asleep among her +homeless dolls. + +Old Mr. Fordyce devoted himself to keeping up the spirits of his +daughter-in-law as the night advanced without any tidings, except that +the girls, from time to time, rushed down to tell us of fresh outbursts +of red flame reflected in the sky, then that the glow was diminishing; by +which time they were tired out, and, both sinking into a big armchair, +they went to sleep in each other’s arms. Indeed I believe we all dozed +more or less before any one returned from the scene of action—at about +three o’clock. + +The struggle with the flames had been very unequal. The long tongues +soon reached the roof of the large barn, which was filled with straw, nor +could the flakes of burning thatch be kept from the stable, while the +water of the pond was soon reduced to mud. Helpers began to flock in, +but who could tell which were trustworthy? and all were uncomprehending. + +There was so little hope of saving the house that the removal of +everything valuable was begun under my father’s superintendence. Frank +Fordyce was here, there, and everywhere; while Griffith, like a gallant +general, fought the foe with very helpless unmanageable forces. +Villagers, male and female, had emerged and stood gaping round; but, let +him rage and storm as he might, they would not go and collect pails and +buckets and form a line to the brook. Still less would they assist in +overthrowing and carrying away the faggots of a big wood-pile so as to +cut off the communication with the offices. Only Chapman and one other +man gave any help in this; and presently the stack caught, and Griff, on +the top, was in great peril of the faggots rolling down with him into the +middle, and imprisoning him in the blazing pile. ‘I never felt so like +Dido,’ said Griff. + +That woodstack gave fearful aliment to the roaring flame, which came on +so fast that the destruction of the adjoining buildings quickly followed. +The Wattlesea engine had come, but the yard well was unattainable, and +all that could be done was to saturate the house with water from its own +well, and cover the side with wet blankets; but these reeked with steam, +and then shrivelled away in the intense glow of heat. + +However, by this time the Eastwood Yeomanry, together with some +reasonable men, had arrived. A raid was made on the cottages for +buckets, a chain formed to the river, and at last the fire was got under, +having made a wreck of everything out-of-doors, and consumed one whole +wing of the house, though the older and more esteemed portion was saved. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. +THE PORTRAIT. + + + ‘When day was gone and night was come, + And all men fast asleep, + There came the spirit of fair Marg’ret + And stood at William’s feet.’ + + _Scotch Ballad_. + +WHEN I emerged from my room the next morning the phaeton was at the door +to take the two clergymen to reconnoitre their abode before going to +church. Miss Fordyce went with them, and my father was for once about to +leave his parish church to give them his sympathy, and join in their +thanksgiving that neither life nor limb had been injured. He afterwards +said that nothing could have been more touching than old Mr. Fordyce’s +manner of mentioning this special cause for gratitude before the General +Thanksgiving; and Frank Fordyce, having had all his sermons burnt, gave a +short address extempore (a very rare and almost shocking thing at that +date), reducing half the congregation to tears, for they really loved +‘the fam’ly,’ though they had not spirit enough to defend it; and their +passiveness always remained a subject of pride and pleasure to the +Fordyces. It was against the will of these good people that Petty, the +ratcatcher, was arrested, but he had been engaged in other outrages, +though this was the only one in which a dwelling-house had suffered. And +Chapman observed that ‘there was nothing to be done with such chaps but +to string ’em up out of the way.’ + +Griff had toiled that night till he was as stiff as a rheumatic old man +when he came down only just in time for luncheon. Mrs. Fordyce did not +appear at all. She was a fragile creature, and quite knocked up by the +agitations of the night. The gentlemen had visited the desolate rectory, +and found that though the fine ancient kitchen had escaped, the pleasant +living rooms had been injured by the water, and the place could hardly be +made habitable before the spring. They proposed to take a house in Bath, +whence Frank Fordyce could go and come for Sunday duty and general +superintendence, but my parents were urgent that they should not leave us +until after Christmas, and they consented. Their larger possessions were +to be stored in the outhouses, their lesser in our house, notably in the +inner mullion chamber, which would thus be so blocked that there would be +no question of sleeping in it. + +Old Mr. Fordyce had ascertained that he might acquit himself of smashing +Celestina Mary, for no remains appeared in the carriage; but a miserable +trunk was discovered in the ruins, which he identified—though surely no +one else save the disconsolate parent could have done so. Poor little +Anne’s private possessions had suffered most severely of all, for her +whole nursery establishment had vanished. Her surviving dolls were left +homeless, and devoid of all save their night-clothing, which concerned +her much more than the loss of almost all her own garments. For what +dolls were to her could never have been guessed by us, who had forced +Emily to disdain them; whereas they were children to the maternal heart +of this lonely child. + +She was quite a new revelation to us. All the Fordyces were handsome; +and her chestnut curls and splendid eyes, her pretty colour and +unconscious grace, were very charming. Emily was so near our own age +that we had never known the winsomeness of a little maid-child amongst +us, and she was a perpetual wonder and delight to us. + +Indeed, from having always lived with her elders, she was an odd little +old-fashioned person, advanced in some ways, and comically simple in +others. Her doll-heart was kept in abeyance all Sunday, and it was only +on Monday that her anxiety for Celestina manifested itself with +considerable vehemence; but her grandfather gravely informed her that the +young lady was gone to an excellent doctor, who would soon effect a cure. +The which was quite true, for he had sent her to a toy-shop by one of the +maids who had gone to restore the ravage on the wardrobes, and who +brought her back with a new head and arms, her identity apparently not +being thus interfered with. The hoards of scraps were put under +requisition to re-clothe the survivors; and I won my first step in Miss +Anne’s good graces by undertaking a knitted suit for Rosella. + +The good little girl had evidently been schooled to repress her dread and +repugnance at my unlucky appearance, and was painfully polite, only +shutting her eyes when she came to shake hands with me; but after Rosella +condescended to adopt me, we became excellent friends. Indeed the +following conversation was overheard by Emily, and set down: + +‘Do you know, Martyn, there’s a fairies’ ring on Hillside Down?’ + +‘Mushrooms,’ quoth Martyn. + +‘Yes, don’t you know? They are the fairies’ tables. They come out and +spread them with lily tablecloths at night, and have acorn cups for +dishes, with honey in them. And they dance and play there. Well, +couldn’t Mr. Edward go and sit under the beech-tree at the edge till they +come?’ + +‘I don’t think he would like it at all,’ said Martyn. ‘He never goes out +at odd times.’ + +‘Oh, but don’t you know? when they come they begin to sing— + + ‘“Sunday and Monday, + Monday and Tuesday.” + +And if he was to sing nicely, + + ‘“Wednesday and Thursday,” + +they would be so much pleased that they would make his back straight +again in a moment. At least, perhaps Wednesday and Thursday would not +do, because the little tailor taught them those; but Friday makes them +angry. But suppose he made some nice verse— + + ‘“Monday and Tuesday + The fairies are gay, + Tuesday and Wednesday + They dance away—” + +I think that would do as well, perhaps. Do get him to do so, Martyn. It +would be so nice if he was tall and straight.’ + +Dear little thing! Martyn, who was as much her slave as was her +grandfather, absolutely made her shed tears over his history of our +accident, and then caressed them off; but I believe he persuaded her that +such a case might be beyond the fairies’ reach, and that I could hardly +get to the spot in secret, which, it seems, is an essential point. He +had imagination enough to be almost persuaded of fairyland by her +earnestness, and she certainly took him into doll-land. He had a turn +for carpentry and contrivance, and he undertook that the Ladies Rosella, +etc., should be better housed than ever. A great packing-case was routed +out, and much ingenuity was expended, much delight obtained, in the +process of converting it into a doll’s mansion, and replenishing it with +furniture. Some was bought, but Martyn aspired to make whatever he +could; I did a good deal, and I believe most of our achievements are +still extant. Whatever we could not manage, Clarence was to accomplish +when he should come home. + +His arrival was, as usual, late in the evening; and, as before, he had +the little room within mine. In the morning, as we were crossing the +hall to the bright wood fire, around which the family were wont to +assemble before prayers, he came to a pause, asking under his breath, +‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ + +‘It is one of the Hillside pictures. You know we have a great many +things here from thence.’ + +‘It is _she_,’ he said, in a low, awe-stricken voice. No need to say who +_she_ meant. + +I had not paid much attention to the picture. It had come with several +more, such as are rife in country houses, and was one of the worst of the +lot, a poor imitation of Lely’s style, with a certain air common to all +the family; but Clarence’s eyes were riveted on it. ‘She looks younger,’ +he said; ‘but it is the same. I could swear to the lip and the whole +shape of the brow and chin. No—the dress is different.’ + +For in the portrait, there was nothing on the head, and one long lock of +hair fell on the shoulder of the low-cut white-satin dress, done in very +heavy gray shading. The three girls came down together, and I asked who +the lady was. + +‘Don’t you know? You ought; for that is poor Margaret who married your +ancestor.’ + +No more was said then, for the rest of the world was collecting, and then +everybody went out their several ways. Some tin tacks were wanted for +the dolls’ house, and there were reports that Wattlesea possessed a +doll’s grate and fire-irons. The children were wild to go in quest of +them, but they were not allowed to go alone, and it was pronounced too +far and too damp for the elder sister, so that they would have been +disappointed, if Clarence—stimulated by Martyn’s kicks under the +table—had not offered to be their escort. When Mrs. Fordyce demurred, my +mother replied, ‘You may perfectly trust her with Clarence.’ + +‘Yes; I don’t know a safer squire,’ rejoined my father. + +Commendation was so rare that Clarence quite blushed with pleasure; and +the pretty little thing was given into his charge, prancing and dancing +with pleasure, and expecting much more from sixpence and from Wattlesea +than was likely to be fulfilled. + + [Picture: ‘That is poor Margaret who married your ancestor.’] + +Griff went out shooting, and the two young ladies and I intended to spend +a very rational morning in the bookroom, reading aloud Mme. de La +Rochejaquelein’s _Memoirs_ by turns. Our occupations were, on Emily’s +part, completing a reticule, in a mosaic of shaded coloured beads no +bigger than pins’ heads, for a Christmas gift to mamma—a most wearisome +business, of which she had grown extremely tired. Miss Fordyce was +elaborately copying our Müller’s print of Raffaelle’s St. John in pencil +on cardboard, so as to be as near as possible a facsimile; and she had +trusted me to make a finished water-coloured drawing from a rough sketch +of hers of the Hillside barn and farm-buildings, now no more. + +In a pause Ellen Fordyce suddenly asked, ‘What did you mean about that +picture?’ + +‘Only Clarence said it was like—’ and here Emily came to a dead stop. + +‘Grandpapa says it is like me,’ said Miss Fordyce. ‘What, you don’t mean +_that_? Oh! oh! oh! is it true? Does she walk? Have you seen her? +Mamma calls it all nonsense, and would not have Anne hear of it for +anything; but old Aunt Peggy used to tell me, and I am sure grandpapa +believes it, just a little. Have you seen her?’ + +‘Only Clarence has, and he knew the picture directly.’ + +She was much impressed, and on slight persuasion related the story, which +she had heard from an elder sister of her grandfather’s, and which had +perhaps been the more impressed on her by her mother’s consternation at +‘such folly’ having been communicated to her. Aunt Peggy, who was much +older than her brother, had died only four years ago, at eighty-eight, +having kept her faculties to the last, and handed down many traditions to +her great-niece. The old lady’s father had been contemporary with the +Margaret of ghostly fame, so that the stages had been few through which +it had come down from 1708 to 1830. + +I wrote it down at once, as it here stands. + +Margaret was the only daughter of the elder branch of the Fordyces. Her +father had intended her to marry her cousin, the male heir on whom the +Hillside estates and the advowson of that living were entailed; but +before the contract had been formally made, the father was killed by +accident, and through some folly and ambition of her mother’s (such +seemed to be the Fordyce belief), the poor heiress was married to Sir +James Winslow, one of the successful intriguers of the days of the later +Stewarts, and with a family nearly as old, if not older, than herself. +Her own children died almost at their birth, and she was left a young +widow. Being meek and gentle, her step-sons and daughters still ruled +over Chantry House. They prevented her Hillside relations from having +access to her whilst in a languishing state of health, and when she died +unexpectedly, she was found to have bequeathed all her property to her +step-son, Philip Winslow, instead of to her blood relations, the +Fordyces. + +This was certain, but the Fordyce tradition was that she had been kept +shut up in the mullion chambers, where she had often been heard weeping +bitterly. One night in the winter, when the gentlemen of the family had +gone out to a Christmas carousal, she had endeavoured to escape by the +steps leading to the garden from the door now bricked up, but had been +met by them and dragged back with violence, of which she died in the +course of a few days; and, what was very suspicious, she had been +entirely attended by her step-daughter and an old nurse, who never would +let her own woman come near her. + +The Fordyces had thought of a prosecution, but the Winslows had powerful +interest at Court in those corrupt times, and contrived to hush up the +matter, as well as to win the suit in which the Fordyces attempted to +prove that there was no right to will the property away. Bitter enmity +remained between the families; they were always opposed in politics, and +their animosity was fed by the belief which arose that at the +anniversaries of her death the poor lady haunted the rooms, lamp in hand, +wailing and lamenting. A duel had been fought on the subject between the +heirs of the two families, resulting in the death of the young Winslow. + +‘And now,’ cried Ellen Fordyce, ‘the feud is so beautifully ended; the +doom must be appeased, now that the head of one hostile line has come to +the rescue of the other, and saved all our lives.’ + +My suggestion that these would hardly have been destroyed, even without +our interposition, fell very flat, for romance must have its swing. +Ellen told us how, on the news of our kinsman’s death and our +inheritance, the ancestral story had been discussed, and her grandfather +had said he believed there were letters about it in the iron deed-box, +and how he hoped to be on better terms with the new heir. + +The ghost story had always been hushed up in the family, especially since +the duel, and we all knew the resemblance of the picture would be scouted +by our elders; but perhaps this gave us the more pleasure in dwelling +upon it, while we agreed that poor Margaret ought to be appeased by +Griffith’s prowess on behalf of the Fordyces. + +The two young ladies went off to inspect the mullion chamber, which they +found so crammed with Hillside furniture that they could scarcely enter, +and returned disappointed, except for having inspected and admired all +Griff’s weapons, especially what Miss Fordyce called the sword of her +rescue. + +She had been learning German—rather an unusual study in those days, and +she narrated to us most effectively the story of _Die Weisse Frau_, +working herself up to such a pitch that she would have actually +volunteered to spend a night in the room, to see whether Margaret would +hold any communication with a descendant, after the example of the White +Woman and Lady Bertha, if there had been either fire or accommodation, +and if the only entrance had not been through Griff’s private +sitting-room. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. +THE WHITE FEATHER. + + + ‘The white doe’s milk is not out of his mouth.’ + + SCOTT. + +CLARENCE had come home free from all blots. His summer holiday had been +prevented by the illness of one of the other clerks, whose place, Mr. +Castleford wrote, he had so well supplied that ere long he would be sure +to earn his promotion. That kind friend had several times taken him to +spend a Sunday in the country, and, as we afterwards had reason to think, +would have taken more notice of him but for the rooted belief of Mr. +Frith that it was a case of favouritism, and that piety and strictness +were assumed to throw dust in the eyes of his patron. + +Such distrust had tended to render Clarence more reserved than ever, and +it was quite by the accident of finding him studying one of Mrs. +Trimmer’s Manuals that I discovered that, at the request of his good +Rector, he had become a Sunday-school teacher, and was as much interested +as the enthusiastic girls; but I was immediately forbidden to utter a +word on the subject, even to Emily, lest she should tell any one. + +Such reserve was no doubt an outcome of his natural timidity. He had to +bear a certain amount of scorn and derision among some of his +fellow-clerks for the stricter habits and observances that could not be +concealed, and he dreaded any fresh revelation of them, partly because of +the cruel imputation of hypocrisy, partly because he feared the bringing +a scandal on religion by his weakness and failures. + +Nor did our lady visitors’ ways reassure him, though they meant to be +kind. They could not help being formal and stiff, not as they were with +Griff and me. The two gentlemen were thoroughly friendly and hearty; +Parson Frank could hardly have helped being so towards any one in the +same house with himself; and as to little Anne, she found in the +new-comer a carpenter and upholsterer superior even to Martyn; but her +candour revealed a great deal which I overheard one afternoon, when the +two children were sitting together on the hearth-rug in the bookroom in +the twilight. + +‘I want to see Mr. Clarence’s white feather,’ observed Anne. + +‘Griff has a white plume in his Yeomanry helmet,’ replied Martyn; +‘Clarence hasn’t one.’ + +‘Oh, I saw Mr. Griffith’s!’ she answered; ‘but Cousin Horace said Mr. +Clarence showed the white feather.’ + +‘Cousin Horace is an ape!’ cried Martyn. + +‘I don’t think he is so nice as an ape,’ said Anne. ‘He is more like a +monkey. He tries the dolls by court-martial, and he shot Arabella with a +pea-shooter, and broke her eye; only grandpapa made him have it put in +again with his own money, and then he said I was a little sneak, and if I +ever did it again he would shoot me.’ + +‘Mind you don’t tell Clarence what he said,’ said Martyn. + +‘Oh, no! I think Mr. Clarence very nice indeed; but Horace did tease so +about that day when he carried poor Amos Bell home. He said Ellen had +gone and made friends with the worst of all the wicked Winslows, who had +shown the white feather and disgraced his flag. No; I know you are not +wicked. And Mr. Griff came all glittering, like Richard Cœur de Lion, +and saved us all that night. But Ellen cried to think what she had done, +and mamma said it showed what it was to speak to a strange young man; and +she has never let Ellen and me go out of the grounds by ourselves since +that day.’ + +‘It is a horrid shame,’ exclaimed Martyn, ‘that a fellow can’t get into a +scrape without its being for ever cast up to him.’ + +‘_I_ like him,’ said Anne. ‘He gave Mary Bell a nice pair of boots, and +he made a new pair of legs for poor old Arabella, and she can really sit +down! Oh, he is _very_ nice; but’—in an awful whisper—‘does he tell +stories? I mean fibs—falsehoods.’ + +‘Who told you that?’ exclaimed Martyn. + +‘Mamma said it. Ellen was telling them something about the picture of +the white-satin lady, and mamma said, “Oh, if it is only that young man, +no doubt it is a mere mystification;” and papa said, “Poor young fellow, +he seems very amiable and well disposed;” and mamma said, “If he can +invent such a story it shows that Horace was right, and he is not to be +believed.” Then they stopped, but I asked Ellen who it was, and she said +it was Mr. Clarence, and it was a sad thing for Emily and all of you to +have such a brother.’ + +Martyn began to stammer with indignation, and I thought it time to +interfere; so I called the little maid, and gravely explained the facts, +adding that poor Clarence’s punishment had been terrible, but that he was +doing his best to make up for what was past; and that, as to anything he +might have told, though he might be mistaken, he never said anything +_now_ but what he believed to be true. She raised her brown eyes to mine +full of gravity, and said, ‘I _do_ like him.’ Moreover, I privately made +Martyn understand that if he told her what had been said about the +white-satin lady, he would never be forgiven; the others would be sure to +find it out, and it might shorten their stay. + +That was a dreadful idea, for the presence of those two creatures, to say +nothing of their parents, was an unspeakable charm and novelty to us all. +We all worshipped the elder, and the little one was like a new discovery +and toy to us, who had never been used to such a presence. She was not a +commonplace child; but even if she had been, she would have been as +charming a study as a kitten; and she had all the four of us at her feet, +though her mother was constantly protesting against our spoiling her, and +really kept up so much wholesome discipline that the little maid never +exceeded the bounds of being charming to us. After that explanation +there was the same sweet wistful gentleness in her manner towards +Clarence as she showed to me; while he, who never dreamt of such a child +knowing his history was brighter and freer with her than with any one +else, played with her and Martyn, and could be heard laughing merrily +with them. Perhaps her mother and sister did not fully like this, but +they could not interfere before our faces. And Parson Frank was really +kind to him; took him out walking when going to Hillside, and talked to +him so as to draw him out; certifying, perhaps, that he would do no harm, +although, indeed, the family looked on dear good Frank as a sort of boy, +too kind-hearted and genial for his approval to be worth as much as that +of the more severe. + +These were our only Christmas visitors, for the state of the country did +not invite Londoners; but we did not want them. The suppression of +Clarence was the only flaw in a singularly happy time; and, after all I +believe I felt the pity of it more than he did, who expected nothing, and +was accustomed to being in the background. + +For instance, one afternoon in the course of one of the grave discussions +that used to grow up between Miss Fordyce, Emily, and me, over subjects +trite to the better-instructed younger generation, we got quite out of +our shallow depths. I think it was on the meaning of the ‘Communion of +Saints,’ for the two girls were both reading in preparation for a +Confirmation at Bristol, and Miss Fordyce knew more than we did on these +subjects. All the time Clarence had sat in the window, carving a bit of +doll’s furniture, and quite forgotten; but at night he showed me the +exposition copied from _Pearson on the Creed_, a bit of Hooker, and +extracts from one or two sermons. I found these were notes written out +in a blank book, which he had had in hand ever since his Confirmation—his +logbook as he called it; but he would not hear of their being mentioned +even to Emily, and only consented to hunt up the books on condition I +would not bring him forward as the finder. It was of no use to urge that +it was a deprivation to us all that he should not aid us with his more +thorough knowledge and deeper thought. ‘He could not do so,’ he said, in +a quiet decisive manner; ‘it was enough for him to watch and listen to +Miss Fordyce, when she could forget his presence.’ + +She often did forget it in her eagerness. She was by nature one of the +most ardent beings that I ever saw, yet with enthusiasm kept in check by +the self-control inculcated as a primary duty. It would kindle in those +wonderful light brown eyes, glow in the clear delicate cheek, quiver in +the voice even when the words were only half adequate to the feeling. +She was not what is now called gushing. Oh, no! not in the least! She +was too reticent and had too much dignity for anything of the kind. +Emily had always been reckoned as our romantic young lady, and teased +accordingly, but her enthusiasm beside Ellen’s was + + ‘As moonlight is to sunlight, as water is to wine,’— + +a mere reflection of the tone of the period, compared with a real element +in the character. At least so my sister tells me, though at the time all +the difference I saw was that Miss Fordyce had the most originality, and +unconsciously became the leader. The bookroom was given up to us, and +there in the morning we drew, worked, read, copied and practised music, +wrote out extracts, and delivered our youthful minds to one another on +all imaginable topics from ‘slea silk to predestination.’ + +Religious subjects occupied us more than might have been held likely. A +spirit of reflection and revival was silently working in many a heart. +Evangelicalism had stirred old-fashioned orthodoxy, and we felt its +action. The _Christian Year_ was Ellen’s guiding star—as it was ours, +nay, doubly so in proportion to the ardour of her nature. Certain poems +are dearer and more eloquent to me still, because the verses recall to me +the thrill of her sweet tones as she repeated them. We were all very +ignorant alike of Church doctrine and history, but talking out and +comparing our discoveries and impressions was as useful as it was +pleasant to us. + +What the _Christian Year_ was in religion to us Scott was in history. We +read to verify or illustrate him, and we had little raving fits over his +characters, and jokes founded on them. Indeed, Ellen saw life almost +through that medium; and the siege of Hillside, dispersed by the splendid +prowess of Griffith, the champion with silver helm and flashing sword, +was precious to her as a renewal of the days of Ivanhoe or Damian de +Lacy. + +As may be believed, these quiet mornings were those when that true knight +was employed in field sports or yeomanry duties, such as the state of the +country called for. When he was at home, all was fun and merriment and +noise—walks and rides on fine days, battledore and shuttlecock on wet +ones, music, singing, paper games, giggling and making giggle, and +sometimes dancing in the hall—Mr. Frank Fordyce joining with all his +heart and drollery in many of these, like the boy he was. + +I could play quadrilles and country dances, and now and then a +reel—nobody thought of waltzes—and the three couples changed and +counterchanged partners. Clarence had the sailor’s foot, and did his +part when needed; Emily generally fell to his share, and their silence +and gravity contrasted with the mirth of the other pairs. He knew very +well he was the _pis aller_ of the party, and only danced when Parson +Frank was not dragged out, nothing loth, by his little daughter. With +Miss Fordyce, Clarence never had the chance of dancing; she was always +claimed by Griff, or pounced upon by Martyn. + +Miss Fordyce she always was to us in those days, and those pretty lips +scrupulously ‘Mistered’ and ‘Winslowed’ us. I don’t think she would have +been more to us, if we had called her Nell, and had been Griff, Bill, and +Ted to her, or if there had not been all the little formalities of +avoiding tête à têtes and the like. They were essentials of propriety +then—natural, and never viewed as prudish. Nor did it detract from the +sweet dignity of maidenhood that there was none of the familiarity which +breeds something one would rather not mention in conjunction with a lady. + +Altogether there was a sunshine around Miss Fordyce by which we all +seemed illuminated, even the least favoured and least demonstrative; we +were all her willing slaves, and thought her smile and thanks full +reward. + +One day, when Griff and Martyn were assisting at the turn out of an +isolated barn at Hillside, where Frank Fordyce declared, all the +burnt-out rats and mice had taken refuge, the young ladies went out to +cater for house decorations for Christmas under Clarence’s escort. +Nobody but the clerk ever thought of touching the church, where there +were holes in all the pews to receive the holly boughs. + +The girls came back, telling in eager scared voices how, while gathering +butcher’s broom in Farmer Hodges’ home copse, a savage dog had flown out +at them, but had been kept at bay by Mr. Clarence Winslow with an +umbrella, while they escaped over the stile. + +Clarence had not come into the drawing-room with them, and while my +mother, who had a great objection to people standing about in out-door +garments, sent them up to doff their bonnets and furs, I repaired to our +room, and was horrified to find him on my bed, white and faint. + +‘Bitten?’ I cried in dismay. + +‘Yes; but not much. Only I’m such a fool. I turned off when I began +taking off my boots. No, no—don’t! Don’t call any one. It is nothing!’ + +He was springing up to stop me, but was forced to drop back, and I made +my way to the drawing-room, where my mother happened to be alone. She +was much alarmed, but a glass of wine restored Clarence; and inspection +showed that the thick trowser and winter stocking had so protected him +that little blood had been drawn, and there was bruise rather than bite +in the calf of the leg, where the brute had caught him as he was getting +over the stile as the rear-guard. It was painful, though the faintness +was chiefly from tension of nerve, for he had kept behind all the way +home, and no one had guessed at the hurt. My mother doctored it +tenderly, and he begged that nothing should be said about it; he wanted +no fuss about such a trifle. My mother agreed, with the proud feeling of +not enhancing the obligations of the Fordyce family; but she absolutely +kissed Clarence’s forehead as she bade him lie quiet till dinner-time. + +We kept silence at table while the girls described the horrors of the +monster. ‘A tawny creature, with a hideous black muzzle,’ said Emily. +‘Like a bad dream,’ said Miss Fordyce. The two fathers expressed their +intention of remonstrating with the farmer, and Griff declared that it +would be lucky if he did not shoot it. Miss Fordyce generously took its +part, saying the poor dog was doing its duty, and Griff ejaculated, ‘If I +had been there!’ + +‘It would not have dared to show its teeth, eh?’ said my father, when +there was a good deal of banter. + +My father, however, came at night with mamma to inspect the hurt and ask +details, and he ended with, ‘Well done, Clarence, boy; I am gratified to +see you are acquiring presence of mind, and can act like a man.’ + +Clarence smiled when they were gone, saying, ‘That would have been an +insult to any one else.’ + +Emily perceived that he had not come off unscathed, and was much +aggrieved at being bound to silence. ‘Well,’ she broke out, ‘if the dog +goes mad, and Clarence has the hydrophobia, I suppose I may tell.’ + +‘In that pleasing contingency,’ said Clarence smiling. ‘Don’t you see, +Emily, it is the worst compliment you can pay me not to treat this as a +matter of course?’ Still, he was the happier for not having failed. +Whatever strengthened his self-respect and gave him trust in himself was +a stepping-stone. + +As to rivalry or competition with Griff, the idea seemingly never crossed +his mind, and envy or jealousy were equally aloof from it. One subject +of thankfulness runs through these recollections—namely, that nothing +broke the tie of strong affection between us three brothers. Griffith +might figure as the ‘vary parfite knight,’ the St. George of the piece, +glittering in the halo shed round him by the bright eyes of the rescued +damsel; while Clarence might drag himself along as the poor recreant to +be contemned and tolerated, and he would accept the position meekly as +only his desert, without a thought of bitterness. Indeed, he himself +seemed to have imbibed Nurse Gooch’s original opinion, that his genuine +love for sacred things was a sort of impertinence and pretension in such +as he—a kind of hypocrisy even when they were the realities and helps to +which he clung with all his heart. Still, this depression was only shown +by reserve, and troubled no one save myself, who knew him best guessed +what was lost by his silence, and burned in spirit at seeing him merely +endured as one unworthy. + +In one of our varieties of Waverley discussions the crystal hardness and +inexperienced intolerance of youth made Miss Fordyce declare that had she +been Edith Plantagenet, she would never, never have forgiven Sir Kenneth. +‘How could she, when he had forsaken the king’s banner? Unpardonable!’ + +Then came a sudden, awful silence, as she recollected her audience, and +blushed crimson with the misery of perceiving where her random shaft had +struck, nor did either of us know what to say; but to our surprise it was +Clarence who first spoke to relieve the desperate embarrassment. ‘Is +forgiven quite the right word, when the offence was not personal? I know +that such things can neither be repaired nor overlooked, and I think that +is what Miss Fordyce meant.’ + +‘Oh, Mr. Winslow,’ she exclaimed, ‘I am very sorry—I don’t think I quite +meant’—and then, as her eyes for one moment fell on his subdued face, she +added, ‘No, I said what I ought not. If there is sorrow’—her voice +trembled—‘and pardon above, no one below has any right to say +unpardonable.’ + +Clarence bowed his head, and his lips framed, but he did not utter, +‘Thank you.’ Emily nervously began reading aloud the page before her, +full of the jingling recurring rhymes about Sir Thomas of Kent; but I saw +Ellen surreptitiously wipe away a tear, and from that time she was more +kind and friendly with Clarence. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. +VENI, VIDI, VICI. + + + ‘None but the brave, + None but the brave, + None but the brave deserve the fair.’—_Song_. + +CHRISTMAS trees were not yet heard of beyond the Fatherland, and both the +mothers held that Christmas parties were not good for little children, +since Mrs. Winslow’s strong common sense had arrived at the same +conclusion as Mrs. Fordyce had derived from Hannah More and Richard +Lovell Edgeworth. Besides, rick-burning and mobs were far too recent for +our neighbours to venture out at night. + +But as we were all resolved that little Anne should have a memorable +Christmas at Chantry House, we begged an innocent, though iced cake, from +the cook, painted a set of characters ourselves, including all the dolls, +and bespoke the presence of Frank Fordyce at a feast in the outer mullion +room—Griff’s apartment, of course. The locality was chosen as allowing +more opportunity for high jinks than the bookroom, and also because the +swords and pistols in trophy over the mantelpiece had a great fascination +for the two sisters, and to ‘drink tea with Mr. Griffith’ was always +known to be a great ambition of the little queen of the festival. As to +the mullion chamber legends, they had nearly gone out of our heads, +though Clarence did once observe, ‘You remember, it will be the 26th of +December;’ but we did not think this worthy of consideration, especially +as Anne’s entertainment, at its latest, could not last beyond nine +o’clock; and the ghostly performances—now entirely laid to the account of +the departed stable-boy—never began before eleven. + +Nor did anything interfere with our merriment. The fun of fifty years +ago must be intrinsically exquisite to bear being handed down to another +generation, so I will attempt no repetition, though some of those Twelfth +Day characters still remain, pasted into my diary. We anticipated +Twelfth Day because our guests meant to go to visit some other friends +before the New Year, and we knew Anne would have no chance there of +fulfilling her great ambition of drawing for king and queen. These +home-made characters were really charming. Mrs. Fordyce had done several +of them, and she drew beautifully. A little manipulation contrived that +the exquisite Oberon and Titania should fall to Martyn and Anne, for whom +crowns and robes had been prepared, worn by her majesty with complacent +dignity, but barely tolerated by him! The others took their chance. +Parson Frank was Tom Thumb, and convulsed us all the evening by acting as +if no bigger than that worthy, keeping us so merry that even Clarence +laughed as I had never seen him laugh before. + +Cock Robin and Jenny Wren—the best drawn of all—fell to Griff and Miss +Fordyce. There was a suspicion of a tint of real carnation on her cheek, +as, on his low, highly-delighted bow, she held up her impromptu fan of +folded paper; and drollery about currant wine and hopping upon twigs went +on more or less all the time, while somehow or other the beauteous glow +on her cheeks went on deepening, so that I never saw her look so pretty +as when thus playing at Jenny Wren’s coyness, though neither she nor +Griff had passed the bounds of her gracious precise discretion. + +The joyous evening ended at last. With the stroke of nine, Jenny Wren +bore away Queen Titania to put her to bed, for the servants were having +an entertainment of their own downstairs for all the out-door retainers, +etc. Oberon departed, after an interval sufficient to prove his own +dignity and advanced age. Emily went down to report the success of the +evening to the elders in the drawing-room, but we lingered while Frank +Fordyce was telling good stories of Oxford life, and Griff capping them +with more recent ones. + +We too broke up—I don’t remember how; but Clarence was to help me down +the stairs, and Mr. Fordyce, frowning with anxiety at the process, was +offering assistance, while we had much rather he had gone out of the way; +when suddenly, in the gallery round the hall giving access to the +bedrooms, there dawned upon us the startled but scarcely displeased +figure of Jenny Wren in her white dress, not turning aside that blushing +face, while Cock Robin was clasping her hand and pressing it to his lips. +The tap of my crutches warned them. She flew back within her door and +shut it; Griff strode rapidly on, caught hold of her father’s hand, +exclaiming, ‘Sir, sir, I must speak to you!’ and dragged him back into +the mullion room leaving Clarence and me to convey ourselves downstairs +as best we might. + +‘Our sister, our sweet sister!’ + +We were immensely excited. All the three of us were so far in love with +Ellen Fordyce that her presence was an enchantment to us, and at any rate +none of us ever saw the woman we could compare to her; and as we both +felt ourselves disqualified in different ways from any nearer approach, +we were content to bask in the reflected rays of our brother’s happiness. + +Not that he had gone that length as yet, as we knew before the night was +over, when he came down to us. Even with the dear maiden herself, he had +only made sure that she was not averse, and that merely by her eyes and +lips; and he had extracted nothing from her father but that they were +both very young, a great deal too young, and had no business to think of +such things yet. It must be talked over, etc. etc. + +But just then, Griff told us, Frank Fordyce jumped up and turned round +with the sudden exclamation, ‘Ellen!’ looking towards the door behind him +with blank astonishment, as he found it had neither been opened nor shut. +He thought his daughter had recollected something left behind, and coming +in search of it, had retreated precipitately. He had seen her, he said, +in the mirror opposite. Griff told him there was no mirror, and had to +carry a candle across to convince him that he had only been looking at +the door into the inner room, which though of shining dark oak, could +hardly have made a reflection as vivid as he declared that his had been. +Indeed, he ascertained that Ellen had never left her own room at all. +‘It must have been thinking about the dear child,’ he said. ‘And after +all, it was not quite like her—somehow—she was paler, and had something +over her head.’ We had no doubt who it was. Griff had not seen her, but +he was certain that there had been none of the moaning nor crying, ‘In +fact, she has come to give her consent,’ he said with earnest in his +mocking tone. + +‘Yes,’ said Clarence gravely, and with glistening eyes. ‘You are happy +Griff. It is given to you to right the wrong, and quiet that poor +spirit.’ + +‘Happy! The happiest fellow in the world,’ said Griff, ‘even without +that latter clause—if only Madam and the old man will have as much sense +as she has!’ + +The next day was a thoroughly uncomfortable one. Griff was not half so +near his goal as he had hoped last night when with kindly Parson Frank. + +The commotion was as if a thunderbolt had descended among the elders. +What they had been thinking of, I cannot tell, not to have perceived how +matters were tending; but their minds were full of the Reform Bill and +the state of the country, and, besides, we were all looked on still as +mere children. Indeed, Griff was scarcely one-and-twenty, and Ellen +wanted a month of seventeen; and the crisis had really been a sudden +impulse, as he said, ‘She looked so sweet and lovely, he could not help +it.’ + +The first effect was a serious lecture upon maidenliness and propriety to +poor Ellen from her mother, who was sure that she must have transgressed +the bounds of discretion, or such ill-bred presumption would have been +spared her, and bitterly regretted the having trusted her to take care of +herself. There were sufficient grains of truth in this to make the poor +girl cry herself out of all condition for appearing at breakfast or +luncheon, and Emily’s report of her despair made us much more angry with +Mrs. Fordyce than was perhaps quite due to that good lady. + +My parents were at first inclined to take the same line, and be vexed +with Griff for an act of impertinence towards a guest. He had a great +deal of difficulty in inducing the elders to believe him in earnest, or +treat him as a man capable of knowing his own mind; and even thus they +felt as if his addresses to Miss Fordyce were, under present +circumstances, taking almost an unfair advantage of the other family—at +which our youthful spirits felt indignant. + +Yet, after all, such a match was as obvious and suitable as if it had +been a family compact, and the only objection was the youth of the +parties. Mrs. Fordyce would fain have believed her daughter’s heart to +be not yet awake, and was grieved to find childhood over, and the hero of +romance become the lover; and she was anxious that full time should be +given to perceive whether her daughter’s feelings were only the result of +the dazzling aureole which gratitude and excited fancy had cast around +the fine, handsome, winning youth. Her husband, however, who had himself +married very young, and was greatly taken with Griff, besides being +always tender-hearted, did not enter into her scruples; but, as we had +already found out, the grand-looking and clever man of thirty-eight was, +chiefly from his impulsiveness and good-nature, treated as the boy of the +family. His old father, too, was greatly pleased with Griff’s spirit, +affection, and purpose, as well as with my father’s conduct in the +matter; and so, after a succession of private interviews, very +tantalising to us poor outsiders, it was conceded that though an +engagement for the present was preposterous, it might possibly be +permitted when Ellen was eighteen if Griff had completed his university +life with full credit. He was fervently grateful to have such an object +set before him, and my father was warmly thankful for the stimulus. + +That last evening was very odd and constrained. We could not help +looking on the lovers as new specimens over which some strange +transformation had passed, though for the present it had stiffened them +in public into the strictest good behaviour. They would have been +awkward if it had been possible to either of them, and, save for a +certain look in their eyes, comported themselves as perfect strangers. + +The three elder gentlemen held discussions in the dining-room, but we +were not trusted in our playground adjoining. Mrs. Fordyce nailed Griff +down to an interminable game at chess, and my mother kept the two girls +playing duets, while Clarence turned over the leaves; and I read over +_The Lady of the Lake_, a study which I always felt, and still feel, as +an act of homage to Ellen Fordyce, though there was not much in common +between her and the maid of Douglas. Indeed, it was a joke of her +father’s to tease her by criticising the famous passage about the tears +that old Douglas shed over his duteous daughter’s head—‘What in the world +should the man go whining and crying for? He had much better have +laughed with her.’ + +Little did the elders know what was going on in the next room, where +there was a grand courtship among the dolls; the hero being a small +jointed Dutch one in Swiss costume, about an eighth part of the size of +the resuscitated Celestina Mary, but the only available male character in +doll-land! Anne was supposed to be completely ignorant of what passed +above her head; and her mother would have been aghast had she heard the +remarkable discoveries and speculations that she and Martyn communicated +to one another. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. +THE OUTSIDE OF THE COURTSHIP. + + + ‘Or framing, as a fair excuse, + The book, the pencil, or the muse; + Something to give, to sing, to say, + Some modern tale, some ancient lay.’ + + SCOTT. + +IT seems to me on looking back that I have hardly done justice to Mrs. +Fordyce, and certainly we—as Griffith’s eager partisans—often regarded +her in the light of an enemy and opponent; but after this lapse of time, +I can see that she was no more than a prudent mother, unwilling to see +her fair young daughter suddenly launched into womanhood, and involved in +an attachment to a young and untried man. + +The part of a drag is an invidious one; and this must have been her part +through most of her life. The Fordyces, father and son, were of good +family, gentlemen to their very backbones, and thoroughly good, religious +men; but she came of a more aristocratic strain, had been in London +society, and brought with her a high-bred air which, implanted on the +Fordyce good looks, made her daughter especially fascinating. But that +air did not recommend Mrs. Fordyce to all her neighbours, any more than +did those stronger, stricter, more thorough-going notions of religious +obligation which had led her husband to make the very real and painful +sacrifice of his sporting tastes, and attend to the parish in a manner +only too rare in those days. She was a very well-informed and highly +accomplished woman, and had made her daughter the same, keeping her +children up in a somewhat exclusive style, away from all gossip or +undesirable intimacies, as recommended by Miss Edgeworth and other more +religious authorities, and which gave great offence in houses where there +were girls of the same age. No one, however, could look at Ellen, and +doubt of the success of the system, or of the young girl’s entire content +and perfect affection for her mother, though her father was her beloved +playfellow—yet always with respect. She never took liberties with him, +nor called him Pap or any other ridiculous name inconsistent with the +fifth Commandment, though she certainly was more entirely at ease with +him than ever we had been with our elderly father. When once Mrs. +Fordyce found on what terms we were to be, she accepted them frankly and +fully. Already Emily had been the first girl, not a relation, whose +friendship she had fostered with Ellen; and she had also become +thoroughly affectionate and at home with my mother, who suited her +perfectly on the conscientious, and likewise on the prudent and sensible, +side of her nature. + +To me she was always kindness itself, so kind that I never felt, as I did +on so many occasions, that she was very pitiful and attentive to the +deformed youth; but that she really enjoyed my companionship, and I could +help her in her pursuits. I have a whole packet of charming notes of +hers about books, botany, drawings, little bits of antiquarianism, +written with an arch grace and finish of expression peculiarly her own, +and in a very pointed hand, yet too definite to be illegible. I owe her +more than I can say for the windows of wholesome hope and ambition she +opened to me, giving a fresh motive and zest even to such a life as mine. +I can hardly tell which was the most delightful companion, she or her +husband. In spite of ill health, she knew every plant, and every bit of +fair scenery in the neighbourhood, and had fresh, amusing criticisms to +utter on each new book; while he, not neglecting the books, was equally +well acquainted with all beasts and birds, and shed his kindly light over +everything he approached. He was never melancholy about anything but +politics, and even there it was an immense consolation to him to have the +owner of Chantry House staunch on the same side, instead of in chronic +opposition. + +The family party moved to a tall house at Bath, but there still was close +intercourse, for the younger clergyman rode over every week for the +Sunday duty, and almost always dined and slept at Chantry House. He +acted as bearer of long letters, which, in spite of a reticulation of +crossings, were too expensive by post for young ladies’ pocket-money, +often exceeding the regular quarto sheet. It was a favourite joke to ask +Emily what Ellen reported about Bath fashions, and to see her look of +scorn. For they were a curious mixture, those girlish letters, of +village interests, discussion of books, and thoughts beyond their age; +Tommy Toogood and Prometheus; or Du Guesclin in the closest juxtaposition +with reports of progress in Abercrombie on the _Intellectual Powers_. It +was the desire of Ellen to prove herself not unsettled but improved by +love, and to become worthy of her ideal Griffith, never guessing that he +would have been equally content with her if she had been as frivolous as +the idlest girl who lingered amid the waning glories of Bath. + +We all made them a visit there when Martyn was taken to a preparatory +school in the place. Mrs. Fordyce took me out for drives on the +beautiful hills; and Emily and I had a very delightful time, undisturbed +by the engrossing claims of love-making. Very good, too, were our +friends, after our departure, in letting Martyn spend Sundays and +holidays with them, play with Anne as before, say his Catechism with her +to Mrs. Fordyce, and share her little Sunday lessons, which had, he has +since told, a force and attractiveness he had never known before, and +really did much, young as he was, in preparing the way towards the +fulfilment of my father’s design for him. + +When the Rectory was ready, and the family returned, it was high summer, +and there were constant meetings between the households. No doubt there +were the usual amount of trivial disappointments and annoyances, but the +whole season seems to me to have been bathed in sunlight. The Reform +Bill agitations and the London mobs of which Clarence wrote to us were +like waves surging beyond an isle of peace. Clarence had some unpleasant +walks from the office. Once or twice the shutters had to be put up at +Frith and Castleford’s to prevent the windows from being broken; and once +Clarence actually saw our nation’s hero, ‘the Duke,’ riding quietly and +slowly through a yelling, furious mob, who seemed withheld from falling +on him by the perfect impassiveness of the eagle face and spare figure. +Moreover a pretty little boy, on his pony, suddenly pushed forward and +rode by the Duke’s side, as if proud and resolute to share his peril. + +‘If Griffith had been there!’ said Ellen and Emily, though they did not +exactly know what they expected him to have done. + +The chief storms that drifted across our sky were caused by Mrs. +Fordyce’s resolution that Griffith should enjoy none of the privileges of +an accepted suitor before the engagement was an actual fact. Ellen was +obedient and conscientious; and would neither transgress nor endure to +have her mother railed at by Griff’s hasty tongue, and this affronted +him, and led to little breezes. + +When people overstay their usual time, tempers are apt to get rather +difficult. Griffith had kept all his terms at Oxford, and was not to +return thither after the long vacation, but was to read with a tutor +before taking his degree. Moreover bills began to come from Oxford, not +very serious, but vexing my father and raising annoyances and frets, for +Griff resented their being complained of, and thought himself ill-used, +going off to see his own friends whenever he was put out. + +One morning at breakfast, late in October, he announced that Lady Peacock +was in lodgings at Clifton, and asked my mother to call on her. But +mamma said it was too far for the horse—she visited no one at that +distance, and had never thought much of Selina Clarkson before or after +her marriage. + +‘But now that she is a widow, it would be such a kindness,’ pleaded +Griff. + +‘Depend upon it, a gay young widow needs no kindness from me, and had +better not have it from you,’ said my mother, getting up from behind her +urn and walking off, followed by my father. + +Griff drummed on the table. ‘I wonder what good ladies of a certain age +do with their charity,’ he said. + +And while we were still crying out at him, Ellen Fordyce and her father +appeared, like mirth bidding good-morrow, at the window. All was well +for the time, but Griff wanted Ellen to set out alone with him, and take +their leisurely way through the wood-path, and she insisted on waiting +for her father, who had got into an endless discussion with mine on the +Reform Bill, thrown out in the last Session. Griff tried to wile her on +with him, but, though she consented to wander about the lawn before the +windows with him, she always resolutely turned at the great beech tree. +Emily and I watched them from the window, at first amused, then vexed, as +we could see, by his gestures, that he was getting out of temper, and her +straw bonnet drooped at one moment, and was raised the next in eager +remonstrance or defence. At last he flung angrily away from her, and +went off to the stables, leaving her leaning against the gate in tears. +Emily, in an access of indignant sympathy, rushed out to her, and they +vanished together into the summer-house, until her father called her, and +they went home together. + +Emily told me that Ellen had struggled hard to keep herself from crying +enough to show traces of tears which her father could observe, and that +she had excused Griff with all her might on the plea of her own +‘tiresomeness.’ + +We were all the more angry with him for his selfishness and want of +consideration, for Ellen, in her torrent of grief, had even disclosed +that he had said she did not care for him—no one really in love ever +scrupled about a mother’s nonsense, etc., etc. + +We were resolved, like two sages, to give him a piece of our minds, and +convince him that such dutifulness was the pledge of future happiness, +and that it was absolute cruelty to the rare creature he had won, to try +to draw her in a direction contrary to her conscience. + +However, we saw him no more that day; and only learnt that he had left a +message at the stables that dinner was not to be kept waiting for him. +Such a message from Clarence would have caused a great commotion; but it +was quite natural and a matter of course from him in the eyes of the +elders, who knew nothing of his parting with Ellen. However, there was +annoyance enough, when bedtime came, family prayers were over, and still +there was no sign of him. My father sat up till one o’clock, to let him +in, then gave it up, and I heard his step heavily mounting the stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. +BRISTOL DIAMONDS. + + + ‘_Stafford_. And you that are the King’s friends, follow me. + + _Cade_. And you that love the Commons, follow me; + We will not leave one lord, one gentleman, + Spare none but such as go in clouted shoon.’ + + Act I. _Henry VI_. + +THE next day was Sunday, and no Griff appeared in the morning. Vexation, +perhaps, prevented us from attending as much as we otherwise might have +done to Mr. Henderson when he told us that there were rumours of a +serious disturbance at Bristol; until Emily recollected that Griff had +been talking for some days past of riding over to see his friend in the +cavalry regiment there stationed, and we all agreed that it was most +likely that he was there; and our wrath began to soften in the belief +that he might have been detained to give his aid in the cause of order, +though his single arm could not be expected to effect as much as at +Hillside. + +Long after dark we heard a horse’s feet, and in another minute Griff, +singed, splashed, and battered, had hurried into the room—‘It has begun!’ +he said. ‘The revolution! I have brought her—Lady Peacock. She was at +Clifton, dreadfully alarmed. She is almost at the door now, in her +carriage. I’ll just take the pony, and ride over to tell Eastwood in +case he will call out the Yeomanry.’ + +The wheels were to be heard, and everybody hastened out to receive Lady +Peacock, who was there with her maid, full of gratitude. I heard her +broken sentences as she came across the hall, about dreadful +scenes—frightful mob—she knew not what would have become of her but for +Griffith—the place was in flames when they left it—the military would not +act—Griffith had assured her that Mr. and Mrs. Winslow would be so +kind—as long as any place was a refuge— + +We really did believe we were at the outbreak of a revolution or civil +war, and, all little frets forgotten, listened appalled to the tidings; +how the appearance of Sir Charles Wetherall, the Recorder of Bristol, a +strong opponent to the Reform Bill, seemed to have inspired the mob with +fury. Griff and his friend the dragoon, while walking in Broad Street, +were astonished by a violent rush of riotous men and boys, hooting and +throwing stones as the Recorder’s carriage tried to make its way to the +Guildhall. In the midst a piteous voice exclaimed— + +‘Oh, Griffith! Mr. Griffith Winslow! Is it you?’ and Lady Peacock was +seen retreating upon the stone steps of a house either empty, or where +the inhabitants were too much alarmed to open the doors. She was +terribly frightened, and the two gentlemen stood in front of her till the +tumultuary procession had passed by. She was staying in lodgings at +Clifton, and had driven in to Bristol to shop, when she thus found +herself entangled in the mob. They then escorted her to the place where +she was to meet her carriage, and found it for her with some difficulty. +Then, while the officer returned to his quarters, Griff accompanied her +far enough on the way to Clifton to see that everything was quiet before +her, and then returned to seek out his friend. The court at the +Guildhall had had to be adjourned, but the rioters were hunting Sir +Charles to the Mansion-House. Griff was met by one of the Town Council, +a tradesman with whom we dealt, who, having perhaps heard of his prowess +at Hillside, entreated him to remain, offering him a bed, and saying that +all friends of order were needed in such a crisis as this. Griff wrote a +note to let us know what had become of him, but everything was +disorganised, and we did not get it till two days afterwards. + +In the evening the mob became more violent, and in the midst of dinner a +summons came for Griff’s host to attend the Mayor in endeavouring to +disperse it. Getting into the Mansion-House by private back ways, they +were able to join the Mayor when he came out, amid a shower of brickbats, +sticks, and stones, and read the Riot Act three times over, after warning +them of the consequences of persisting in their defiance. + +‘But they were far past caring for that,’ said Griff. ‘An iron rail from +the square was thrown in the midst of it, and if I had not caught it +there would have been an end of his Worship.’ + +The constables, with such help as Griff and a few others could give them, +defended the front of the Mansion-House, while the Recorder, for whom +they savagely roared, made his escape by the roof to another house. A +barricade was made with beds, tables, and chairs, behind which the +defenders sheltered themselves, while volleys of stones smashed in the +windows, and straw was thrown after them. But at last the tramp of +horses’ feet was heard, and the Dragoons came up. + +‘We thought all over then,’ said Griff; ‘but Colonel Brereton would not +have a blow struck, far less a shot fired! He would have it that it was +a good-humoured mob! I heard him! When one of his own men was brought +up badly hurt with a brickbat, I heard Ludlow, the Town-Clerk, ask him +what he thought of their good humour, and he had nothing to say but that +it was an accident! And the rogues knew it! He took care they should; +he walked about among them and shook hands with them!’ + +Griff waited at the Mansion-House all night, and helped to board up the +smashed windows; but at daylight Colonel Brereton came and insisted on +withdrawing the piquet on guard—not, however, sending a relief for them, +on the plea that they only collected a crowd. The instant they were +withdrawn, down came the mob in fresh force, so desperate that all the +defences were torn down, and they swarmed in so that there was nothing +for it but to escape over the roofs. + +Griffith was sent to rouse the inhabitants of College Green and St. +Augustine’s Back to come in the King’s name to assist the Magistrates, +and he had many good stories of the various responses he met with. But +the rioters, inflamed by the wine they had found in sacking the +Mansion-House, and encouraged by the passiveness of the troops, had +become entirely masters of the situation. And Colonel Brereton seems to +have imagined that the presence of the soldiers acted as an irritation; +for in this crisis he actually sent them out of the city to Keynsham, +then came and informed the mob, who cheered him, as well they might. + +In the night the Recorder had left the city, and notices were posted to +that effect; also that the Riot Act had been read, and any further +disturbance would be capital felony. This escape of their victim only +had the effect of directing the rage of the populace against Bishop Grey, +who had likewise opposed the Reform Bill. + +Messages had been sent to advise the Bishop, who was to preach that day +at the Cathedral, to stay away and sanction the omission of the service; +but his answer to one of his clergy was—‘These are times in which it is +necessary not to shrink from danger! Our duty is to be at our post.’ +And he also said, ‘Where can I die better than in my own Cathedral?’ + +Since the bells were ringing, and it was understood that the Bishop was +actually going to dare the peril, Griff and others of the defenders +decided that it was better to attend the service and fill up the nave so +as to hinder outrage. He said it was a most strange and wonderful +service. Chants and Psalms and Lessons and prayers going on their course +as usual, but every now and then in the pauses of the organ, a howl or +yell of the voice of the multitude would break on the ear through the +thick walls. Griff listened and hoped for a volley of musketry. He was +not tender-hearted! But none came, and by the time the service was over, +the mob had been greatly reinforced and had broken into the prisons, set +them on fire, and released the prisoners. They were mustering on College +Green for an attack on the palace. Griff aided in guarding the entrance +to the cloisters till the Bishop and his family had had time to drive +away to Almondsbury, four miles off, and then the rush became so strong +that they had to give way. There was another great struggle at the door +of the palace, but it was forced open with a crowbar, while shouts rang +out ‘No King and no Bishops!’ A fire was made in the dining-room with +chairs and tables, and live coals were put into the beds, while the +plunder went on. + +Griff meantime had made his way to the party headed by the magistrates, +and accompanied by the dragoons, and the mob began to flee; but Colonel +Brereton had given strict orders that the soldiers should not fire, and +the plunderers rallied, made a fire in the Chapter House, and burnt the +whole of the library, shouting with the maddest triumph. + +They next attacked the Cathedral, intending to burn that likewise, but +two brave gentlemen, Mr. Ralph and Mr. Linne, succeeded in saving this +last outrage, at the head of the better affected. + +Griff had fought hard. He was all over bruises which he really had never +felt at the time, scarcely even now, though one side of his face was +turning purple, and his clothes were singed. In a sort of council held +at the repulse of the attack on the Cathedral, it had been decided that +the best thing he could do would be to give notice to Sir George +Eastwood, in order that the Yeomanry might be called out, since the +troops were so strangely prevented from acting. As he rode through +Clifton, he had halted at Lady Peacock’s, and found her in extreme alarm. +Indeed, no one could guess what the temper of the mob might be the next +day, or whether they might not fall upon private houses. The +Mansion-House, the prisons, the palace were all burning and were an +astounding sight, which terrified her exceedingly, and she was sending +out right and left to endeavour to get horses to take her away. In +common humanity, and for old acquaintance sake, it was impossible not to +help her, and Griff had delayed, to offer any amount of reward in her +name for posthorses, which he had at last secured. Her own man-servant, +whom she had sent in quest of some, had never returned, and she had to +set off without him, Griff acting as outrider; but after the first there +was no more difficulty about horses, and she had been able to change them +at the next stage. + +We all thought the days of civil war were really begun, as the heads of +this account were hastily gathered; but there was not much said, only Mr. +Frank Fordyce laid his hand on Griff’s shoulder and said, ‘Well done, my +boy; but you have had enough for to-day. If you’ll lend me a horse, +Winslow, I’ll ride over to Eastwood. That’s work for the clergy in these +times, eh? Griffith should rest. He may be wanted to-morrow. Only is +there any one to take a note home for me, to say where I’m gone;’ and +then he added with that sweet smile of his, ‘Some one will be more the +true knight than ever, eh, you Griffith you—’ + +Griffith coloured a little, and Lady Peacock’s eyes looked interrogative. +When the horse was announced, Griff followed Mr. Fordyce into the hall, +and came back announcing that, unless summoned elsewhere, he should go to +breakfast at Hillside, and so hear what was decided on. He longed to be +back at the scene of action, but was so tired out that he could not +dispense with another night’s rest; though he took all precautions for +being called up, in case of need. + +However, nothing came, and he rode to the Rectory in Yeomanry equipment. +Nor could any one doubt that in the ecstasy of meeting such a hero, all +the little misunderstanding and grief of the night before was forgotten? +Ellen looked as if she trod on air, when she came down with her father to +report that Griffith had gone, according to the orders sent, to join the +rest of the Yeomanry, who were to advance upon Bristol. They had seen, +and tried to turn back, some of the villagers who were starting with +bludgeons to share in the spoil, and who looked sullen, as if they were +determined not to miss their share. + +I do not think we were very much alarmed for Griff’s safety or for our +own, not even the ladies. My mother had the lion-heart of her naval +ancestors, and Ellen was in a state of exaltation. Would that I could +put her before other eyes, as she stood with hands clasped and glowing +cheek. + +‘Oh!—think!—think of having one among us who is as real and true knight +as ever watched his armour— + + ‘“For king, for church, for lady fight!” + +It has all come gloriously true!’ + +‘Should not you like to bind on his spurs?’ I asked somewhat +mischievously; but she was serious as she said, ‘I am sure he has won +them.’ All the rest of the Fordyces came down afterwards, too anxious to +stay at home. Our elders felt the matter more gravely, thinking of what +civil war might mean to us all, and what an awful thing it was for +Englishmen to be enrolled against each other. Nottingham Castle had just +been burnt, and things looked only too like revolution, especially +considering the inaction of the dragoons. After Griff had left Bristol, +there had been some terrible scenes at the Custom House, where the +ringleaders—unhappy men!—were caught in a trap of their own and perished +miserably. + +However, by the morning, the order sent from Lord Hill, the arrival of +Major Beckwith from Gloucester, and the proceedings of the good-humoured +mob had put an end to poor Brereton’s hesitations; a determined front had +been shown; the mob had been fairly broken up; troops from all quarters +poured into the city, and by dinner-time Griff came back with the news +that all was quiet and there was nothing more to fear. Ellen and Emily +both flew out to meet him at the first sound of the horse’s feet, and +they all came into the drawing-room together—each young lady having hold +of one of his hands—and Ellen’s face in such a glow, that I rather +suspect that he had snatched a reward which certainly would not have been +granted save in such a moment of uplifted feeling, and when she was +thankful to her hero for forgetting how angry he had been with her two +days before. + +Minor matters were forgotten in the details of his tidings, as he stood +before the fire, shining in his silver lace, and relating the tragedy and +the comedy of the scene. + +It was curious, as the evening passed on, to see how Ellen and Lady +Peacock regarded each other, now that the tension of suspense was over. +To Ellen, the guest was primarily a distressed and widowed dame, +delivered by Griff, to whom she, as his lady love, was bound to be +gracious and kind; nor had they seen much of one another, the elder +ladies sitting in the drawing-room, and we in our own regions; but we +were all together at dinner and afterwards, and Lady Peacock, who had +been in a very limp, nervous, and terrified state all day, began to be +the Selina Clarkson we remembered, and ‘more too.’ She was still in +mourning, but she came down to dinner in gray satin sheen, and with her +hair in a most astonishing erection of bows and bands, on the very crown +of her head, raising her height at least four inches. Emily assures me +that it was the mode in use, and that she and Ellen wore their hair in +the same style, appealing to portraits to prove it. I can only say that +they never astonished my weak mind in the like manner; and that their +heads, however dressed, only appeared to me a portion of the general +woman, and part of the universal fitness of things. Ellen was likewise +amazed, most likely not at the hair, but at the transformation of the +disconsolate, frightened widow, into the handsome, fashionable, stylish +lady, talking over London acquaintance and London news with my father and +Griff whenever they left the endless subject of the Bristol adventures. + +The widow had gained a good deal in beauty since her early girlhood, +having regular features, eyes of an uncommon deep blue, very black brows, +eye-lashes, and hair, and a form of the kind that is better after early +youth is over. ‘A fine figure of a woman,’ Parson Frank pronounced her, +and his wife, with the fine edge of her lips replied, ‘exactly what she +is!’ + +She looked upon us younger ones as mere children still—indeed she never +looked at me at all if she could help it—but she mortally offended Emily +by penning her up in a corner, and asking if Griff were engaged to that +sentimental little girl. + +Emily coloured like a turkey cock between wrath and embarrassment, and +hotly protested against the word sentimental. + +‘Ah yes, I see!’ she said in a patronising tone, ‘she is your bosom +friend, eh? That’s the way those things always begin. You need not +answer: I see it all. And no doubt it is a capital thing for him; +properties joining and all. And she will get a little air and style when +he takes her to London.’ It was a tremendous offence even to hint that +Ellen’s style was capable of improvement; perhaps an unprejudiced eye +would have said that the difference was between high-bred simplicity and +the air of fashion and society. + +In our eyes Lady Peacock was the companion of the elders, and as such was +appreciated by the gentlemen; but neither of the two mothers was equally +delighted with her, nor was mine at all sorry when, on Tuesday, the boxes +were packed, posthorses sent for, and my Lady departed, with great +expressions of thankfulness to us all. + +‘A tulip to a jessamine,’ muttered Griff as she drove off, and he looked +up at his Ellen’s sweet refined face. + +The unfortunate Colonel Brereton put an end to himself when the +court-martial was half over. How Clarence was shocked and how ardent was +his pity! But Griffith received the thanks of the Corporation of Bristol +for his gallant conduct, when the special assize was held in January. +Mrs. Fordyce was almost as proud of him as we were, and there was much +less attempt at restraining the terms on which he stood with Ellen—though +still the formal engagement was not permitted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. +QUICKSANDS. + + + ‘Whither shall I go? + Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes?’ + + TENNYSON. + +IT was in the May of the ensuing year, 1832, that Clarence was sent down +to Bristol for a few weeks to take the place of one of the clerks in the +office where the cargoes of the incoming vessels of the firm were +received and overhauled. + +This was a good-natured arrangement of Mr. Castleford’s in order to give +him change of work and a sight of home, where, by the help of the coach, +he could spend his Sundays. That first spring day on his way down was a +great delight and even surprise to him, who had never seen our profusion +of primroses, cowslips, and bluebells, nor our splendid blossom of +trees—apple, lilac, laburnum—all vieing in beauty with one another. +Emily conducted him about in great delight, taking him over to Hillside +to see Mrs. Fordyce’s American garden, blazing with azaleas, and glowing +with rhododendrons. He came back with a great bouquet given to him by +Ellen, who had been unusually friendly with him, and he was more animated +and full of life than for years before. + +Next time he came he looked less happy. There was plenty of room in our +house, but he used, by preference, the little chamber within mine, and +there at night he asked me to lend him a few pounds, since Griffith had +written one of his off-hand letters asking him to discharge a little bill +or two at Bristol, giving the addresses, but not sending the accounts. +This was no wonder, since any enclosure doubled the already heavy +postage. One of these bills was for some sporting equipments from the +gunsmith’s; another, much heavier, from a tavern for breakfasts, or +rather luncheons, to parties of gentlemen, mostly bearing date in the +summer and autumn of 1830, before the friendship with the Fordyces had +begun. On Clarence’s defraying the first and applying for the second, +two more had come in, one from a jeweller for a pair of drop-earrings, +the other from a nurseryman for a bouquet of exotics. Doubting of these +two last, Clarence had written to Griff, but had not yet received an +answer. The whole amount was so much beyond what he had been led to +expect that he had not brought enough money to meet it, and wanted an +advance from me, promising repayment, to which latter point I could not +assent, as both of us knew, but did not say, we should never see the sum +again, and to me it only meant stinting in new books and curiosities. We +were anxious to get the matter settled at once, as Griffith spoke of +being dunned; and it might be serious, if the tradesmen applied to my +father when he was still groaning over revelations of college expenses. + +On the ensuing Saturday, Clarence showed me Griff’s answer—‘I had +forgotten these items. The earrings were a wedding present to the pretty +little barmaid, who had been very civil. The bouquet was for Lady +Peacock; I felt bound to do something to atone for mamma’s severe virtue. +It is all right, you best of brothers.’ + +It was consolatory that all the dates were prior to the Hillside fire, +except that of the bouquet. As to the earrings, we all knew that Griff +could not see a pretty girl without talking nonsense to her. Anyway, if +they were a wedding present, there was an end of it; and we were only +glad to prevent any hint of them from reaching the ears of the +authorities. + +Clarence had another trouble to confide to me. He had strong reason to +believe that Tooke, the managing clerk at Bristol, was carrying on a +course of peculation, and feathering his nest at the expense of the firm. +What a grand discovery, thought I, for such a youth to have made. The +firm would be infinitely obliged to him, and his fortune would be +secured. He shook his head, and said that was all my ignorance; the man, +Tooke, was greatly trusted, especially by Mr. Frith the senior partner, +and was so clever and experienced that it would be almost impossible to +establish anything against him. Indeed he had browbeaten Clarence, and +convinced him at the moment that his suspicions and perplexities were +only due to the ignorance of a foolish, scrupulous youth, who did not +understand the customs and perquisites of an agency. It was only when +Clarence was alone, and reflected on the matter by the light of +experience gained on a similar expedition to Liverpool, that he had +perceived that Mr. Tooke had been throwing dust in his eyes. + +‘I shall only get into a scrape myself,’ said Clarence despondently. ‘I +have felt it coming ever since I have been at Bristol;’ and he pushed his +hair back with a weary hopeless gesture. + +‘But you don’t mean to let it alone?’ I cried indignantly. + +He hesitated in a manner that painfully recalled his failing, and said at +last, ‘I don’t know; I suppose I ought not.’ + +‘Suppose?’ I cried. + +‘It is not so easy as you think,’ he answered, ‘especially for one who +has forfeited the right to be believed. I must wait till I have an +opportunity of speaking to Mr. Castleford, and then I can hardly do more +than privately give him a hint to be watchful. You don’t know how things +are in such houses as ours. One may only ruin oneself without doing any +good.’ + +‘You cannot write to him?’ + +‘Certainly not. He has taken his family to Mrs. Castleford’s home in the +north of Ireland for a month or six weeks. I don’t know the address, and +I cannot run the risk of the letter being opened at the office.’ + +‘Can’t you speak to my father?’ + +‘Impossible! it would be a betrayal. He would do things for which I +should never be forgiven. And, after all, remember, it is no business of +mine. I know of agents at the docks who do such things as a matter of +course. It is only that I happen to know that Harris at Liverpool does +not. Very possibly old Frith knows all about it. I should only get +scored down as a meddlesome prig, worse hypocrite than they think me +already.’ + +He said a good deal more to this effect, and I remember exclaiming, ‘Oh, +Clarence, the old story!’ and then being frightened at the whiteness that +came over his face. + +Little did I know the suffering to which those words of mine condemned +him. For not only had he to make up his mind to resistance, which to his +nature was infinitely worse than it was to Griffith to face a raging mob, +but he knew very well that it would almost inevitably produce his own +ruin, and renew the disgrace out of which he was beginning to emerge. I +did not—even while I prayed that he might do the right—guess at his own +agony of supplication, carried on incessantly, day and night, sleeping +and waking, that the Holy Spirit of might should brace his will and +govern his tongue, and make him say the right thing at the right time, be +the consequences what they might. No one, not constituted as he was, can +guess at the anguish he endured. I knew no more. Clarence did not come +home the next Saturday, to my mother’s great vexation; but on Tuesday a +small parcel was given to me, brought from our point of contact with the +Bristol coach. It contained some pencils I had asked him to get, and a +note marked _private_. Here it is— + + ‘DEAR EDWARD—I am summoned to town. Tooke has no doubt forestalled + me. We have had some curious interviews, in which he first, as I + told you, persuaded me out of my senses that it was all right, and + then, finding me still dissatisfied, tried in a delicate fashion to + apprise me that I had a claim to a share of the plunder. When I + refused to appropriate anything without sanction from headquarters, + he threatened me with the consequences of presumptuous interference. + It came to bullying at last. I hardly know what I answered, but I + don’t think I gave in. Now, a sharp letter from old Frith recalls + me. Say nothing at home; and whatever you do, do not betray Griff. + He has more to lose than I. Help me in the true way, as you know + how.—Ever yours, W. C. W. + +I need not dwell on the misery of those days. It was well that my father +had ruled that our letters should not be family property. Here were all +the others discussing a proposed tour in the north of Devon, to be taken +conjointly with the Fordyces, as soon as Griff should come home. My +mother said it would do me good; she saw I was flagging, but she little +guessed at the continual torment of anxiety, and my wonder at the warning +about Griff. + +At the end of the week came another letter. + + ‘You need not speak yet. Papa and mamma will know soon enough. I + brought down £150 in specie, to be paid over to Tooke. He avers that + only £130 was received. What is my word worth against his? I am + told that if I am not prosecuted it will only be out of respect to my + father. I am not dismissed yet, but shall get notice as soon as + letters come from Ireland. I have written, but it is not in the + nature of things that Mr. Castleford should not accept such proofs as + have been sent him. I have no hope, and shall be glad when it is + over. The part of black sheep is not a pleasant one. Say not a + word, and do not let my father come up. He could do no good, and to + see him believing it all would be the last drop in the bucket. + + _N.B._—In this pass, nothing would be saved by bringing Griff into + it, so be silent on your life. Innocence does not seem to be much + comfort at present. Maybe it will come in time. I know you will not + drop me, dear Ted, wherever I may be.’ + +Need I tell the distress of those days of suspense and silence, when my +only solace was in being left alone, and in writing letters to Clarence +which were mostly torn up again. + +My horror was lest he should be driven to go off to the sea, which he +loved so well, knowing, as nobody else did, the longing that sometimes +seized him for it, a hereditary craving that curiously conflicted with +the rest of his disposition; and, indeed, his lack was more of moral than +of physical courage. It haunted me constantly that his entreaty that my +father should not come to London was a bad sign, and that he would never +face such another return home. And was I justified in keeping all this +to myself, when my father’s presence might save him from the flight that +would indeed be the surrender of his character, and to the life of a +common sailor? Never have I known such leaden days as these, yet the +misery was not a tithe of what Clarence was undergoing. + +I was right in my forebodings. Prosecution and a second return home in +shame and disgrace were alike hideous to Clarence, and the present was +almost equally terrible, for nobody at the office had any doubt of his +guilt, and the young men who had sneered at his strictness and religious +habits regarded him as an unmasked hypocrite, only waiting on sufferance +till his greatly deceived patron should write to decide on the steps to +be taken with him, while he knew he was thought to be brazening it out in +hopes of again deceiving Mr. Castleford. + +The sea began to exert its power over him, and he thought with longing of +its freedom, as if the sails of the vessels were the wings of a dove to +flee away and be at rest. He had no illusions as to the roughness of the +life and companionship; but in his present mood, the frank rudeness and +profanity of the sailors seemed preferable to his cramped life, and the +scowls of his fellows; and he knew himself to have seamanship enough to +rise quickly, even if he could not secure a mate’s berth at first. + +Mr. Castleford could not be heard from till the end of the week. Friday, +Saturday came and not a word. That was the climax! When the consignment +of cash, hitherto carried by Clarence to the Bank of England, was +committed to another clerk, the very office boy sniggered, and the +manager demonstratively waited to see him depart. + +Unable to bear it any longer, he walked towards Wapping, bought a +Southwester, examined the lists of shipping, and entered into +conversation with one or two sailors about the vessels making up their +crews; intending to go down after dark, to meet the skipper of a craft +bound for Lisbon, who, he heard, was so much in want of a mate as perhaps +to overlook the lack of testimonials, and at any rate take him on board +on Sunday. + +Going home to pick up a few necessaries, a book lent to him by Miss +Newton came in his way, and he felt drawn to carry it home, and see her +face for the last time. + +All unconscious of his trouble and of his intentions, the good lady told +him of her strong desire to hear a celebrated preacher at a neighbouring +church on the Sunday evening, but said that in her partial blindness and +weakness, she was afraid to venture, unless he would have the extreme +goodness, as she said, to take care of her. He saw that she wished it so +much that he had not the heart to refuse, and he recollected likewise +that very early on Monday morning would answer his purpose equally well. + +It was the 7th of June. The Psalm was the 37th—the supreme lesson of +patience. ‘Hold thee still in the Lord; and abide patiently on Him; and +He shall bring it to pass. He shall make thy righteousness as clear as +the light, and thy just dealing as the noonday.’ + +The awful sense of desolation seemed to pass away under those words, with +that gentle woman beside him. And the sermon was on ‘Oh tarry thou the +Lord’s leisure; be strong, and He shall comfort thine heart; and put thou +thy trust in the Lord.’ + +Clarence remembered nothing but the text. But it was borne in upon him +that his purpose of flight was ‘the old story,’—cowardice and virtual +distrust of the Lord, as well as absolute cruelty to us who loved him. + +When he had deposited Miss Newton at her own door, he whispered thanks, +and an entreaty for her prayers. + +And then he went home, and fought the battle of his life, with his own +horrible dread of Mr. Castleford’s disappointment; of possible +prosecution; of the shame at home; the misery of a life a second time +blighted. He fought it out on his knees, many a time persuading himself +that flight would not be a sin, then returning to the sense that it was a +temptation of his worse self to be overcome. And by morning he knew that +it would be a surrender of himself to his lower nature, and the evil +spirit behind it; while, by facing the worst that could befall him, he +would be falling into the hand of the Lord. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. +AFTER THE TEMPEST. + + + ‘Nor deem the irrevocable past + As wholly wasted, wholly vain, + If rising on its wrecks at last + To something nobler we attain.’ + + LONGFELLOW. + +ALL the rest of the family were out, and I was relieved by being alone +with my distress, not forced to hide it, when the door opened and ‘Mr. +Castleford’ was announced. After one moment’s look at me, one touch of +my hand, he must have seen that I was faint with anxiety, and said, ‘It +is all right, Edward; I see you know all. I am come from Bristol to tell +your father that he may be proud of his son Clarence.’ + +I don’t know what I did. Perhaps I sobbed and cried, but the first words +I could get out were, ‘Does he know? Oh! it may be too late. He may be +gone off to sea!’ I cried, breaking out with my chief fear. Mr. +Castleford looked astounded, then said, ‘I trust not. I sent off a +special messenger last night, as soon as I saw my way—’ + +Then I breathed a little more freely, and could understand what he was +telling me, namely, that Tooke had accused Clarence of abstracting £20 +from the sum in his charge. The fellow accounted for it by explaining +that young Winslow had been paying extravagant bills at a tavern, where +the barmaid showed his presents, and boasted of her conquest. All this +had been written to Mr. Castleford by his partner, and he was told that +it was out of deference to himself that his _protégé_ was not in custody, +nor had received notice of dismissal; but, no doubt, he would give his +sanction to immediate measures, and communicate with the family. + +The effect had been to make the good man hurry at once from the Giant’s +Causeway to Bristol, where he had arrived on Sunday, to investigate the +books and examine the underlings. In the midst Tooke attempted to +abscond, but he was brought back as he was embarking in an American +vessel; and he then confessed the whole,—how speculation had led to +dishonesty, and following evil customs not uncommon in other firms. +Then, when the fugitive found that young Winslow was too acute to be +blinded, and that it had been a still greater mistake to try to overcome +his integrity, self-defence required his ruin, or at any rate his +expulsion, before he could gain Mr. Castleford’s ear. + +Tooke really believed that the discreditable bills were the young man’s +own, and proofs of concealed habits of dissipation; but this excellent +man had gone into the matter, repaired to the tradesfolk, learnt the +date, and whose the accounts really were, and had even hunted up the +barmaid, who was not married after all, and had no hesitation in avowing +that her beau had been the handsome young Yeomanry lieutenant. Mr. +Castleford had spent the greater part of Monday in this painful task, but +had not been clear enough till quite late in the evening to despatch an +express to his partner, and to Clarence, whom he desired to meet him +here. + +‘He has acted nobly,’ said our kind friend. ‘His only error seems to +have been in being too good a brother.’ + +This made me implore that nothing should be said about Griffith’s bills, +showing those injunctions of Clarence’s which had so puzzled me, and +explaining the circumstances. + +Mr. Castleford hummed and hawed, and perhaps wished he had seen my father +before me; but I prevailed at last, and when the others came in from +their drive, there was nothing to alloy the intelligence that Clarence +had shown rare discernment, as well as great uprightness, steadfastness, +and moral courage. + +My mother, when she had taken in the fact, actually shed tears of joy. +Emily stood by me, holding my hand. My father said, ‘It is all owing to +you, Castleford, and the helping hand you gave the poor boy.’ + +‘Nay,’ was the answer, ‘it seems to me that it was owing to his having +the root of the matter in him to overcome his natural failings.’ + +Still, in all the rejoicing, my heart failed me lest the express should +have come too late, and Clarence should be already on the high seas, for +there had been no letter from him on Sunday morning. It was doubtful +whether Mr. Castleford’s messenger could reach London in time for tidings +to come down by the coach—far less did we expect Clarence—and we had +nearly finished the first course at dinner, when we heard the front door +open, and a voice speaking to the butler. Emily screamed ‘It’s he! Oh +mamma, may I?’ and flew out into the hall, dragging in a pale, worn and +weary wight, all dust and heat, having travelled down outside the coach +on a broiling day, and walked the rest of the way. He looked quite +bewildered at the rush at him; my father’s ‘Well done, Clarence,’ and +strong clasp; and my mother’s fervent kiss, and muttered something about +washing his hands. + +Formal folks, such as we were, had to sit in our chairs; and when he came +back apologising for not dressing, as he had left his portmanteau for the +carrier, he looked so white and ill that we were quite shocked, and began +to realise what he had suffered. He could not eat the food that was +brought back for him, and allowed that his head was aching dreadfully; +but, after a glass of wine had been administered, it was extracted that +he had met Mr. Frith at the office door, and been gruffly told that Mr. +Castleford was satisfied, and he might consider himself acquitted. + +‘And then I had your letter, sir, thank you,’ said Clarence, scarcely +restraining his tears. + +‘The thanks are on our side, my dear boy,’ said Mr. Castleford. ‘I must +talk it over with you, but not till you have had a night’s rest. You +look as if you had not known one for a good while.’ + +Clarence gave a sort of trembling smile, not trusting himself to speak. +Approbation at home was so new and strange to him that he could scarcely +bear it, worn out as he was by nearly a month of doubt, distress, +apprehension, and self-debate. + +My mother went herself to hasten the preparation of his room, and after +she had sent him to bed went again to satisfy herself that he was +comfortable and not feverish. She came back wiping away a tear, and +saying he had looked up at her just as when she had the three of us in +our nursery cribs. In truth these two had seldom been so happy together +since those days, though the dear mother, while thankful that he had not +failed, was little aware of the conflict his resolution had cost him, and +the hot journey and long walk came in for more blame for his exhaustion +than they entirely deserved. + +My father perhaps understood more of the trial; for when she came back, +declaring that all that was needed was sleep, and forbidding me to go to +my room before bedtime, he said he must bid the boy good-night. + +And he spoke as his reserve would have never let him speak at any other +time, telling Clarence how deeply thankful he felt for the manifestation +of such truthfulness and moral courage as he said showed that the man had +conquered the failings of the boy. + +Nevertheless, when I retired for the night, it was to find Clarence +asleep indeed, but most uneasily, tossing, moaning, and muttering broken +sentences about ‘disgracing his pennant,’ ‘never bearing to see mamma’s +face’—and the like. I thought it a kindness to wake him, and he started +up. ‘Ted, is it you? I thought I should never hear your dear old crutch +again! Is it really all right’—then, sitting up and passing his hand +over his face, ‘I always mix it up with the old affair, and think the +court-martial is coming again.’ + +‘There’s all the difference now.’ + +‘Thank God! yes—He has dragged me through! But it did not seem so in +one’s sleep, nor waking neither—though sleep is worst, and happily there +was not much of that! Sit down, Ted; I want to look at you. I can’t +believe it is not three weeks since I saw you last.’ + +We talked it all out, and I came to some perception of the fearful ordeal +it had been—first, in the decision neither to shut his eyes, nor to +conceal that they were open; and then in the lack of presence of mind and +the sense of confusion that always beset him when browbeaten and talked +down, so that, in the critical contest with Tooke, he felt as if his feet +were slipping from under him, and what had once been clear to him was +becoming dim, so that he had only been assured that he had held his +ground by Tooke’s redoubled persuasions and increased anger. And for a +clerk, whose years were only twenty-one, to oppose a manager, who had +been in the service more than the whole of that space, was preposterous +insolence, and likely to result in the utter ruin of his own prospects, +and the character he had begun to retrieve. It was just after this, the +real crisis, that he had the only dream which had not been misery and +distress. In it she—she yonder—yes, the lady with the lamp, came and +stood by him, and said, ‘Be steadfast.’ + +‘It was a dream,’ said Clarence. ‘She was not as she is in the mullion +room, not crying, but with a sweet, sad look, almost like Miss Fordyce—if +Miss Fordyce ever looked sad. It was only a dream.’ + +Yet it had so refreshed and comforted him that we have often since +discussed whether the spirit really visited him, or whether this was the +manner in which conscience and imagination acted on his brain. Indeed, +he always believed that the dream had been either heaven-sent or +heaven-permitted. + +The die had been cast in that interview when he had let it be seen that +he was dangerous, and could not be bought over. The after consequences +had been the terrible distress and temptation I have before described, +only most inadequately. ‘But that,’ said Clarence, half smiling, ‘only +came of my being such a wretched creature as I am. There, dear old Miss +Newton saved me—yes, she did—most unconsciously, dear old soul. Don’t +you remember how Griff used to say she maundered over the text. Well, +she did it all the way home in my ear, as she clung to my arm—“Be strong, +and He shall comfort thine heart.” And then I knew my despair and +determination to leave it all behind were a temptation—“the old story,” +as you told me, and I prayed God to help me, and just managed to fight it +out. Thank God for her!’ + +If it had not been for that good woman, he would have been out of +reach—already out in the river—before Mr. Castleford’s messenger had +reached London! He might call himself a poor creature—and certainly a +man of harder, bolder stuff would not have fared so badly in the strife; +but it always seemed to me in after years that much of what he called the +poor creature—the old, nervous, timid, diffident self—had been shaken off +in that desperate struggle, perhaps because it had really given him more +self-reliance, and certainly inspired others with confidence in him. + +We talked late enough to have horrified my mother, but I did not leave +him till he was sleeping like a child, nor did he wake till I was leaving +the room at the sound of the bell. It was alleged that it was the first +time in his life that he had been late for prayers. Mr. Castleford said +he was very glad, and my mother, looking severely at me, said she knew we +had been talking all night, and then went off to satisfy herself whether +he ought to be getting up. + +There was no doubt on that score, for he was quite himself again, though +he was, in looks and in weariness, just as if he had recovered from a bad +illness, or, as he put it himself, he felt as tired and bruised as if he +had been in a stiff gale. Mr. Castleford was sorry to be obliged to ask +him to go through the whole matter with him in the study, and the result +was that he was pronounced to have an admirable head for business, as +well as the higher qualities that had been put to the test. After that +his good friend insisted that he should have a long and complete holiday, +at first proposing to take him to Ireland, but giving the notion up on +hearing of our projected excursion to the north of Devon. Pending this, +Clarence was, for nearly a week, fit for nothing but lying on the grass +in the shade, playing with the cats and dogs, or with little Anne, +looking over our drawings, listening to Wordsworth, our reigning +idol,—and enjoying, with almost touching gratitude, the first approach to +petting that had ever fallen to his share. + +The only trouble on his mind was the Quarter-Session. Mr. Castleford +would hardly have prosecuted an old employé, but Mr. Frith was furious, +and resolved to make an example. Tooke had, however, so carefully +entrenched himself that nothing could be actually made a subject of +prosecution but the abstraction of the £20 of which he had accused +Clarence, who had to prove the having received and delivered it. + +It was a very painful affair, and Tooke was sentenced to seven years’ +transportation. I believe he became a very rich and prosperous man in +New South Wales, and founded a family. My father received warm +compliments upon his sons, and Clarence had the new sensation of being +honourably coupled with Griffith, though he laughed at the idea of mere +honesty with fierce struggles being placed beside heroism with no +struggle at all. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. +HOLIDAY-MAKING. + + + ‘The child upon the mountain side + Plays fearless and at ease, + While the hush of purple evening + Spreads over earth and seas. + The valley lies in shadow, + But the valley lies afar; + And the mountain is a slope of light + Upreaching to a star.’ + + MENELLA SMEDLEY. + +HOW pleasant it was to hear Griffith’s cheery voice, as he swung himself +down, out of a cloud of dust, from the top of the coach at the wayside +stage-house, whither Clarence and I had driven in the new britshka to +meet him. While the four fine coach-horses were led off, and their +successors harnessed in almost the twinkling of an eye, Griff was with +us; and we did nothing but laugh and poke fun at each other all the way +home, without a word of graver matters. + +I was resolved, however, that Griff should know how terribly his +commission had added to Clarence’s danger, and how carefully the secret +had been guarded; and the first time I could get him alone, I told him +the whole. + +The effect was one of his most overwhelming fits of laughter. ‘Poor old +Bill! To think of his being accused of gallanting about with barmaids!’ +(an explosion at every pause) ‘and revelling with officers! Poor old +Bill! it was as bad as Malvolio himself.’ + +When, indignant at the mirth excited by what had nearly cost us so dear, +I observed that these items had nearly turned the scale against our +brother, Griff demanded how we could have been such idiots as not to have +written to him; I might at least have had the sense to do so. As to its +doing him harm at Hillside, Parson Frank was no fool, and knew what men +were made of! Griff would have taken the risk, come at once, and thrust +the story down the fellow’s throat (as indeed he would have done). The +idea of Betsy putting up with a pious young man like Bill, whose only +flame had ever been old Miss Newton! And he roared again at the +incongruous pair. ‘Oh, wasn’t she married after all, the hussy? She +always had a dozen beaux, and professed to be on the point of putting up +her banns; so if the earrings were not a wedding present, they might have +been, ought to have been, and would be some time or other.’ + +Then he patted me, and declared there was no occasion for my disgusted +looks, for no one knew better than himself that he had the best brace of +brothers in existence, wanting in nothing but common sense and knowledge +of the world. As to Betsy—faugh! I need not make myself uneasy about +her; she knew what a civil word was worth much better than I did. + +He showed considerable affection for Clarence after a fashion of his own, +which we three perfectly understood, and preferred to anything more +conventional. Griff was always delightful, and he was especially so on +that vacation, when every one was in high spirits; so that the journey +is, as I look back on it, like a spot of brilliant sunshine in the +distant landscape. + +Mrs. Fordyce kept house with her father-in-law, little Anne, and Martyn, +whose holidays began a week after we had started. The two children were +allowed to make a desert island and a robbers’ cave in the beech wood; +and the adventures which their imaginations underwent there completely +threw ours into the shade. + +The three ladies and I started in the big Hillside open carriage, with my +brothers on the box and the two fathers on horseback. Frank Fordyce was +a splendid rider, as indeed was the old rector, who had followed the +hounds, made a leap over a fearful chasm, still known as the Parson’s +Stride, and had been an excellent shot. The renunciation of field sports +had been a severe sacrifice to Frank Fordyce, and showed of what +excellent stuff he was made. He used to say that it was his own fault +that he had to give them up; another man would have been less engrossed +by them. Though he only read by fits and starts when his enthusiasm was +excited, he was thorough, able, and acute, and his intelligence and +sympathy were my father’s best compensation for the loss of London +society. + +The two riders were a great contrast. Mr. Winslow had the thoroughly +well-appointed, somewhat precise, and highly-polished air of a barrister, +and a thin, somewhat worn and colourless face, with grizzled hair and +white whiskers; and though he rode well, with full command of his horse, +he was old enough to have chosen Chancery for her sterling qualities. +Parson Frank, on the other hand, though a thorough gentleman, was as +ruddy and weather-browned as any farmer, and—albeit his features were +handsome and refined, and his figure well poised and athletic—he lost +something of dignity by easiness of gesture and carelessness of dress, +except on state occasions, when he discarded his beloved rusty old coat +and Oxford mixture trousers, and came out magnificent enough for an +archdeacon, if not an archbishop; while his magnificent horse, Cossack, +was an animal that a sporting duke might have envied. + +Nothing ever tired that couple, but my father had stipulated for +exchanges with Griffith. On these occasions it almost invariably +happened that there was a fine view for Ellen to see, so that she was +exalted to the box with Griffith to show it to her, and Chancery was +consigned to Clarence. Griff was wont to say that Chancery deserved her +name, and that he would defy the ninety-ninth part of a tailor to come to +harm with her; but Clarence was utterly unpractised in riding, did not +like it, was tormented lest Cossack’s antics should corrupt Chancery, and +was mortally afraid of breaking the knees of the precious mare. Not all +Parson Frank’s good advice and kindly raillery would induce him to risk +riding her on a descent; and as our travels were entirely up and down +hill, he was often left leading her far behind, in hot sun or misty rain, +and then would come cantering hastily up, reckless of parallels with John +Gilpin, and only anxious to be in time to help me out at the +halting-place; but more than once only coming in when the beefsteaks were +losing their first charm, and then good-humouredly serving as the general +butt for his noble horsemanship. Did any one fully comprehend how much +pleasanter our journey was through the presence of one person entirely at +the service of the others? For my own part, it made an immense +difference to have one pair of strong arms and dextrous well-accustomed +hands always at my service, enabling me to accomplish what no one else, +kind as all were, would have ventured on letting me attempt. Primarily, +he was my devoted slave; but he was at the beck and call of every one, +making the inquiries, managing the bargains, going off in search of +whatever was wanting—taking in fact all the ‘must be dones’ of the +journal. The contemplation of Cossack and Chancery being rubbed down, +and devouring their oats was so delightful to Frank Fordyce and Griffith +that they seldom wished to shirk it; but if there were any more pleasing +occupation, it was a matter of course that Clarence should watch to see +that the ostlers did their duty by the animals—an obsolete ceremony, by +the bye. He even succeeded in hunting up and hiring a side saddle when +the lovers, with the masterfulness of their nature, devised appropriating +the horses at all the most beautiful places, in spite of Frank’s murmur, +‘What will mamma say?’ But, as Griff said, it was a real mercy, for +Ellen was infinitely more at her ease with Chancery than was Clarence. +Then Emily had Clarence to walk up the hills with her, and help her in +botany—her special department in our tour. Mine was sketching, Ellen’s, +keeping the journal, though we all shared in each other’s work at times; +and Griff, whose line was decidedly love-making, interfered considerably +with us all, especially with our chronicler. I spare you the tour, young +people; it lies before me on the table, profusely illustrated and written +in many hands. As I turn it over, I see noble Dunster on its rock; +Clarence leading Chancery down Porlock Hill; Parson Frank in vain pursuit +of his favourite ancient hat over that wild and windy waste, the sheep +running away from him; a boat tossing at lovely Minehead; a ‘native’ +bargaining over a crab with my mother; the wonderful Valley of Rocks, and +many another scene, ludicrous or grand; for, indeed, we were for ever +taking the one step between the sublime and the ridiculous! I am +inclined to believe it is as well worth reading as many that have rushed +into print, and it is full of precious reminiscences to Emily and me; but +the younger generation may judge for itself, and it would be an +interruption here. The country we saw was of utterly unimagined beauty +to the untravelled eyes of most of us. I remember Ellen standing on +Hartland Point, with her face to the infinite expanse of the Atlantic, +and waving back Griff with ‘Oh, don’t speak to me.’ Yet the sea was a +delight above all to my mother and Clarence. To them it was a beloved +friend; and magnificent as was Lynmouth, wonderful as was Clovelly, and +glorious as was Hartland, I believe they would equally have welcomed the +waves if they had been on the flattest of muddy shores! The ripple, +plash, and roar were as familiar voices, the salt smell as native air; +and my mother never had thawed so entirely towards Clarence as when she +found him the only person who could thoroughly participate her feeling. + +At Minehead they stayed out, walking up and down together in the summer +twilight till long after every one else was tired out, and had gone in; +and when at last they appeared she was leaning on Clarence’s arm, an +unprecedented spectacle! + +At Appledore, the only place on that rugged coast where boating tempted +them, there was what they called a pretty little breeze, but quite enough +to make all the rest of us decline venturing out into Bideford bay. +They, however, found a boatman and made a trip, which was evidently such +enjoyment to them, that my father, who had been a little restless and +uneasy all the time, declared on their return that he felt quite jealous +of Neptune, and had never known what a cruelty he was committing in +asking a sea-nymph to marry a London lawyer. + +Mr. Fordyce told him he was afraid of being like the fisherman who wedded +a mermaid, and made Ellen tell the story in her own pretty way; but while +we were laughing over it, I saw my mother steal her hand into my father’s +and give it a strong grasp. Such gestures, which she denominated pawing, +when she witnessed them in Emily, were so alien to her in general that no +doubt this little action was infinitely expressive to her husband. She +was wonderfully softened, and Clarence implied to me that it was the +first time she had ever seemed to grieve for him more than she despised +him, or to recognise his deprivation more than his disgrace,—implied, I +say, for the words he used were little more than—‘You can’t think how +nice she was to me.’ + +The regaining of esteem and self-respect was lessening Clarence’s +bashfulness, and bringing out his powers of conversation, so that he +began to be appreciated as a pleasant companion, answering Griff’s +raillery in like fashion, and holding his own in good-natured repartee. +Mr. Fordyce got on excellently with him in their tête-à-têtes (who would +not with Parson Frank?), and held him in higher estimation than did +Ellen. To her, honesty was common, tame, and uninteresting in comparison +with heroism; and Griff’s vague statement that Clarence was the best +brother in the world did not go for much. Emily and I longed to get the +two better acquainted, but it did not become possible while Griff +absorbed the maiden as his exclusive property. + +The engagement was treated as an avowed and settled thing, though I do +not know that there had been a formal ratification by the parents; but in +truth Mrs. Fordyce must have tacitly yielded her consent when she +permitted her daughter to make the journey under the guardianship of +Parson Frank. After a walk in the ravine of Lynton, we became aware of a +ring upon Ellen’s finger; and Emily was allowed at night to hear how and +when it had been put on. + +Ellen only slightly deepened her lovely carnation tints when her father +indulged in a little tender teasing and lamentation over himself. She +was thoroughly happy and proud of her hero, and not ashamed of owning it. + +There was one evening when she and I were sitting with our sketchbooks in +the shade on the beech at Ilfracombe, while the rest had gone, some to +bathe, the others to make purchases in the town. We had been condoling +with one another over the impossibility of finding anything among our +water-colours that would express the wondrous tints before our eyes. + +‘No, nothing can do it,’ I said at last; ‘we can only make a sort of blot +to assist our memories.’ + +‘Sunshine outside and in!’ said Ellen. ‘The memory of such days as these +can never fade away,—no, nor thankfulness for them, I hope.’ + +Something then passed about the fact that it was quite possible to go on +in complete content in a quiet monotonous life, in an oyster-like way, +till suddenly there was an unveiling and opening of unimagined capacities +of enjoyment—as by a scene like this before us, by a great poem, an +oratorio, or, as I supposed, by Niagara or the Alps. Ellen put it—‘Oh! +and by feelings for the great and good!’ Dear girl, her colour deepened, +and I am sure she meant her bliss in her connection with her hero. +Presently, however, she passed on to saying how such revelations of +unsuspected powers of enjoyment helped one to enter into what was meant +by ‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the +heart of man to conceive, the things that God hath prepared for them that +love him.’ Then there was a silence, and an inevitable quoting of the +_Christian Year_, the guide to all our best thoughts— + + ‘But patience, there may come a time.’ + +And then a turning to the ‘Ode to Immortality,’ for Wordsworth was our +second leader, and we carried him on our tour as our one secular book, as +Keble was our one religious book. We felt that the principal joy of all +this beauty and delight was because there was something beyond. +Presently Ellen said, prettily and shyly, ‘I am sure all this has opened +much more to me than I ever thought of. I always used to be glad that we +had no brothers, because our cousins were not always pleasant with us; +but now I have learnt what valuable possessions they are,’ she added, +with the sweetest, prettiest glance of her bright eyes. + +I ventured to say that I was glad she said they, and hoped it was a sign +that she was finding out Clarence. + +‘I have found out that I behaved so ill to him that I have been ashamed +ever since to look at him or speak to him,’ said Ellen; ‘I long to ask +his pardon, but I believe that would distress him more than anything.’ + +In which she was right; and I was able to tell her of the excuses there +had been for the poor boy, how he had suffered, and how he had striven to +conquer his failings; and she replied that the words ‘Judge not, that ye +be not judged,’ always smote her with the remembrance of her disdainfully +cantering past him. There was a tear on her eye-lashes, and it drew from +me an apology for having brought a painful recollection into our bright +day. + +‘There must be shade to throw up the lights,’ she said, with her +sparkling look. + +Was it shade that we never fell into one of these grave talks when +Griffith was present, and that the slightest approach to them was sure to +be turned by him into jest? + +We made our journey a little longer than we intended, crossing the moors +so as to spend a Sunday at Exeter; but Frank Fordyce left us, not liking +to give his father the entire duty of a third Sunday. + +Emily says she has come to have a superstition that extensions of +original plans never turn out well, and certainly some of the charm of +our journey departed with the merry, genial Parson Frank. Our mother was +more anxious about Ellen, and put more restrictions on the lovers than +when the father was present to sanction their doings. Griffith +absolutely broke out against her in a way he had never ventured before, +when she forbade Ellen’s riding with him when he wanted to hire a horse +at Lydford and take an excursion on the moor before joining us at +Okehampton. + +My father looked up, and said, ‘Griffith, I am surprised at you.’ He was +constrained to mutter some apology, and I believe Ellen privately begged +my mother’s pardon, owning her to have been quite right; but, by the dear +girl, the wonderful cascade and narrow gorge were seen through swollen +eyes. And poor Clarence must have had a fine time of it when Griffith +had to ride off with him _faute de mieux_. + +All was cleared off, however, when we met again, for Griff’s storms were +very fleeting, and Ellen treated him as if she had to make her own peace +with him. She sacrificed her own enjoyment of Exeter Cathedral to go +about with him when he had had enough of it, but on Sunday afternoon she +altogether declined to walk with him till after the second service. He +laughed at her supposed passion for sacred music, and offered to wait +with her to hear the anthem from the nave. ‘No,’ she said, ‘that would +be amusing ourselves instead of worshipping.’ + +‘We’ve done our devoir in that way already,’ said Griff. ‘Paid our +dues.’ + +‘One can’t,’ cried Ellen, with an eager look. ‘One longs to do all the +more when He has just let us have such a taste of His beautiful things.’ + +‘_One_, perhaps, when one is a little saint,’ returned Griff. + +‘Oh don’t, Griff! I’m not _that_; but you know every one wants all the +help and blessing that can be got. And then it is so delightful!’ + +He gave a long whistle. ‘Every one to his taste,’ he said; ‘especially +you ladies.’ + +He did come to the Cathedral with us, but he had more than half spoilt +this last Sunday. Did he value her for what was best in her, or was her +influence raising him? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. +C. MORBUS, ESQ. + + + ‘Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears, + The plaintive voice alone she hears, + Sees but the dying man.’ + + SCOTT. + +C. MORBUS, Esq. Such was the card that some wicked wag, one of +Clarence’s fellow-clerks probably, left at his lodgings in the course of +the epidemic which was beginning its ravages even while we were upon our +pleasant journey—a shade indeed to throw out the light. + +In these days, the tidings of a visitation of cholera are heard with +compassion for crowded towns, but without special alarm for ourselves or +our friends, since its conditions and the mode of combating it have come +to be fairly understood. + +In 1832, however, it was a disease almost unknown and unprecedented +except in its Indian abode, whence it had advanced city by city, seaport +by seaport, sweeping down multitudes before it; nor had science yet +discovered how to encounter or forestall it. We heard of it in a +helpless sort of way, as if it had been the plague or the Black Death, +and thought of its victims as doomed. + +That terrible German engraving, ‘Death as a Foe,’ which represents the +grisly form as invading a ballroom in Paris, is an expression of the +feeling with which the scourge was regarded on that first occasion. _Two +Years Ago_ gives some notion of the condition of things in 1849, but by +that time there had been some experience, and means of prevention were +better understood. On the alarm in that year there was a great +inspection of cottages throughout Earlscombe and Hillside, but in 1832 +there was no notion of such precautions. Nevertheless, on neither +visitation, nor any subsequent one, has the disease come nearer to us +than Bristol. + +As far as memory serves me, the idea was that wholesome food, regular +habits, and cleanliness were some protection, but one locality might be +as dangerous as another. There had been cases in London all the spring, +but no special anxiety was felt when Clarence returned to his work in the +end of July, much refreshed and invigorated by his holiday, and with the +understanding that he was to have a rise in position and salary on Mr. +Castleford’s return from Ireland, where he was still staying with his +wife’s relations. Clarence was received at the office with a kind of +shamefaced cordiality, as if every one would fain forget the way in which +he had been treated; and he was struck by finding that all the talk was +of the advances of the cholera, chiefly at Rotherhithe. And a great +shock awaited him. He went, as soon as business hours were over, to +thank good old Miss Newton for the comfort and aid she had unwittingly +given him, and to tell her from what she had saved him. Alas! it was the +last benefit she was ever to confer on her old pupil. At the door he was +told by a weeping, terrified maid that she was very ill with cholera, and +that no hope was given. He tried to send up a message, but she was in a +state of collapse and insensible; and when he inquired the next morning, +the gentle spirit had passed away. + +He attended her funeral that same evening. Griff said it was a proof how +your timid people will do the most foolhardy things; but Clarence always +held that the good woman had really done more for him than any one in +actually establishing a contact, so to say, between his spirit and +external truth, and he thought no mark of respect beyond her deserts. +She was a heavy loss to him, for no one else in town gave him the sense +of home kindness; and there was much more to depress him, for several of +his Sunday class were dead, and the school had been broken up for the +time, while the heats and the fruits of August contributed to raise the +mortality. + +His return had released a couple more clerks for their holiday; it was a +slack time of year, with less business in hand than usual, and the place +looked empty. Mr. Frith worked on as usual, but preserved an ungracious +attitude, as though he were either still incredulous or, if convinced +against his will, resolved that ‘that prig of a Winslow’ should not +presume upon his services. Altogether the poor fellow was quite +unhinged, and wrote such dismal bills of mortality, and meek, resigned +forebodings that my father was almost angry, declaring that he would +frighten himself into the sickness; yet I suppressed a good deal, and +never told them of the last will and testament in which he distributed +his possessions amongst us. Griff said he had a great mind to go and +shake old Bill up and row him well, but he never did. + +More than a week passed by, two of Clarence’s regular days for writing, +but no letter came. My mother grew uneasy, and talked of writing to Mrs. +Robson, or, as we still called her, Gooch; but it was doubtful whether +the answer would contain much information, and it was quite certain that +any ill tidings would be sent to us. + +At last we did hear, and found, as we had foreboded, that the letter had +not been written for fear of alarming us, or carrying infection, though +Clarence underlined the words ‘I am perfectly well.’ + +Having to take a message into the senior partner’s room, Clarence had +found the old man crouched over the table, writhing in the unmistakable +grip of the deadly enemy. No one else was available; Clarence had to +collect himself, send for the doctor, and manage the conveyance of the +patient to his rooms, which fortunately adjoined the office; for, through +all his influx of wealth, Mr. Frith had retained the habits and +expenditure of his early struggling days. His old housekeeper and her +drudge showed themselves terrified out of their senses, and as incapable +as unwilling. Naval experience, and waiting on me, had taught Clarence +helpfulness and handiness; and though this was the very thing that had +appalled his imagination, he seemed, as he said afterwards, ‘to have got +beyond his fright’ to the use of his commonsense. And when at last the +doctor came, and talked of finding a nurse, if possible, for they were +scarce articles, the sufferer only entreated between his paroxysms, +‘Stay, Winslow! Is Winslow there? Don’t go! Don’t leave me!’ + +No nurse was to be found, but to Clarence’s amazement Gooch arrived. He +had sent by the office boy to explain his absence; and before night the +faithful woman descended on him, intending, as in her old days of +authority, simply to put Master Clarry out of harm’s way, and take the +charge upon herself. Then, as he proved unmanageable and would not leave +his patient, neither would she leave him, and through the frightful night +that ensued, there was quite employment enough for them both. Gooch +fully thought the end would come before morning, and was murmuring +something about a clergyman, but was cut short by a sharp prohibition. +However, detecting Clarence’s lips moving, the old man said, ‘Eh! speak +it out!’ ‘And with difficulty, feeling as if I were somebody else,’ said +Clarence, ‘I did get out some short words of prayer. It seemed so awful +for him to die without any.’ + +When the doctor came in early morning, the watchers were astonished to +hear that their charge had taken a turn for the better, and might recover +if their admirable care were continued. The doctor had brought a nurse; +but Mr. Frith would not let her come into the room, and there was plenty +of need for her elsewhere. + +Several days of unremitting care followed, during which Clarence durst +not write to us, so little were the laws of infection understood. Good +Mrs. Robson stayed all the time, and probably saved Clarence from falling +a victim to his zeal, for she looked after him as anxiously as after the +sick man; and with a wondering and thankful heart, he found himself in +full health, when both were set free to return home. Clarence had +written at the beginning of the illness to the only relations of whose +existence or address he was aware, an old sister, Mrs. Stevens, and a +young great-nephew in the office at Liverpool; and the consequence was +the arrival of a sour-looking, old widow sister, who came to take charge +of the convalescence, and, as the indignant Gooch overheard her say, ‘to +prevent that young Winslow from getting round him.’ + +There were no signs of such a feat having been performed, when, the panic +being past, my father went up to London with Griffith, who was to begin +eating his terms at the Temple. He was to share Clarence’s lodgings, for +the Robsons had plenty of room, and Gooch was delighted to extend her +cares to her special favourite, as she already reigned over Clarence’s +wardrobe and table as entirely as in nursery days; and, to my great +exultation, my father said it would be good for Griffith to be with his +brother; and, moreover, we should hear of the latter. Nothing could be a +greater contrast than his rare notifications or requests, scrawled on a +single side of the quarto sheet, with Clarence’s regular weekly lines of +clerkly manuscript, telling all that could interest any of us, and +covering every available flap up to the blank circle left for the trim +red seal. + +Promotion had come to Clarence in the natural course of seniority, and a +small sum, due to him on his coming of age, was invested in the house of +business, so that the two brothers could take between them all the +Robsons’ available rooms. Clarence’s post was one of considerable trust; +but there were no tokens of special favour, except that Mr. Frith was +more civil to my father than usual, and when he heard of the arrangement +about the lodgings, he snarled out, ‘Hm! Law student indeed! Don’t let +him spoil his brother!’ + +Which was so far an expression of gratitude that it showed that he +considered that there was something to be spoilt. Mr. Castleford, +however, showed real satisfaction in the purchase of a share in the +concern for Clarence. His own eldest son inherited a good deal of his +mother’s Irish nature, and was evidently unfit to be anything but a +soldier, and the next was so young that he was glad to have a promising +and trustworthy young man, from whom a possible joint head of the firm +might be manufactured. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. +PETER’S THUNDERBOLT. + + + If you can separate yourself and your misdemeanours you are welcome + to the house; if not, an it would please you to take leave of her, + she is very willing to bid you farewell.’—_Twelfth Night_. + +IN the early summer of 1833, we had the opportunity of borrowing a +friend’s house in Portman Square for six weeks, and we were allowed to +take Ellen with us for introduction to the Admiral and other old friends, +while we were to make acquaintance with her connections—the family of Sir +Horace Lester, M.P. + +We were very civil; but there were a good many polite struggles for the +exclusive possession of Ellen, whom both parties viewed as their +individual right; and her unselfish good-humour and brightness must have +carried her over more worries than we guessed at the time. + +She had stayed with the Lesters before, but in schoolroom days. They +were indolent and uninterested, and had never shown her any of the +permanent wonders of London, despising these as only fit for country +cousins, whereas we had grown up to think of them with intelligent +affection. To me, however, much was as new as to Ellen. Country life +had done so much for me that I could venture on what I had never +attempted before. The Admiral said it was getting away from doctors and +their experiments, but I had also done with the afflictions of attempts +at growth in wrong directions. Old friends did not know me, and more +than once, as I sat in the carriage, addressed me for one of my +brothers—a compliment which, Griff said, turned my head. Happily I was +too much accustomed to my own appearance, and people were too kind, for +me to have much shyness on that score. Our small dinner parties were +great enjoyment to me, and the two girls were very happy in their little +gaieties. + +Braham and Catalani, Fanny Kemble, and Turner’s landscapes at his best, +rise in my memory as supreme delights and revelations in their different +lines, and awakening trains of thought; and then there was that +entertainment which Griffith and Clarence gave us in their rooms, when +they regaled us with all the delicacies of the season, and Peter and +Gooch looked all pride and hospitality! The dining-parlour, or what +served as such, was Griff’s property, as any one could see by the +pictures of horses, dogs, and ladies, the cups, whips, and boxing-gloves +that adorned it; the sitting-room had tokens of other occupation, in +Clarence’s piano, window-box of flowers, and his one extravagance in +engravings from Raffaelle, and a marine water-colour or two, besides all +my own attempts at family portraits, with a case of well-bound books. +Those two rooms were perfectly redolent of their masters—I say it +literally—for the scent of flowers was in Clarence’s room, and in +Griff’s, the odour of cigars had not wholly been destroyed even by much +airing. For in those days it was regarded by parents and guardians as an +objectionable thing. + +Peter was radiant on that occasion; but a few evenings later, when all +were gone to an evening party except my father and myself, Mr. Robson was +announced as wishing to speak to Mr. Winslow. After the civilities +proper to the visit of an old servant had passed, he entered with obvious +reluctance on the purpose of his visit, namely, his dissatisfaction with +Griff as a lodger. His wife, he said, would not have had him speak, she +was _that_ attached to Mr. Griffith, it couldn’t be more if he was her +own son; nor was it for want of liking for the young gentleman on his +part, as had known him from a boy, ‘but the wife of one’s bosom must come +first, sir, as stands to reason, and it’s for the good of the young +gentleman himself, and his family, as some one should speak. I never +said one word against it when she would not be satisfied without running +the risk of her life after Mr. Clarence; hattending of Mr. Frith in the +cholery. That was only her dooty, sir, and I have never a word to say +against dooty: but I cannot see her nearly wore out, and for no good to +nobody.’ + +It appeared that Mrs. Robson was ‘pretty nigh wore out, a setting up for +Mr. Griffith’s untimely hours.’ ‘He laughed and coaxed—what I calls +cajoling—did Mr. Griff, to get a latch-key; but we knows our dooty too +well for that, and Mrs. Winslow had made us faithfully promise, when +Master Clarence first came to us, that he should never have a +latch-key,—Mr. Clarence, as had only been five times later than eleven +o’clock, and then he was going to dine with Mr. Castleford, or to the +theayter, and spoke about it beforehand. If he was not reading to poor +Miss Newton, as was gone, or with some of his language-masters, he was +setting at home with his books and papers, not giving no trouble to +nobody, after he had had his bit of bread and cheese and glass of beer to +his supper.’ + +Ay, Peter knew what young gentlemen was. He did not expect to see them +all like poor Master Clarence, as had had his troubles; the very life +knocked out of him in his youth, as one might say. Indeed Peter would be +pleased to see him a bit more sprightly, and taking more to society and +hamusements of his hage. Nor would there be any objection if the late +’ours was only once a week or so, and things was done in a style fitting +the family; but when it came to mostly every night, often to two or three +o’clock, it was too much for Mrs. Robson, for she would never go to bed, +being mortal afraid of fire, and not always certain that Mr. Griffith +was—to say—fit to put out his candle. ‘What do you mean, Peter?’ +thundered my father, whose brow had been getting more and more furrowed +every moment. ‘Say it out!—Drunk?’ + +‘Well sir, no, no, not to say that exactly, but a little excited, sir, +and women is timid. No sir, not to call intoxicated.’ + +‘No, that’s to come,’ muttered my father. ‘Has this often happened?’ + +Peter did not think that it had been noticed more than three times at the +most; but he went on to offer his candid and sensible advice that Mr. +Griffith should be placed in a family where there was a gentleman or lady +who would have some hauthority, and could not be put aside with his +good-’umoured haffability—‘You’re an old fogy, Peter.’ ‘Never mind, +Nursey, I’ll be a good boy next time,’ and the like. ‘It is a +disadvantage you see, sir, to have been in his service, and ’tis for the +young gentleman’s own good as I speaks; but it would be better if he were +somewheres else—unless you would speak to him, sir.’ + +To the almost needless question whether Clarence had been with his +brother on these occasions, there was a most decided negative. He had +never gone out with Griffith except once to the theatre, and to dine at +the Castlefords, and at first he had sat up for his return, ‘but it led +to words between the young gentlemen,’ said Peter, whose confidences were +becoming reckless; and it appeared that when Clarence had found that +Gooch would not let him spare her vigil, he had obeyed her orders and +ceased to share it. + +Peter was thanked for the revelations, which had been a grievous effort +to him, and dismissed. My father sat still in great distress and +perplexity, asking me whether Clarence had ever told me anything of this, +and I had barely time to answer ‘No’ before Clarence himself came in, +from what Peter called his language-master. He was taking lessons in +French and Spanish, finding a knowledge of these useful in business. To +his extreme distress, my father fell on him at once, demanding what he +knew of the way Griffith was spending his time, ‘coming home at all sorts +of hours in a disreputable condition. No prevarication, sir,’ he added, +as the only too familiar look of consternation and bewilderment came over +Clarence’s face. ‘You are doing your brother no good by conniving at his +conduct. Speak truth, if you can,’ he added, with more cruelty than he +knew, in his own suffering. + +‘Sir,’ gasped Clarence, ‘I know Griff often comes home after I am in bed, +but I do not know the exact time, nor anything more.’ + +‘Is this all you can tell me? Really all?’ + +‘All I know—that is—of my own knowledge,’ said Clarence, recovering a +little, but still unable to answer without hesitation, which vexed my +father. + +‘What do you mean by that? Do you hear nothing?’ + +‘I am afraid,’ said Clarence, ‘that I do not see as much of him as I had +hoped. He is not up till after I have to be at our place, and he does +not often spend an evening at home. He is such a popular fellow, and has +so many friends and engagements.’ + +‘Ay, and of what sort? Can’t you tell? or will you not? I sent him up +to you, thinking you a steady fellow who might influence him for good.’ + +The colour rushed into Clarence’s face, as he answered, looking up and +speaking low, ‘Have I not forfeited all such hopes?’ + +‘Nonsense! You’ve lived down that old story long ago. You would make +your mark, if you only showed a little manliness and force of character. +Griffith was always fond of you. Can’t you do anything to hinder him +from ruining his own life and that sweet girl’s happiness?’ + +‘I would—I would give my life to do so!’ exclaimed Clarence, in warm, +eager tones. ‘I have tried, but he says I know nothing about it, and it +is very dull at our rooms for him. I have got used to it, but you can’t +expect a fellow like Griff to stay at home, with no better company than +me, and do nothing but read law.’ + +‘Then you _do_ know,’ began my father; but Clarence, with full +self-possession, said, ‘I think you had better ask me no more questions, +papa. I really know nothing, or hardly anything, personally of his +proceedings. I went to one supper with him, after going to the play, and +did not fancy it; besides, it almost unfitted me for my morning’s work; +nor does it answer for me to sit up for him—it only vexes him, as if I +were watching him.’ + +‘Did you ever see him come home showing traces of excess?’ + +‘No!’ said Clarence, ‘I never saw!’ and, under a stern, distressed look, +‘Once I heard tones that—that startled me, and Mrs. Robson has grumbled a +good deal—but I think Peter takes it for more than it is worth.’ + +‘I see,’ said my father more gently; ‘I will not press you farther. I +believe I ought to be glad that these habits are only hearsay to you.’ + +‘As far as I can see,’ said Clarence diffidently, but quite restored to +himself, ‘Griff is only like most of his set, young men who go into +society.’ + +‘Oh!’ said my father, in a ‘that’s your opinion’ kind of tone; and as at +that moment the yell of a newsboy was heard in the street, he exclaimed +that he must go and get an evening paper. Clarence made a step to go +instead, but was thrust back, as apparently my father merely wanted an +excuse for rushing into the open air to recover the shock or to think it +over. + +Clarence gave a kind of groan, and presently exclaimed, ‘If only untruth +were not such a sin!’ and, on my exclamation of dismay, he added, ‘I +don’t think a blowing up ever does good!’ + +‘But this state of things should not last.’ + +‘It will not. It would have come to an end without Peter’s springing +this mine. Griff says he can’t stand Gooch any longer! And really she +does worry him intolerably.’ + +‘Peter professed to come without her knowledge or consent.’ + +‘Exactly so. It will almost break the good old soul’s heart for Griff to +leave her; but she expects to have him in hand as if he was in the +nursery. She is ever so much worse than she was with me, and he is +really good-nature itself to laugh off her nagging as he does—about what +he chooses to put on, or eating, or smoking, or leaving his room untidy, +as well as other things.’ + +‘And those other things? Do you suspect more than you told papa?’ + +‘It amounts to no more. Griff likes amusement, and everybody likes +him—that’s all. Yes, I know my father read law ten hours a day, but his +whole nature and circumstances were different. I don’t believe Griff +could go on in that way.’ + +‘Not with such a hope before him? You would, Clarence.’ + +His face and not his tongue answered me, but he added, ‘Griff is sure of +_that_ without so much labour and trouble.’ + +‘And do you see so little of him?’ + +‘I can’t help it. I can’t keep his hours and do my work. Yes, I know we +are drifting apart; I wish I could help it, but being coupled up together +makes it rather worse than better. It aggravates him, and he will really +get on better without Gooch to worry him, and thrust my droning old ways +down his throat,—as if Prince Hal could bear to be twitted with “that +sober boy, Lord John of Lancaster.” Not,’ he added, catching himself up, +‘that I meant to compare him to the madcap Prince. He is the finest of +fellows, if they only would let him alone.’ + +And that was all I could get from Clarence. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. +A SQUIRE OF DAMES. + + + ‘Spited with a fool— + Spited and angered both.’ + + _Cymbeline_. + +THIS long stay of Ellen’s in our family had made our fraternal relations +with her nearer and closer. Familiarity had been far from lessening our +strong feeling for her goodness and sweetness. Emily, who knew her best, +used to confide to me little instances of the spirit of devotion and +self-discipline that underlay all her sunny gaiety—how she never failed +in her morning’s devout readings; how she learnt a verse or two of +Scripture every day, and persuaded Emily to join with her in repeating it +ere they went downstairs for their evening’s pleasure; how she had set +herself a little task of plain work for the poor, which she did every day +in her own room; and the like dutiful habits, which seemed, as it were, +to help her to keep herself in hand, and not be carried away by what was +a whirl of pleasure to her, though a fashionable young lady would have +despised its mildness. + +Indeed Lady Peacock, with whom we exchanged calls, made no secret of her +compassion when she found how many parties the ladies were _not_ going +to; and Ellen’s own relations, the Lesters, would have taken her out +almost every night if she had not staunchly held to her promise to her +mother not to go out more than three evenings in the week, for Mrs. +Fordyce knew her to be delicate, and feared late hours for her. The +vexation her cousins manifested made her feel the more bound to give them +what time she could, at hours when Griffith was not at liberty. She did +not like them to be hurt, and jealous of us, or to feel forsaken, and she +tried to put her affection for us on a different footing by averring that +‘it was not the same kind of thing—Emily was her sister.’ + +One day she had gone to luncheon with the Lesters in Cavendish Square, +and was to be called for in the carriage by me, on the way to take up the +other two ladies, who were shopping in Regent Street. + +Ellen came running downstairs, with her cheeks in a glow under the pink +satin lining of her pretty bonnet, and her eyes sparkling with +indignation, which could not but break forth. + +‘I don’t know how I shall ever go there again!’ she exclaimed; ‘they have +no right to say such things!’ Then she explained. Mary and Louisa had +been saying horrid things about Griffith—her Griff! It was always their +way. Think how Horace had made her treat Clarence! It was their way and +habit to tease, and call it fun, and she had never minded it before; but +this was too bad. Would not I put it in her power to give a flat +contradiction, such as would make them ashamed of themselves? + +Contradict what? + +Then it appeared that the Misses Lester had laughed at her, who was so +very particular and scrupulous, for having taken up with a regular young +man about town. Oh no, _they_ did not think much of it—no doubt he was +only just like other people; only the funny thing was that it should be +Ellen, for whom it was always supposed that no saint in the calendar, no +knight in all the Waverley novels, would be good enough! And then, on +her hot desire to know what they meant, they quoted John, the brother in +the Guards, as having been so droll about poor Ellen’s perfect hero, and +especially at his straight-laced Aunt Fordyce having been taken in,—but +of course it was the convenience of joining the estates, and it was +agreeable to see that your very good folk could wink at things like other +people in such a case. Then, when Ellen fairly drove her inquiries home, +in her absolute trust of confuting all slanders, she was told that +Griffith did, what she called ‘all sorts of things—billiards and all +that.’ And even that he was always running after a horrid Lady Peacock, +a gay widow. + +‘They went on in fun,’ said Ellen, ‘and laughed the more when—yes, I am +afraid I did—I lost my temper. No, don’t say I well might, I know I +ought not; but I told them I knew all about Lady Peacock, and that you +were all old friends, even before he rescued her from the Bristol riots +and brought her home to Chantry House; and that only made Mary merrier +than ever, and say, “What, another distressed damsel? Take care, Ellen; +I would not trust such a squire of dames.” And then Louisa chimed in, +“Oh no, you see this Peacock dame was only conducted, like Princess +Micomicona and all the rest of them, to the feet of his peerless +Dulcinea!” And then I heard the knock, and I was never so glad in my +life!’ + +‘Well!’ I could not help remarking, ‘I have heard of women’s +spitefulness, but I never believed it till now.’ + +‘I really don’t think it was altogether what you call malice, so much as +the Lester idea of fun,’ said Ellen, recovering herself after her +outpouring. ‘A very odd notion I always thought it was; and Mary and +Louisa are not really ill-natured, and cannot wish to do the harm they +might have done, if I did not know Griff too well.’ + +Then, after considering a little, she said, blushing, ‘I believe I have +told you more than I ought, Edward—I couldn’t help having it out; but +please don’t tell any one, especially that shocking way of speaking of +mamma, which they could not really mean.’ + +‘No one could who knew her.’ + +‘Of course not. I’ll tell you what I mean to do. I will write to Mary +when we go in, and tell her that I know she really cares for me enough to +be glad that her nonsense has done no mischief, and, though I was so +foolish and wrong as to fly into a passion, of course I know it is only +her way, and I do not believe one word of it.’ + +Somehow, as she looked with those radiant eyes full of perfect trust, I +could not help longing not to have heard Peter Robson’s last night’s +complaint; but family feeling towards outsiders overcomes many a +misgiving, and my wrath against the malignity of the Lesters was quite as +strong as if I had been devoid of all doubts whether Griff wore to all +other eyes the same halo of pure glory with which Ellen invested him. + +Such doubts were very transient. Dear old Griff was too delightful, too +bright and too brave, too ardent and too affectionate, not to dispel all +clouds by the sunshine he carried about with him. If rest and reliance +came with Clarence, zest and animation came with Griffith. He managed to +take the initiative by declining to remain any longer with the Robsons, +saying they had been spoilt by such a model lodger as Clarence, who would +let Gooch feed him on bread and milk and boiled mutton, and put on his +clean pinafore if she chose to insist; whereas her indignation, when +Griff found fault with the folding of his white ties, amounted to ‘_Et tu +Brute_,’ and he really feared she would have had a fit when he ordered +devilled kidneys for breakfast. He was sure her determination to tuck +him up every night and put out his candle was shortening her life; and he +had made arrangements to share the chambers of a friend who had gone +through school and college with him. There was no objection to the +friend, who had stayed at Chantry House and was an agreeable, lively, +young man, well reported of, satisfactorily connected, fairly +industrious, and in good society, so that Griff was likely to be much +less exposed to temptation of the lower kinds than when left to his own +devices, or only with Clarence, who had neither time nor disposition to +share his amusements. + +There was a scene with my father, but in private; and all that came to +general knowledge was that Griff felt himself injured by any implication +that he was given to violent or excessive dissipation, such as could +wreck Ellen’s happiness or his own character. + +He declared with all his heart that immediate marriage would be the best +thing for both, and pleaded earnestly for it; but my father could not +have arranged for it even if the Fordyces would have consented, and there +were matters of business, as well as other reasons, which made it +inexpedient for them to revoke their decision that the wedding should not +take place before Ellen was of age and Griffith called to the bar. + +So we took our young ladies home, loaded with presents for their beloved +school children, of whom Emily said she dreamt, as the time for seeing +them again drew near. After all the London enjoyment, it was pretty to +see the girls’ delight in the fresh country sights and sounds in full +summer glory, and how Ellen proved to have been hungering after all her +dear ones at home. When we left her at her own door, our last sight of +her was in her father’s arms, little Anne clinging to her dress, mother +and grandfather as close to her as could be—a perfect tableau of a joyous +welcome. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. +LOVE AND OBEDIENCE. + + + ‘Unless he give me all in change + I forfeit all things by him; + The risk is terrible and strange.’ + + MRS. BROWNING. + +YOU will be weary of my lengthiness; and perhaps I am lingering too long +over the earlier portion of my narrative. Something is due to the +disproportion assumed in our memories by the first twenty years of +existence—something, perhaps, to reluctance to passing from comparative +sunshine to shadow. There was still a period of brightness, but it was +so uneventful that I have no excuse for dwelling on it further than to +say that Henderson, our excellent curate, had already made a great +difference in the parish, and it was beginning to be looked on as almost +equal to Hillside. The children were devoted to Emily, who was the +source of all the amenities of their poor little lives. The needlework +of the school was my mother’s pride; and our church and its services, +though you would shudder at them now, were then thought presumptuously +superior ‘for a country parish.’ They were a real delight and blessing +to us, as well as to many more of the flock, who still, in their old age, +remember and revere Parson Henderson as a sort of apostle. + +The dawning of the new Poor-Law led to investigations which revealed the +true conditions of the peasant’s life—its destitution, recklessness, and +dependence. We tried to mend matters by inducing families to emigrate, +but this renewed the distrust which had at first beheld in the schools an +attempt to enslave the children. Even accounts, sent home by the +exceptionally enterprising who did go to Canada, were, we found, scarcely +trusted. Amos Bell, who would have gone, if he had not been growing into +my special personal attendant, was letter-writer and reader to all his +relations, and revealed to us that it had been agreed that no letter +should be considered as genuine unless it bore a certain private mark. +To be sure, the accounts of prosperity might well sound fabulous to the +toilers and moilers at home. Harriet Martineau’s _Hamlets_, which we +lent to many of our neighbours, is a fair picture of the state of things. +We much enjoyed those tales, and Emily says they were the only political +economy she ever learnt. + +The model arrangements of our vestries led to a summons to my father and +the younger Mr. Fordyce to London, to be examined on the condition of the +pauper, and the working of the old Elizabethan Poor-Law. + +They were absent for about a fortnight of early spring, and Emily and I +could not help observing that our mother was unusually uncommunicative +about my father’s letters; and, moreover, there was a tremendous +revolution of the furniture, a far more ominous token in our household +than any comet. + +The truth came on us when the two fathers returned. Mine told me himself +that Frank Fordyce was so much displeased with Griffith’s conduct that he +had declared that the engagement could not continue with his consent. + +This from good-natured, tender-hearted Parson Frank! + +I cried out hotly that ‘those Lesters’ had done this. They had always +been set against us, and any one could talk over Mr. Frank. My father +shook his head. He said Frank Fordyce was not weak, but all the stronger +for his gentleness and charity; and, moreover, that he was quite right—to +our shame and grief be it spoken—quite right. + +It was true that the first information had been given by Sir Horace +Lester, Mrs. Fordyce’s brother, but it had not been lightly spoken like +the daughter’s chatter; and my father himself had found it only too true, +so that he could not conscientiously call Griffith worthy of such a +creature as Ellen Fordyce. + +Poor Griff, he had been idle and impracticable over his legal studies, +which no persuasion would make him view as otherwise than a sort of +nominal training for a country gentleman; nor had he ever believed or +acted upon the fact that the Earlscombe property was not an unlimited +fortune, such as would permit him to dispense with any profession, and +spend time and money like the youths with whom he associated. Still, +this might have been condoned as part of the effervescence which had +excited him ever since my father had succeeded to the estate, and +patience might still have waited for greater wisdom; but there had been +graver complaints of irregularities, which were forcing his friend to +dissolve partnership with him. There was evidence of gambling, which he +not only admitted, but defended; and, moreover, he was known at parties, +at races, and at the theatre, as one of the numerous satellites who +revolved about that gay and conspicuous young fashionable widow, Lady +Peacock. + +‘Yes, Frank has every right to be angry,’ said my father, pacing the +room. ‘I can’t wonder at him. I should do the same; but it is +destroying the best hope for my poor boy.’ + +Then he began to wish Clarence had more—he knew not what to call it—in +him; something that might keep his brother straight. For, of course, he +had talked to Clarence and discovered how very little the brothers saw of +one another. Clarence had been to look for Griff in vain more than once, +and they had only really met at a Castleford dinner-party. In fact, +Clarence’s youthful spirits, and the tastes which would have made him +companionable to Griff, had been crushed out of him; and he was what more +recent slang calls ‘such a muff,’ that he had perforce drifted out of our +elder brother’s daily life, as much as if he had been a grave senior of +fifty. It was, as he owned, a heavy penalty of his youthful fall that he +could not help his brother more effectually. + +It appeared that Frank Fordyce, thoroughly roused, had had it out with +Griffith, and had declared that his consent was withdrawn and the +engagement annulled. Griff, astounded at the resolute tone of one whom +he considered as the most good-natured of men, had answered hotly and +proudly that he should accept no dismissal except from Ellen herself, and +that he had done no more than was expected of any young man of position +and estate. On the other indictment he scorned any defence, and the two +had parted in mutual indignation. He had, however, shown himself so much +distressed at the threat of being deprived of Ellen, that neither my +father nor Clarence had the least doubt of his genuine attachment to her, +nor that his attentions to Lady Peacock were more than the effect of old +habit and love of amusement, and that they had been much exaggerated. He +scouted the bare idea of preferring her to Ellen; and, in his second +interview with my father, was ready to make any amount of promises of +reformation, provided his engagement were continued. + +This was on the last evening before leaving town, and he came to the +coach-office looking so pale, jaded, and unhappy that Parson Frank’s kind +heart was touched; and in answer to a muttered ‘I’ve been ten thousand +fools, sir, but if you will overlook it I will try to be worthy of her,’ +he made some reply that could be construed into, ‘If you keep to that, +all may yet be well. I’ll talk to her mother and grandfather.’ + +Perhaps this was cruel kindness, for, as we well knew, Mrs. Fordyce was +far less likely to be tolerant of a young man’s failings than was her +husband; and she was, besides, a Lester, and might take the same view. + +Abusing the Lesters was our great resource; for we did not believe either +the sailor or the guardsman to be immaculate, and we knew them to be +jealous. We had to remain in ignorance of what we most wished to know, +for Ellen was kept away from us, and my mother would not let Emily go in +search of her. Only Anne, who was a high-spirited, independent little +person, made a sudden rush upon me as I sat in the garden. She had no +business to be so far from home alone; but, said she, ‘I don’t care, it +is all so horrid. Please, Edward, is it true that Griff has been so very +wicked? I heard the maids talking, and they said papa had found out that +he was a bad lot, and that he was not to marry Ellen; but she would stick +to him through thick and thin, like poor Kitty Brown who would marry the +man that got transported for seven years.’ ‘Will he be transported, +Edward? and would Ellen go too, like the “nut-brown maid?” Is that what +she cries so about? Not by day, but all night. I know she does, for her +handkerchief is wet through, and there is a wet place on her pillow +always in the morning; but she only says, “Never mind,” and nobody _will_ +tell me. They only say little girls should not think about such things. +And I am not so very little. I am eight, and have read the _Lay of the +Last Minstrel_ and I know all about people in love. So you might tell +me.’ + +I relieved Anne’s mind as to the chances of transportation, and, after +considering how many confidences might be honourably exchanged with the +child, I explained that her father thought Griff had been idle and +careless, and not fit as yet to be trusted with Ellen. + +Her parish experience came into play. ‘Does papa think he would be like +Joe Sparks? But then gentlemen don’t beat their wives, nor go to the +public-house, nor let their children go about in rags.’ + +I durst not inquire much, but I gathered that there was a heavy shadow +over the house, and that Ellen was striving to do as usual, but breaking +down when alone. Just then Parson Frank appeared. Anne had run away +from him while on a farming inspection, when the debate over the turnips +with the factotum had become wearisome. He looked grave and sorrowful, +quite unlike his usual hearty self, and came to me, leaning over my +chair, and saying, ‘This is sad work, Edward’; and, on an anxious venture +of an inquiry for Ellen, ‘Poor little maid, it is very sore work with +her. She is a good child and obedient—wants to do her duty; but we +should never have let it go on so long. We have only ourselves to +thank—taking the family character, you see’—and he made a kindly gesture +towards me. ‘Your father sees how it is, and won’t let it make a split +between us. I believe that not seeing as much of your sister as usual is +one of my poor lassie’s troubles, but it may be best—it may be best.’ + +He lingered talking, unwilling to tear himself away, and ended by +disclosing, almost at unawares, that Ellen had held out for a long time, +would not understand nor take in what she was told, accepted nothing on +Lester authority, declared she understood all about Lady Peacock, and +showed a strength of resistance and independence of view that had quite +startled her parents, by proving how far their darling had gone from them +in heart. But they still held her by the bonds of obedience; and, by +dealing with her conscience, her mother had obtained from her a piteous +little note— + + ‘MY DEAR GRIFFITH—I am afraid it is true that you have not always + seemed to be doing right, and papa and mamma forbid our going on as + we are. You know I cannot be disobedient. It would not bring a + blessing on you. So I must break off, though—’ + +The ‘though’ could be read through an erasure, followed by the initials, +E. M. F.—as if the dismal conclusion had been felt to be only too +true—and there followed the postscript, ‘Forgive me, and, if we are +patient, it may come right.’ + +This letter was displayed, when, on the ensuing evening, it brought Griff +down in towering indignation, and trying to prove the coercion that must +have been exercised to extract even thus much from his darling. Over he +went headlong to Hillside to insist on seeing her, but to encounter a +succession of stormy scenes. Mrs. Fordyce was the most resolute, but was +ill for a week after. The old Rector was gentle, and somewhat overawed +Griff by his compassion, and by representations that were only too true; +and Parson Frank, with his tender heart torn to pieces, showed symptoms +of yielding another probation. + +The interview with Ellen was granted. She, however, was intrenched in +obedience. She had promised submission to the rupture of her engagement, +and she kept her word,—though she declared that nothing could hinder her +love, and that she would wait patiently till her lover had proved +himself, to everybody’s satisfaction, as good and noble as she knew him +to be. When he told her she did not love him she smiled. She was sure +that whatever mistakes there might have been, he would give no further +occasion against himself, and then every one would see that all had been +mere misunderstanding, and they should be happy again. + +Such trust humbled him, and he was ready to make all promises and +resolutions; but he could not obtain the renewal of the engagement, nor +permission to correspond. Only there was wrung out of Parson Frank a +promise that if he could come in two years with a perfectly unstained, +unblotted character, the betrothal might be renewed. + +We were very thankful for the hope and motive, and Griff had no doubts of +himself. + +‘One can’t look at the pretty creature and think of disappointing her,’ +he said. ‘She is altered, you know, Ted; they’ve bullied her till she is +more ethereal than ever, but it only makes her lovelier. I believe if +she saw me kill some one on the spot she would think it all my +generosity; or, if she could not, she would take and die. Oh no! I’ll +not fail her. No, I won’t; not if I have to spend seven years after the +model of old Bill, whose liveliest pastime is a good long sermon, when it +is not a ghost.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. +UNA OR DUESSA. + + + ‘Soone as the Elfin knight in presence came + And false Duessa, seeming ladye fayre, + A gentle husher, Vanitie by name, + Made roome, and passage did for them prepare.’ + + SPENSER. + +THE two families were supposed to continue on unbroken terms of +friendship, and we men did so; but Mrs. Fordyce told my mother that she +had disapproved of the probation, and Mrs. Winslow was hurt. Though the +two girls were allowed to be together as usual, it was on condition of +silence about Griff; and though, as Emily said, they really had not been +always talking about him in former times, the prohibition seemed to weigh +upon all they said. + +Old Mr. Fordyce had long been talking of a round of visits among +relations whom he had not seen for many years; and it was decided to send +Ellen with him, chiefly, no doubt, to prevent difficulties about Griffith +in the long vacation. + +There was no embargo on the correspondence with my sister, and letters +full of description came regularly, but how unlike they were to our +journal. They were clear, intelligent, with a certain liveliness, but no +ring of youthful joy, no echo of the heart, always as if under restraint. +Griff was much disappointed. He had been on his good behaviour for two +months, and expected his reward, and I could not here repeat all that he +said about her parents when he found she was absent. Yet, after all, he +got more pity and sympathy from Parson Frank than from any one else. +That good man actually sent a message for him, when Emily was on honour +to do no such thing. Poor Emily suffered much in consequence, when she +would neither afford Griff a blank corner of her paper, nor write even a +veiled message; while as to the letters she received and gave to him, +‘what was the use,’ he said, ‘of giving him what might have been read +aloud by the town-crier?’ + +‘You don’t understand, Griff; it is all dear Ellen’s conscientiousness—’ + +‘Oh, deliver me from such con-sci-en-tious-ness,’ he answered, in a tone +of bitter mimicry, and flung out of the room leaving Emily in tears. + +He could not appreciate the nobleness of Ellen’s self-command and the +obedience which was the security of future happiness, but was hurt at +what he thought weak alienation. One note of sympathy would have done +much for Griff just then. I have often thought it over since, and come +to the conclusion that Mrs. Fordyce was justified in the entire +separation she brought about. No one can judge of the strength with +which ‘true love’ has mastered any individual, nor how far change may be +possible; and, on the other hand, unless there were full appreciation of +Ellen’s character, she might only have been looked on as— + + ‘Puppet to a father’s threat, + Servile to a shrewish tongue.’ + +Yet, after all, Frank Fordyce was very kind to Griff, making himself as +much of a medium of communication as he could consistently with his +conscience, but of course not satisfying one who believed that the +strength of love was to be proved not by obedience but disobedience. + +Ellen’s letters showed increasing anxiety about her grandfather, who was +not favourably affected by the change of habits, consequent on a long +journey, and staying in different houses. His return was fixed two or +three times, and then delayed by slight attacks of illness, till at last +he became anxious to get home, and set off about the end of September; +but after sleeping a night at an inn at Warwick, he was too ill to +proceed any farther. His old man-servant was with him; but poor Ellen +went through a great deal of suspense and responsibility before her +parents reached her. The attack was paralysis, and he never recovered +the full powers of mind or body, though they managed to bring him back to +Hillside—as indeed his restlessness longed for his native home. When +once there he became calmer, but did not rally; and a second stroke +proved fatal just before Easter. He was mourned alike by rich and poor, +‘He _was_ a gentleman,’ said even Chapman, ‘always the same to rich or +poor, though he was one of they Fordys.’ + +My father wrote to summon both his elder sons to the funeral at Hillside, +and in due time Clarence appeared by the coach, but alone. He had gone +to Griffith’s chambers to arrange about coming down together, but found +my father’s letter lying unopened on the table, and learnt that his +brother was supposed to be staying at a villa in Surrey, where there were +to be private theatricals. He had forwarded the letter thither, and it +would still be possible to arrive in time by the night mail. + +So entirely was Griff expected that the gig was sent to meet him at seven +o’clock the next morning, but there was no sign of him. My father and +Clarence went without him to the gathering, which showed how deeply the +good old man was respected and loved. + +It was the only funeral Clarence had attended except Miss Newton’s +hurried one, and his sensitive spirit was greatly affected. He had +learnt reserve when amongst others, but I found that he had a strong +foreboding of evil; he tossed and muttered in his sleep, and confessed to +having had a wretched night of dreams, though he would not describe them +otherwise than that he had seen the lady whose face he always looked on +as a presage of evil. + +Two days later the _Morning Post_ gave a full account of the amateur +theatricals at Bella Vista, the seat of Benjamin Bullock, Esquire, and +the Lady Louisa Bullock; and in the list of _dramatis personæ_, there +figured Griffith Winslow, Esquire, as Captain Absolute, and the fair and +accomplished Lady Peacock as Lydia Languish. + +Amateur theatricals were much less common in those days than at present, +and were held as the _ne plus ultra_ of gaiety. Moreover, the Lady +Louisa Bullock was noted for fashionable extravagance of the +semi-reputable style; and there would have been vexation enough at +Griffith’s being her guest, even had not the performance taken place on +the very day of the funeral of Ellen’s grandfather, so as to be an +outrage on decorum. + +At the same time, there came a packet franked by a not very satisfactory +peer, brother to Lady Louisa. My father threw a note over to Clarence, +and proceeded to read a very properly expressed letter full of apologies +and condolences for the Fordyces. + +‘He could not have got the letter in time’ was my father’s comment. +‘When did you forward the letter? How was it addressed? Clarence, I +say, didn’t you hear?’ + +Clarence lifted up his face from his letter, so much flushed that my +mother broke in—‘What’s the matter? A mistake in the post-town would +account for the delay. Has he had the letter?’ + +‘Oh yes.’ + +‘Not in time—eh?’ + +‘I’m afraid,’ and he faltered, ‘he did.’ + +‘Did he or did he not?’ demanded my mother. + +‘What does he say?’ exclaimed my father. + +‘Sir’ (always an unpropitious beginning for poor Clarence), ‘I should +prefer not showing you.’ + +‘Nonsense!’ exclaimed my mother: ‘you do no good by concealing it!’ + +‘Let me see his letter,’ said my father, in the voice there was no +gainsaying, and absolutely taking it from Clarence. None of us will ever +forget the tone in which he read it aloud at the breakfast-table. + + ‘DEAR BILL—What possessed you to send a death’s-head to the feast? + The letter would have bitten no one in my chambers. A nice scrape I + shall be in if you let out that your officious precision forwarded + it. Of course at the last moment I could not upset the whole affair + and leave Lydia to languish in vain. The whole thing went off + magnificently. Keep counsel and no harm is done. You owe me that + for sending on the letter.—Yours, + + ‘J. G. W.’ + +Clarence had not read to the end when the letter was taken from him. +Indeed to inclose such a note in a dispatch sure to be opened _en +famille_ was one of Griffith’s haphazard proceedings, which arose from +the present being always much more to him than the absent. Clarence was +much shocked at hearing these last sentences, and exclaimed, ‘He meant it +in confidence, papa; I implore you to treat it as unread!’ + +My father was always scrupulous about private letters, and said, ‘I beg +your pardon, Clarence; I should not have forced it from you. I wish I +had not seen it.’ + +My mother gave something between a snort and a sigh. ‘It is right for us +to know the truth,’ she said, ‘but that is enough. There is no need that +they should know at Hillside what was Griffith’s alternative.’ + +‘I would not add a pang to that dear girl’s grief,’ said my father; ‘but +I see the Fordyces were right. I shall never do anything to bring these +two together again.’ + +My mother chimed in with something about preferring Lady Peacock and the +Bella Vista crew to Ellen and Hillside, which made us rush into the +breach with incoherent defence. + +‘I know how it was,’ said Clarence. ‘His acting is capital, and of +course these people could not spare him, nor understand how much it +signified that he should be here. They make so much of him.’ + +‘Who do?’ asked my mother. ‘Lady Peacock? How do you know? Have you +been with them?’ + +‘I have dined at Mr. Clarkson’s,’ Clarence avowed; and, on further +pressure, it was extracted that Griffith—handsome, and with talents such +as tell in society—was a general favourite, and much engrossed by people +who found him an enlivenment and ornament to their parties. There had +been little or nothing of late of the former noisy, boyish dissipation; +but that the more fashionable varieties were getting a hold on him became +evident under the cross-questioning to which Clarence had to submit. + +My father said he felt like a party to a falsehood when he sent Griff’s +letter up to Hillside, and he indemnified himself by writing a letter +more indignant—not than was just, but than was prudent, especially in the +case of one little accustomed to strong censure. Indeed Clarence could +not restrain a slight groan when he perceived that our mother was shut up +in the study to assist in the composition. Her denunciations always +outran my father’s, and her pain showed itself in bitterness. ‘I ought +to have had the presence of mind to refuse to show the letter,’ he said; +‘Griff will hardly forgive me.’ + +Ellen looked very thin, and with a transparent delicacy of complexion. +She had greatly grieved over her grandfather’s illness and the first +change in her happy home; and she must have been much disappointed at +Griffith’s absence. Emily dreaded her mention of the subject when they +first met. + +‘But,’ said my sister, ‘she said no word of him. All she cared to tell +me was of the talks she had with her grandfather, when he made her read +his favourite chapters in the Bible; and though he had no memory for +outside things, his thoughts were as beautiful as ever. Sometimes his +face grew so full of glad contemplation that she felt quite awestruck, as +if it were becoming like the face of an angel. It made her realise, she +said, “how little the ups and downs of this life matter, if there can be +such peace at the last.” And, after all, I could not help thinking that +it was better perhaps that Griff did not come. Any other sort of talk +would have jarred on her just now, and you know he would never stand much +of that.’ + +Much as we loved our Griff, we had come to the perception that Ellen was +a treasure he could not esteem properly. + +The Lester cousins, never remarkable for good taste, forced on her the +knowledge of his employment. Her father could not refrain from telling +us that her exclamation had been, ‘Poor Griff, how shocked he must be! +He was so fond of dear grandpapa. Pray, papa, get Mr. Winslow to let him +know that I am not hurt, for I know he could not help it. Or may I ask +Emily to tell him so?’ + +I wish Mrs. Fordyce would have absolved her from the promise not to +mention Griff to us. That innocent reliance might have touched him, as +Emily would have narrated it; but it only rendered my father more +indignant, and more resolved to reserve the message till a repentant +apology should come. And, alas! none ever came. Just wrath on a +voiceless paper has little effect. There is reason to believe that Griff +did not like the air of my father’s letter, and never even read it. He +diligently avoided Clarence, and the pain and shame his warm heart must +have felt only made him keep out of reach. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. +FACILIS DESCENSUS. + + + ‘The slippery verge her feet beguiled; + She tumbled headlong in.’ + + GRAY. + +ONE of Griffith’s briefest notes in his largest hand announced that he +had accepted various invitations to country houses, for cricket matches, +archery meetings, and the like; nor did he even make it clear where his +address would be, except that he would be with a friend in Scotland when +grouse-shooting began. + +Clarence, however, came home for a brief holiday. He was startled at the +first sight of Ellen. He said she was indeed lovelier than ever, with an +added sweetness in her clear eyes and the wild rose flush in her delicate +cheek; but that she looked as if she was being refined away to nothing, +and was more than ever like the vision with the lamp. + +Of course the Fordyces had not been going into society, though Ellen and +Emily were as much together as before, helping one another in practising +their school children in singing, and sharing in one another’s studies +and pursuits. There had been in the spring a change at Wattlesea; the +old incumbent died, and the new one was well reported of as a very +earnest hardworking man. He seemed to be provided with a large family, +and there was no driving into Wattlesea without seeing members of it +scattered about the place. + +The Fordyces being anxious to show them attention without a regular +dinner-party, decided on inviting all the family to keep Anne’s ninth +birthday, and Emily and Martyn were of course to come and assist at the +entertainment. + +It was on the morning of the day fixed that a letter came to me whose +contents seemed to burn themselves into my brain. Martyn called across +the breakfast-table, ‘Look at Edward! Has any one sent you a young +basilisk?’ + +‘I wish it was,’ I gasped out. + +‘Don’t look so,’ entreated Emily. ‘Tell us! Is it Griff?’ + +‘Not ill-hurt?’ cried my mother. ‘Oh no, no. Worse!’ and then somehow I +articulated that he was married; and Clarence exclaimed, ‘Not the +Peacock!’ and at my gesture my father broke out. ‘He has done for +himself, the unhappy boy. A disgraceful Scotch marriage. Eh?’ + +‘It was his sense of honour,’ I managed to utter. + +‘Sense of fiddlestick!’ said my poor father. ‘Don’t stop to excuse him. +We’ve had enough of that! Let us hear.’ + +I cannot give a copy of the letter. It was so painful that it was +destroyed; for there was a tone of bravado betraying his uneasiness, but +altogether unbecoming. All that it disclosed was, that some one staying +in the same house had paid insulting attentions to Lady Peacock; she had +thrown herself on our brother’s protection, and after interfering on her +behalf, he had found that there was no means of sheltering her but by +making her his wife. This had been effected by the assistance of the +lady of the house where they had been staying; and Griffith had written +to me two days later from Edinburgh, declaring that Selina had only to be +known to be loved, and to overcome all prejudices. + +‘Prejudices,’ said my father bitterly. ‘Prejudices in favour of truth +and honour.’ + +And my mother uttered the worst reproach of all, when in my agitation, I +slipped and almost fell in rising—‘Oh, my poor Edward! that I should have +lived to think yours the least misfortune that has befallen my sons!’ + +‘Nay, mother,’ said Clarence, putting Martyn toward her, ‘here is one to +make up for us all.’ + +‘Clarence,’ said my father, ‘your mother did not mean anything but that +you and Edward are the comfort of our lives. I wish there were a chance +of Griffith redeeming the past as you have done; but I see no hope of +that. A man is never ruined till he is married.’ + +At that moment there was a step in the hall, a knock at the door, and +there stood Mr. Frank Fordyce. He looked at us and said, ‘It is true +then.’ + +‘To our shame and sorrow it is,’ said my father. ‘Fordyce, how can we +look you in the face?’ + +‘As my dear good friend, and my father’s,’ said the kind man, shaking him +by the hand heartily. ‘Do you think we could blame you for this youth’s +conduct? Stay’—for we young ones were about to leave the room. ‘My poor +girl knows nothing yet. Her mother luckily got the letter in her +bedroom. We can’t put off the Reynoldses, you know, so I came to ask the +young people to come up as if nothing had happened, and then Ellen need +know nothing till the day is over.’ + +‘If I can,’ said Emily. + +‘You can be capable of self-command, I hope,’ said my mother severely, +‘or you do not deserve to be called a friend.’ + +Such speeches might not be pleasant, but they were bracing, and we all +withdrew to leave the elders to talk it over together, when, as I +believe, kind Parson Frank was chiefly concerned to argue my parents out +of their shame and humiliation. + +Clarence told us what he knew or guessed; and we afterwards understood +the matter to have come about chiefly through poor Griff’s weakness of +character, and love of amusement and flattery. The boyish flirtation +with Selina Clarkson had never entirely died away, though it had been +nothing more than the elder woman’s bantering patronage and easy +acceptance of the youth’s equally gay, jesting admiration. It had, +however, involved some raillery on his attachment to the little +Methodistical country girl, and this gradually grew into jealousy of +her—especially as Griff became more of a man, and a brilliant member of +society. The detention from the funeral had been a real victory on the +widow’s part, and the few times when Clarence had seen them together he +had been dismayed at the _cavaliere serviente_ terms on which Griff +seemed to stand; but his words of warning were laughed down. The rest +was easy to gather. He had gone about on the round of visits almost as +an appendage to Lady Peacock, till they came to a free and easy house, +where her coquetry and love of admiration brought on one of those +disputes which rendered his championship needful; and such defence could +only have one conclusion, especially in Scotland, where hasty private +marriages were still legal. What an exchange! Only had Griff ever +comprehended the worth of his treasure? + +Emily went as late as she could, that there might be the less chance of a +tête-à-tête, in which she might be surprised into a betrayal of her +secret: indeed she only started at last when Martyn’s impatience had +become intolerable. + +What was our amazement when, much earlier than we expected, we saw Mr. +Fordyce driving up in his phaeton, and heard the story he had to tell. + +Emily’s delay had succeeded in bringing her only just in time for the +luncheon that was to be the children’s dinner. There was a keen-looking, +active, sallow clergyman, grizzled, and with an air of having seen much +service; a pale, worn wife, with a gentle, sensible face; and a +bewildering flock of boys and girls, all apparently under the command of +a very brisk, effective-looking elder sister of fourteen or fifteen, who +seemed to be the readiest authority, and to decide what and how much each +might partake of, among delicacies, evidently rare novelties. + +The day was late in August. The summer had broken; there had been rain, +and, though fine, the temperature was fitter for active sports than +anything else. Croquet was not yet invented, and, besides, most of the +party were of the age for regular games at play. Ellen and Emily did +their part in starting these—finding, however, that the Reynolds boys +were rather rough, in spite of the objurgations of their sister, who +evidently thought herself quite beyond the age for romps. The sports led +them to the great home-field on the opposite slope of the ridge from our +own. The new farm-buildings were on the level ground at the bottom to +the right, where the declivity was much more gradual than to the left, +which was very steep, and ended in furze bushes and low copsewood. It +was voted a splendid place for hide-and-seek, and the game was soon in +such full career that Ellen, who had had quite running enough, could fall +out of it, and with her, the other two elder girls. Emily felt Fanny +Reynolds’ presence a sort of protection, ‘little guessing what she was up +to,’ to use her own expression. Perhaps the girl had not earlier made +out who Emily was, or she had been too much absorbed in her cares; but, +as the three sat resting on a stump overlooking the hill, she was +prompted by the singular inopportuneness of precocious fourteen to +observe, ‘I ought to have congratulated you, Miss Winslow.’ + +Emily gabbled out, ‘Thank you, never mind,’ hoping thus to put a stop to +whatever might be coming; but there was no such good fortune. ‘We saw it +in the paper. It is your brother, isn’t it?’ + +‘What?’ asked unsuspicious Ellen, thinking, no doubt, of some fresh glory +to Griffith. + +And before Emily could utter a word, if there were any she could have +uttered, out it came. ‘The marriage—John Griffith Winslow, Esquire, +eldest son of John Edward Winslow of Chantry House, to Selina, relict of +Sir Henry Peacock and daughter of George Clarkson, Esquire, Q.C. I +didn’t think it could be you at first, because you would have been at the +wedding.’ + +Emily had not even time to meet Ellen’s eyes before they were startled by +a shriek that was not the merry ‘whoop’ and ‘I spy’ of the game, and, +springing up, the girls saw little Anne Fordyce rushing headlong down the +very steepest part of the slope, just where it ended in an extremely +muddy pool, the watering-place of the cattle. The child was totally +unable to stop herself, and so was Martyn, who was dashing after her. +Not a word was said, though, perhaps, there was a shriek or two, but the +elder sisters flew with one accord towards the pond. They also were some +way above it, but at some distance off, so that the descent was not so +perpendicular, and they could guard against over-running themselves. +Ellen, perhaps from knowing the ground better, was far before the other +two; but already poor little Anne had gone straight down, and fallen flat +on her face in the water, Martyn after her, perhaps with a little more +free will, for, though he too fell, he was already struggling to lift +Anne up, and had her head above water, when Ellen arrived and dashed in +to assist. + +The pond began by being shallow, but the bottom sloped down into a deep +hollow, and was besides covered several feet deep with heavy +cattle-trodden mire and weeds, in which it was almost impossible to gain +a footing, or to move. By the time Emily and Miss Reynolds had come to +the brink, Ellen and Martyn were standing up in the water, leaning +against one another, and holding poor little Anne’s head up—all they +could do. Ellen called out, ‘Don’t! don’t come in! Call some one! The +farm! We are sinking in! You can’t help! Call—’ + +The danger was really terrible of their sinking in the mud and weeds, and +being sucked into the deep part of the pool, and they were too far in to +be reached from the bank. Emily perceived this, and ran as she had never +run before, happily meeting on the way with the gentlemen, who had been +inspecting the new model farm-buildings, and had already taken alarm from +the screams. + +They found the three still with their heads above water, but no more, for +every struggle to get up the slope only plunged them deeper in the +horrible mud. Moreover, Fanny Reynolds was up to her ankles in the mud, +holding by one of her brothers, but unable to reach Martyn. It seems she +had had some idea of forming a chain of hands to pull the others out. + +Even now the rescue was not too easy. Mr. Fordyce hurried in, and took +Anne in his arms; but, even with his height and strength, he found his +feet slipping away under him, and could only hand the little insensible +girl to Mr. Reynolds, bidding him carry her at once to the house, while +he lifted Martyn up only just in time, and Ellen clung to him. Thus +weighted, he could not get out, till the bailiff and another man had +brought some faggots and a gate that were happily near at hand, and +helped him to drag the two out, perfectly exhausted, and Martyn hardly +conscious. They both were carried to the Rectory,—Ellen by her father, +Martyn by the foreman,—and they were met at the door by the tidings that +little Anne was coming to herself. + +Indeed, by the time Mr. Fordyce had put on dry clothes, all three were +safe in warm beds, and quite themselves again, so that he trusted that no +mischief was done; though he decided upon fetching my mother to satisfy +herself about Martyn. However, a ducking was not much to a healthy +fellow like Martyn, and my mother found him quite fit to dress himself in +the clothes she brought, and to return home with her. Both the girls +were asleep, but Ellen had had a shivering fit, and her mother was with +her, and was anxious. Emily told her mother of Fanny Reynolds’ +unfortunate speech, and it was thought right to mention it. Mrs. Fordyce +listened kindly, kissed Emily, and told her not to be distressed, for +possibly it might turn out to have been the best thing for Ellen to have +learnt the fact at such a moment; and, at any rate, it had spared her +parents some doubt and difficulty as to the communication. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. +WALY, WALY. + + + ‘And am I then forgot, forgot? + It broke the heart of Ellen!’ + + CAMPBELL. + +CLARENCE and Martyn walked over to Hillside the first thing the next +morning to inquire for the two sisters. As to one, they were quickly +reassured, for Anne was in the porch feeding the doves, and no sooner did +she see them than out she flew, and was clinging round Martyn’s neck, her +hat falling back as she kissed him on both cheeks, with an eagerness that +made him, as Clarence reported, turn the colour of a lobster, and look +shy, not to say sheepish, while she exclaimed, ‘ Oh, Martyn! mamma says +she never thanked you, for you really and truly did save my life, and I +am so glad it was you—’ + +‘It was not I, it was Ellen,’ gruffly muttered Martyn. + +‘Oh yes! but papa says I should have been smothered in that horrid mud, +before Ellen could get to me if you had not pulled me up directly.’ + +The elders came out by this time, and Clarence was able to get in his +inquiry. Ellen had had a feverish night, and her chest seemed oppressed, +but her mother did not think her seriously ill. Once she had asked, ‘Is +it true, what Fanny Reynolds said?’ and on being answered, ‘Yes, my dear, +I am afraid it is,’ she had said no more; and as the Fordyce habit of +treating colds was with sedatives, her mother thought her scarcely awake +to the full meaning of the tidings, and hoped to prevent her dwelling on +them till she had recovered the physical shock. Having answered these +inquiries, the two parents turned upon Martyn, who, in an access of +shamefacedness, had crept behind Clarence and a great orange-tree, and +was thence pulled out by Anne’s vigorous efforts. The full story had +come to light. The Reynolds’ boys had grown boisterous as soon as the +restraint of the young ladies’ participation had been removed, and had, +whether intentionally or not, terrified little Anne in the chases of +hide-and-seek. Finally, one of them had probably been unable to +withstand the temptation of seeing her timid nervous way of peeping and +prying about; and had, without waiting to be properly found, leapt out of +his lair with a roar that scared the little girl nearly out of her wits, +and sent her flying, she knew not whither. Martyn was a few steps +behind, only not holding her hand, because the other children had derided +her for clinging to his protection. He had instantly seen where she was +going, and shouted to her to stop and take care; but she was past +attending to him, and he had no choice but to dart after her, seeing what +was inevitable; while George Reynolds had sense to stop in time, and seek +a safer descent. Had Martyn not been there to raise the child instantly +from the stifling mud, her sister could hardly have been in time to save +her. + +Mrs. Fordyce tearfully kissed him; her husband called him a little hero, +as if in joke, then gravely blessed him; and he looked, Clarence related, +as if he had been in the greatest possible disgrace. + +It was the second time that one of us had saved a life from drowning, but +there was none of the exultation we had felt that time before in London. +It was a much graver feeling, where the danger had really been greater, +and the rescue had been of one so dear to us. It was tempered likewise +by anxiety about our dear Ellen—ours, alas, no longer! She was laid up +for several days, and it was thought better that she should not see Emily +till she had recovered; but after a week had passed, her father drove +over to discuss some plans for the Poor-Law arrangements, and begged my +sister to go back in the carriage and spend the day with his daughter. + +We brothers could now look forward to some real intelligence; we became +restless; and in the afternoon Clarence and I set out with the +donkey-chair on the woodland path to meet Emily. We gained more than we +had hoped, for as we came round one of the turns in the winding path, up +the hanging beech-wood, we came on the two friends—Ellen, a truly +Una-like figure, in her white dress with her black scarf making a sable +stole. Perhaps we betrayed some confusion, for there was a bright flush +on her cheeks as she came towards us, and, standing straight up, said, +‘Clarence, Edward, I am so glad you are here; I wanted to see you. I +wanted—to say—I know he could not help it. It was his generosity—helping +those that need it; and—and—I’m not angry. And though that’s all over, +you’ll always be my brothers, won’t you?’ + +She held her outstretched hands to us both. I could not help it, I drew +her down, and kissed her brow; Clarence clasped her other hand and held +it to his lips, but neither of us could utter a word. + +She turned back and went quietly away through the wood, while Emily sank +down under the beech-tree in a paroxysm of grief. You may see which it +was, for Clarence cut out ‘E. M. F., 1835’ upon the bark. He soothed and +caressed poor Emily as in old nursery troubles; and presently she told us +that it would be long before we saw that dear one again, for Mrs. Fordyce +was going to take her away on the morrow. + +Mrs. Fordyce had seen Emily in private, before letting her go to Ellen. +There was evidently a great wish to be kind. Mrs. Fordyce said she could +never forget what she owed to us all, and could not think of blaming any +of us. ‘But,’ she said, ‘you are a sensible girl, Emily,’—‘how I hate +being called a sensible girl,’ observed the poor child, in +parenthesis,—‘and you must see that it is desirable not to encourage her +to indulge in needless discussion after she once understands the facts.’ +She added that she thought a cessation of present intercourse would be +wise till the sore was in some degree healed. She had not been satisfied +about her daughter’s health for some time, and meant to take her to Bath +the next day to consult a physician, and then decide what would be best. +‘And, my dear,’ she said, ‘if there should be a slackening of +correspondence, do not take it as unkindness, but as a token that my poor +child is recovering her tone. Do not discontinue writing to her, but be +guarded, and perhaps less rapid, in replying.’ + +It was for her friendship that poor Emily wept so bitterly—the first +friendship that had been an enthusiasm to her; looking at it as a cruel +injustice that Griff’s misdoing should separate them. The prediction +that all might be lived down and forgotten was too vague and distant to +be much consolation; indeed, we were too young to take it in. + +We had it all over again in a somewhat grotesque form when, at another +turn in the wood, we came upon Martyn and Anne, loaded with treasures +from their robbers’ cave, some of which were bestowed in my chair, the +others carried off between Anne and her not very willing nursery-maid. + +Anne kissed us all round, and augured cheerfully that she should lay up a +store of shells and rocks by the seaside to make ‘a perfect Robinson +Crusoe cavern,’ she said, ‘and then Clarence can come and be the +Spaniards and the savages. But that won’t be till next summer,’ she +added, shaking her head. ‘I shall get Ellen to tell Emily what shells I +find, and then she can tell Martyn; for mamma says girls never write to +boys unless they are their brothers! And now Martyn will never be my +brother,’ she added ruefully. + +‘You will always be our darling,’ I said. + +‘That’s not the same as your sister,’ she answered. However, amid +auguries of the combination of robbers and Robinson Crusoe, the parting +was effected, and Anne borne off by the maid; while we had Martyn on our +hands, stamping about and declaring that it was very hard that because +Griff chose to be a faithless, inconstant ruffian, all his pleasure and +comfort in life should be stopped! He said such outrageous things that, +between scolding him and laughing at him, Emily had been somewhat cheered +by the time we reached the house. + +My father had written to Griffith, in his first displeasure, curt wishes +that he might not have reason to repent of the step he had taken, though +he had not gone the right way to obtain a blessing. As it was not +suitable that a man should be totally dependent on his wife, his +allowance should be continued; but under present circumstances he must +perceive that he and Lady Peacock could not be received at Chantry House. +We were shown the letter, and thought it terribly brief and cold; but my +mother said it would be weak to offer forgiveness that was not sought, +and my father was specially exasperated at the absence of all contrition +as to the treatment of Ellen. All Griff had vouchsafed on that head +was—the rupture had been the Fordyces’ doing; he was not bound. As to +intercourse with him, Clarence and I might act as we saw fit. + +‘Only,’ said my father, as Clarence was leaving home, ‘I trust you not to +get yourself involved in this set.’ + +Clarence gave a queer smile, ‘They would not take me as a gift, papa.’ + +And as my father turned from the hall door, he laid his hand on his +wife’s arm, and said, ‘Who would have told us what that young fellow +would be to us.’ + +She sighed, and said, ‘He is not twenty-three; he has plenty of money, +and is very fond of Griff.’ + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. +THE RIVER’S BANK. + + + ‘And my friend rose up in the shadows, + And turned to me, + “Be of good cheer,” I said faintly, + For He called thee.’ + + B. M. + +MR. FORDYCE waited at Hillside till after Sunday, and then went to Bath +to hear the verdict of the physician. He returned as much depressed as +it was in his sanguine nature to be, for great delicacy of the lungs had +been detected; and to prevent the recent chill from leaving permanent +injury, Ellen must have a winter abroad, and warm sea or mountain air at +once. Whether the disease were constitutional and would have come on at +all events no one could tell. + +Consumption was much less understood half a century ago; codliver oil was +unknown; and stethoscopes were new inventions, only used by the more +advanced of the faculty. The only escape poor Parson Frank had from +accepting the doom was in disbelieving that a thing like a trumpet could +really reveal the condition of the chest. Moreover, Mrs. Fordyce had had +a brother who had, under the famous cowhouse cure, recovered enough to +return home, and be killed by the upsetting of a stage coach. + +Mrs. Fordyce took her daughter to Lyme, and waited there till her husband +had found a curate and made all arrangements. It must have been very +inconvenient not to come home; but, no doubt, she wanted to prevent any +more partings. Then they went abroad, travelling slowly, and seeing all +the sights that came in their way, to distract Ellen’s thoughts. She was +not allowed to hear what ailed her; but believed her languor and want of +interest in everything to be the effect of the blow she had received, +struggling to exert herself, and to enter gratefully into the enjoyments +provided for her. She was not prevented from writing to Emily; indeed, +no one liked to hinder anything she wished, but they were guide-book +letters, describing all she saw as a kind of duty, but scarcely +concealing the trouble it was to look. Such sentences would slip out as +‘This is a nice quiet place, and I am happy to say there is nothing that +one ought to see.’ Or, ‘I sat in the cathedral at Lucerne while the +others were going round. The organ was playing, and it was such rest!’ +Or, again, after a day on the Lago di Como, ‘It was glorious, and if you +and Edward were here, perhaps the beauty would penetrate my sluggish +soul!’ + +Ellen’s sluggish soul!—when we remembered her keen ecstasy at the Valley +of Rocks. + +Those letters were our chief interest in an autumn which seemed dreary to +us, in spite of friendly visitors; for had not our family hope and joy +been extinguished? There was no direct communication with Griffith after +his unpleasant reply to my father’s letter; but Clarence saw the newly +married pair on their return to Lady Peacock’s house in London, and +reported that they were very kind and friendly to him, and gave him more +invitations than he could accept. Being cross-examined when he came home +for Christmas, he declared his conviction that Lady Peacock had married +Griff entirely from affection, and that he had been—well—flattered into +it. They seemed very fond of each other now, and were launching out into +all sorts of gaieties; but though he did not tell my father, he confided +to me that he feared that Griffith had been disappointed in the amount of +fortune at his wife’s disposal. + +It was at that Christmas time, one night, having found an intrusive cat +upon my bed, Clarence carried her out at the back door close to his room, +and came back in haste and rather pale. ‘It is quite true about the lady +and the light being seen out of doors,’ he said in an awe-stricken voice, +‘I have just seen her flit from the mullion room to the ruin.’ + +We only noted the fact in that ghost-diary of ours—we told nobody, and +looked no more. We already believed that these appearances on the lawn +must be the cause that every window, up to the attics on the garden side +of the house, were so heavily shuttered and barred that there was no +opening them without noise. Indeed, those on the ground floor had in +addition bells attached to them. No doubt the former inhabitants had +done their best to prevent any one from seeing or inquiring into what was +unacknowledged and unaccountable. It might be only a coincidence, but we +could not help remarking that we had seen and heard nothing of her during +the engagement which might have united the two families; though, of +course, it would be ridiculous to suppose her cognisant of it, like the +White Lady of Avenel, dancing for joy at Mary’s marriage with Halbert +Glendinning. + +The Fordyces had settled at Florence, where they suffered a great deal +more from cold than they would have done at Hillside; and there was such +a cessation of Ellen’s letters that Emily feared that Mrs. Fordyce had +attained her wish and separated the friends effectually. However, Frank +Fordyce beguiled his enforced leisure with long letters to my father on +home business, Austrian misgovernment, and the Italian Church and people, +full of shrewd observations and new lights; and one of these ended thus, +‘My poor lassie has been in bed for ten days with a severe cold. She +begs me to say that she has begun a letter to Emily, and hopes soon to +finish it. We had thought her gaining ground, but she is sadly pulled +down. _Fiat voluntas_.’ + +The letter, which had been begun, never came; but, after three long +weeks, there was one from the dear patient herself, mentioning her +illness, and declaring that it was so comfortable to be allowed to be +tired, and to go nowhere and see nothing except the fragment of beautiful +blue sky, and the corner of a campanile, and the flowers Anne brought in +daily. + +As soon as she could be moved, they took her to Genoa, where she revived +enough to believe that she should be well if she were at home again, and +to win from her parents a promise to take her to Hillside as soon as the +spring winds were over. So anxious was she that, as soon as there was +any safety in travelling, the party began moving northwards, going by sea +to Marseilles to avoid the Corniche, so early in the year. There were +many fluctuations, and it was only her earnest yearning for home and +strong resolution that could have made her parents persevere; but at last +they were at Hillside, just after Whitsuntide, in the last week of May. + +Frank Fordyce walked over to see us on the very evening after their +arrival. He was much altered, his kindly handsome face looked almost as +if he had gone through an illness; and, indeed, apart from all his +anxiety and sorrow, he had pined in foreign parts for his human flock, as +well as his bullocks and his turnips. He had also read, thought, and +observed a great deal, and had left his long boyhood behind him, during a +space for study and meditation such as he had never had before. + +He was quite hopeless of his daughter’s recovery, and made no secret of +it. In passing through London the best advice had been taken, but only +to obtain the verdict that the case was beyond all skill, and that it was +only a matter of weeks, when all that could be done was to give as much +gratification as possible. The one thing that Ellen did care about was +to be at home—to have Emily with her, and once more see her school +children, her church, and her garden. Tired as she was she had sprung up +in the carriage at the first glimpse of Hillside spire, and had leant +forward at the window, nodding and smiling her greetings to all the +villagers. + +She had been taken at once to her room and her bed, but her father had +promised to beg Emily to come up by noon on the morrow. Then he sat +talking of local matters, not able to help showing what infinite relief +it was to him to be at home, and what music to his ears was the +Somersetshire dialect and deep English voice ‘after all those thin, +shrill, screeching foreigners.’ + +Poor Emily! It was in mingled grief and gladness that she set off the +next day, with the trepidation of one to whom sickness and decay were +hitherto unknown. When she returned, it was in a different mood, unable +to believe the doctors could be right, and in the delight of having her +own bright, sweet Ellen back again, all herself. They had talked, but +more of home and village than of foreign experiences; and though Ellen +did not herself assist, she had much enjoyed watching the unpacking of +the numerous gifts which had cost a perfect fortune at the Custom House. +No one seemed forgotten—villagers, children, servants, friends. Some of +these tokens are before me still. The Florentine mosaic paper-weight she +brought me presses this very sheet; the antique lamp she gave my father +is on the mantelpiece; Clarence’s engraving of Raffaelle’s St. Michael +hangs opposite to me on the wall. Most precious in our eyes was the +collection of plants, dried and labelled by herself, which she brought to +Emily and me—poor mummies now, but redolent of undying affection. Her +desire was to bestow all her keepsakes with her own hands, and in most +cases she actually did so—a few daily, as her strength served her. The +little figures in costume, coloured prints, Swiss carvings, French +knicknacks, are preserved in many a Hillside cottage as treasured relics +of ‘our young lady.’ Many years later, Martyn recognised a Hillside +native in a back street in London by a little purple-blue picture of +Vesuvius, and thereby reached the soft spot in a nearly dried-up heart. + +So bright and playful was the dear girl over all her old familiar +interests that we inexperienced beings believed not only that the wound +to her affections was healed, but that she either did not know or did not +realise the sentence that had been pronounced on her; but when this was +repeated to her mother, it was met by a sad smile and the reply that we +only saw her in her best hours. Still, through the summer, it was +impossible to us to accept the truth; she looked so lovely, was so +cheerful, and took such delight in all that was about her. + +With the first cold, however, she seemed to shrivel up, and the bad +nights extended into the days. Emily ascribed the change to the lack of +going out into the air, and always found reasons for the increased +languor and weakness; till at last there came a day when my poor little +sister seemed as if the truth had broken upon her for the first time, +when Ellen talked plainly to her of their parting, and had asked us both, +‘her dear brother and sister,’ to be with her at her Communion on All +Saints’ Day. + +She had written a little letter to Clarence, begging his forgiveness for +having cut him, and treated him with the scorn which, I believe, was the +chief fault that weighed upon her conscience; and, hearing my father’s +voice in the house, she sent a message to beg him to come and see her in +her mother’s dressing-room—that very window where I had first heard her +voice, refusing to come down to ‘those Winslows.’ She had sent for him +to entreat him to forgive Griffith and recall the pair to Chantry House. +‘Not now,’ she said, ‘but when I am gone.’ + +My father could deny her nothing, though he showed that the sight of her +made the entreaty all the harder to him; and she pleaded, ‘But you know +this was not his doing. I never was strong, and it had begun before. +Only think how sad it would have been for him.’ + +My father would have promised anything with that wasted hand on his, +those fervent eyes gazing on him, and he told her he would have given his +pardon long ago, if it had been sought, as it never had been. + +‘Ah! perhaps he did not dare!’ she said. ‘Won’t you write when all this +is over, and then you will be one family again as you used to be?’ + +He promised, though he scarcely knew where Griffith was. Clarence, +however, did. He had answered Ellen’s letter, and it had made him ask +for a few days’ leave of absence. So he came down on the Saturday, and +was allowed a quarter of an hour beside Ellen’s sofa in the Sunday +evening twilight. He brought away the calm, rapt expression I had +sometimes seen on his face at church, and Ellen made a special entreaty +that he might share the morrow’s feast. + +There are some things that cannot be written of, and that was one. Still +we had not thought the end near at hand, though on Tuesday morning a +message was sent that Ellen was suffering and exhausted, and could not +see Emily. It was a wild, stormy day, with fierce showers of sleet, and +we clung to the hope that consideration for my sister had prompted the +message. In the afternoon Clarence battled with a severe gale, made his +way to Hillside, and heard that the weather affected the patient, and +that there was much bodily distress. For one moment he saw her father, +who said in broken accents that we could only pray that the spirit might +be freed without much more suffering, ‘though no doubt it is all right.’ + +Before daylight, before any one in the house was up, Clarence was +mounting the hill in the gusts that had done their work on the trees and +were subsiding with the darkness. And just as he was beginning the +descent, as the sun tipped the Hillside steeple with light, he heard the +knell, and counted the twenty-one for the years of our Ellen—for ours she +will always be. + +‘Somehow,’ he told me, ‘I could not help taking off my hat and giving +thanks for her, and then all the drops on all the boughs began sparkling, +and there was a hush on all around as if she were passing among the +angels, and a thrush broke out into a regular song of jubilee!’ + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. +NOT IN VAIN. + + + ‘Then cheerly to your work again, + With hearts new braced and set + To run untired love’s blessed race, + As meet for those who face to face + Over the grave their Lord have met.’ + + KEBLE. + +THAT dying request could not but be held sacred, and overtures were made +to Griffith, who returned an odd sort of answer, friendly and +affectionate, but rather as if my father were the offending party in need +of forgiveness. He and his wife were obliged for the invitation, but +could not accept it, as they had taken a house near Melton-Mowbray for +the hunting season, and were entertaining friends. + +In some ways it was disappointing, in others it was a relief, not to have +the restraint of Lady Peacock’s presence during the last days we were to +have with the Fordyces. For a fresh loss came upon us. Beachharbour was +a fishing-village on the north-western coast, which, within the previous +decade, had sprung into importance, on the one hand as a fashionable +resort, on the other as a minor port for colliers. The living was +wretchedly poor, and had been held for many years by one of the old +inferior stamp of clergy, scarcely superior in habits or breeding to the +farmers, and only outliving the scandals of his youth to fall into a +state of indolent carelessness. It was in the gift of a child, for whom +Sir Horace Lester was trustee, and that gentleman had written, about a +fortnight before Ellen’s death, to consult Mr. Fordyce on its disposal, +declaring the great difficulties and deficiencies of the place, which +made it impossible to offer it to any one without considerable private +means, and also able to attract and improve the utterly demoralised +population. He ended, almost in joke, by saying, ‘In fact, I know no one +who could cope with the situation but yourself; I wish you could find me +your own counterpart, or come yourself in earnest. It is just the air +that suits my sister—bracing sea-breezes; the parsonage, though a +wretched place, is well situated, and she would be all the stronger; but +in poor Ellen’s state there is no use in talking of it, and besides I +know you are wedded to your fertile fields and Somersetshire clowns.’ + +That letter (afterwards shown to us) had worked on Mr. Fordyce’s mind +during those mournful days. He was still young enough to leave behind +him Parson Frank and the ‘squarson’ habits of Hillside in which he had +grown up; and the higher and more spiritual side of his nature had been +fostered by the impressions of the last year. He was conscious, as he +said, that his talk had been overmuch of bullocks, and that his farm had +engrossed him more than he wished should happen again, though a change +would be tearing himself up by the roots; and as to his own people at +Hillside, the curate, an active young man, had well supplied his place, +and, in his _truly_ humble opinion, though by no means in theirs, +introduced several improvements even in that model parish. + +What had moved him most, however, was a conversation he had had with +Ellen, with whom during this last year he had often held deep and serious +counsel, with a growing reverence on his side. He had read her uncle’s +letter to her, and to his great surprise found that she looked on it as a +call. Devotedly fond as she herself was of Hillside, she could see that +her father’s abilities were wasted on so small a field, in a manner +scarcely good for himself, and she had been struck with the greater force +of his sermons when preaching to educated congregations abroad. If no +one else could or would take efficient charge of these Beachharbour +souls, she could see that it would weigh on his conscience to take +comparative ease in his own beloved meadows, among a flock almost his +vassals. Moreover, she relieved his mind about her mother. She had +discovered, what the good wife kept out of sight, that the north-country +woman never could entirely have affinities with the south, and she had +come to the conclusion that Mrs. Fordyce’s spirits would be heavily tried +by settling down at Hillside in the altered state of things. + +After this talk, Mr. Fordyce had suggested a possible incumbent to his +brother-in-law, but left the matter open; and when Sir Horace came down +to the funeral, it was more thoroughly discussed; and, as soon as Mrs. +Fordyce saw that departure would not break her husband’s heart, she made +no secret of the way that both her opinion and her inclinations lay. She +told my mother that she had always believed her own ill-health was caused +by the southern climate, and that she hoped that Anne would grow up +stronger than her sister in the northern breezes. + +Poor little Anne! Of all the family, to her the change was the greatest +grief. The tour on the Continent had been a dull affair to her; she was +of the age to weary of long confinement in the carriage and in strange +hotels, and too young to appreciate ‘grown-up’ sights. Picture-galleries +and cathedrals were only a drag to her, and if the experiences that were +put into Rosella’s mouth for the benefit of her untravelled sisters could +have been written down, they would have been as unconventional as Mark +Twain’s adventures. Rosella went through the whole tour, and left a leg +behind in the hinge of a door, but in compensation brought home a Paris +bonnet and mantle. She seemed to have been her young mistress’s chief +comfort, next to an occasional game of play with her father, or a walk, +looking in at the shop windows and watching marionettes, or, still +better, the wonderful sports of brown-legged street children, without +trying to make her speak French or Italian—in her eyes one of the +inflictions of the journey, in those of her elders the one benefit she +might gain. She had missed the petting to which she had been accustomed +from her grandfather and from all of us; and she had absolutely counted +the days till she could get home again, and had fallen into dire disgrace +for fits of crying when Ellen’s weakness caused delays. Martyn’s +holidays had been a time of rapture to her, for there was no one to +attend much to her at home, and she was too young to enter into the +weight of anxiety; so the two had run as wild together as a gracious +well-trained damsel of ten and a fourteen-year-old boy with tender +chivalry awake in him could well do. To be out of the way was all that +was asked of her for the time, and all old delights, such as the robbers’ +cave, were renewed with fresh zest. + + ‘It was the sweetest and the last.’ + +And though Martyn was gone back to school, the child felt the wrench from +home most severely. As she told me on one of those sorrowful days, ‘She +did think she had come back to live at dear, dear little Hillside all the +days of her life.’ Poor child, we became convinced that this vehement +attachment to Griffith’s brothers was one factor in Mrs. Fordyce’s desire +to make a change that should break off these habits of intimacy and +dependence. + +Pluralities had not become illegal, and Frank Fordyce, being still the +chief landholder in Hillside, and wishing to keep up his connection with +his people, did not resign the rectory, though he put the curate into the +house, and let the farm. Once or twice a year he came to fulfil some of +a landlord’s duties, and was as genial and affectionate as ever, but more +and more absorbed in the needs of Beachharbour, and unconsciously showing +his own growth in devotion and activity; while he brought his splendid +health and vigour, his talent, his wealth, and, above all, his winning +charm of manner and address, to that magnificent work at Beachharbour, +well known to all of you; though, perhaps, you never guessed that the +foundation of all those churches and their grand dependent works of +piety, mercy, and beneficence was laid in one young girl’s grave. I +never heard of a fresh achievement there without remembering how the +funeral psalm ends with— + + ‘Prosper Thou the work of our hands upon us, + O prosper Thou our handiwork.’ + +And Emily? Her drooping after the loss of her friend was sad, but it +would have been sadder but for the spirit Ellen had infused. We found +the herbs to heal our woe round our pathway, though the first joyousness +of life had departed. The reports Mr. Henderson and the Hillside curate +brought from Oxford were great excitements to us, and we thought and +puzzled over church doctrine, and tried to impart it to our scholars. We +I say, for Henderson had made me take a lads’ class, which has been the +chief interest of my life. Even the roughest were good to their helpless +teacher, and some men, as gray-headed as myself, still come every Sunday +to read with Mr. Edward, and are among the most faithful friends of my +life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. +GRIFF’S BIRD. + + + ‘Shall such mean little creatures pretend to the fashion? + Cousin Turkey Cock, well may you be in a passion.’ + + _The Peacock at Home_. + +IT was not till the second Christmas after dear Ellen Fordyce’s death +that my eldest brother brought his wife and child to Chantry House, after +an urgent letter to Lady Peacock from my mother, who yearned for a sight +of Griffith’s boy. + +I do not wish to dwell on that visit. Selina, or Griff’s bird, as Martyn +chose to term her, was certainly handsome and stylish; but her complexion +had lost freshness and delicacy, and the ladies said her colour was +rouge, and her fine figure due to other female mysteries. She meant to +be very gracious, and patronised everybody, especially Emily, who, she +said, would be quite striking if not sacrificed by her dress, and whom +she much wished to take to London, engaging to provide her with a husband +before the season was over, not for a moment believing my mother’s +assurance that it would be a trial to us all whenever we had to resign +our Emily. Nay, she tried to condole with the poor moped family slave, +and was received with such hot indignation as made her laugh, for, to do +her justice, she was good-natured and easy-tempered. However, I saw less +of her than did the others, for I believe she thought the sight of me +made her ill. Griff, poor old fellow, was heartily glad to be with us +again, but quite under her dominion. He had lost his glow of youth and +grace of figure, his complexion had reddened, and no one would have +guessed him only a year older than Clarence, whose shoulders did indeed +reveal something of the desk, but whose features, though pale, were still +fair and youthful. The boy was another Clarence, not so much in +compliment to his godfather as because it was the most elegant name in +the family, and favoured an interesting belief, current among his +mother’s friends, that the king had actually stood sponsor to the uncle. +Poor little man, his grandmother shut herself into the bookroom and +cried, after her first sight of him. He was a wretched, pinched morsel +of humanity, though mamma and Emily detected wonderful resemblances; I +never saw them, but then he inherited his mother’s repulsion towards me, +and roared doubly at the sight of me. My mother held that he was the +victim of Selina’s dissipations and mismanagement of herself and him, and +gave many matronly groans at his treatment by the smart, flighty nurse, +who waged one continual warfare with the household. + +Accustomed to absolute supremacy in domestic matters, it was very hard +for my mother to have her counsels and experience set at naught, and, if +she appealed to Griff, to find her notions treated with the polite +deference he might have shown to a cottage dame. + +A course of dinner-parties could not hinder her ladyship from finding +Chantry House insufferably dull, ‘always like Sunday;’ and, when she +found that we were given to Saints’ Day services, her pity and +astonishment knew no bounds. ‘It was all very well for a poor object +like Edward,’ she held, ‘but as to Mr. Winslow and Clarence, did they go +for the sake of example? Though, to be sure, Clarence might be a Papist +any day.’ + +Popery, instead of Methodism, was just beginning to be the bugbear set up +for those whom the world held to be ultra-religious, and my mother was so +far disturbed at our interest in what was termed Oxford theology that the +warning would have alarmed her if it had come from any other quarter. +However, Lady Peacock was rather fond of Clarence, and entertained him +with schemes for improving Chantry House when it should have descended to +Griffith. The mullion rooms were her special aversion, and were all to +be swept away, together with the vaultings and the ruin—‘enough to give +one the blues, if there were nothing else,’ she averred. + +We really felt it to the credit of our country that Sir George Eastwood +sent an invitation to an early dance to please his young daughters; and +for this our visitors prolonged their stay. My mother made Clarence go, +that she might have some one to take care of her and Emily, since Griff +was sure to be absorbed by his lady. Emily had not been to a ball since +those gay days in London with Ellen. She shrank back from the contrast, +and would have begged off; but she was told that she must submit; and +though she said she felt immeasurably older than at that happy time, I +believe she was not above being pleased with the pale pink satin dress +and wreath of white jessamine, which my father presented to her, and in +which, according to Martyn, she beat ‘Griff’s bird all to shivers.’ + +Clarence had grown much less bashful and embarrassed since the Tooke +affair had given him a kind of position and a sense of not being a +general disgrace. He really was younger in some ways at five-and-twenty +than at eighteen; he enjoyed dancing, and especially enjoyed the +compliments upon our sister, whom in our usual fashion we viewed as the +belle of the ball. He was standing by my fire, telling me the various +humours of the night, when a succession of shrieks ran through the house. +He dashed away to see what was the matter, and returned, in a few +seconds, saying that Selina had seen some one in the garden, and neither +she nor mamma would be satisfied without examination—‘though, of course, +I know what it must be,’ he added, as he drew on his coat. + +‘Bill, are you coming?’ said Griff at the door. ‘You needn’t, if you +don’t like it. I bet it is your old friend.’ + +‘I’m coming! I’m coming! I’m sure it is,’ shouted Martyn from behind, +with the inconsistent addition, ‘I’ve got my gun.’ + +‘Enough to dispose of any amount of robbers or phantoms either,’ observed +Griff as they went forth by the back door, reinforced by Amos Bell with a +lantern in one hand and a poker in the other. + +My father was fortunately still asleep, and my mother came down to see +whether I was frightened. + +She said she had no patience with Selina, and had left her to Emily and +her maid; but, before many words had been spoken, they all came creeping +down after her, feeling safety in numbers, or perhaps in her entire +fearlessness. The report of a gun gave us all a shock, and elicited +another scream or two. My mother, hoping that no one was hurt, hastened +into the hall, but only to meet Griff, hurrying in laughing to reassure +us with the tidings that it was only Martyn, who had shot the old +sun-dial by way of a robber; and he was presently followed by the others, +Martyn rather crestfallen, but arguing with all his might that the +sun-dial was exactly like a man; and my mother hurried every one off +upstairs without further discussion. + +Clarence was rather white, and when Martyn demanded, ‘Do you really think +it was the ghost? Fancy her selection of the bird!’ he gravely answered, +‘Martyn, boy, if it were, it is not a thing to speak of in that tone. +You had better go to bed.’ + +Martyn went off, somewhat awed. Clarence was cold and shivering, and +stood warming himself. He was going to wind up his watch, but his hand +shook, and I did it for him, noting the hour—twenty minutes past one. + +It appeared that Selina, on going upstairs, recollected that she had left +her purse in Griff’s sitting-room before going to dress, and had gone in +quest of it. She heard strange shouts and screams outside, and, going to +one of the old windows, where the shutters were less unmanageable than +elsewhere, she beheld a woman rushing towards the house pursued by at +least a couple of men. Filled with terror she had called out, and nearly +fainted in Griff’s arms. + +‘It agrees with all we have heard before,’ said Clarence, ‘the very day +and hour!’ + +‘As Martyn said, the person is strange.’ + +‘Villagers, less concerned, have seen the like,’ he said; ‘and, indeed, +all unconsciously poor Selina has cut away the hope of redress,’ he +sighed. ‘Poor, restless spirit! would that I could do anything for her.’ + +‘Let me ask, do you ever see her now?’ + +‘N-no, I suppose not; but whenever I am anxious or worried, the trouble +takes her form in my dreams.’ + +Lady Peacock had soon extracted the ghost story from her husband, and, +though she professed to be above the vulgar folly of belief in it, her +nerves were so upset, she said, that nothing would have induced her to +sleep another night in the house. The rational theory on this occasion +was that one of the maids must have stolen out to join in the Christmas +entertainment at the Winslow Arms, and been pursued home by some tipsy +revellers; but this explanation was not productive of goodwill between +the mother and daughter-in-law, since mamma had from the first so +entirely suspected Selina’s smart nurse as actually to have gone straight +to the nursery on the plea of seeing whether the baby had been +frightened. The woman was found asleep—apparently so—said my mother, but +all her clothes were in an untidy heap on the floor, which to my mother +was proof conclusive that she had slipped into the house in the +confusion, and settled herself there. Had not my mother with her own +eyes watched from the window her flirtations with the gardener, and was +more evidence requisite to convict her? Mamma entertained the hope that +her proposal would be adopted of herself taking charge of her grandson, +and fattening his poor little cheeks on our cows’ milk, while the rest of +the party continued their round of visits. + +Lady Peacock, however, treated it as a personal imputation that _her_ +nurse should be accused instead of any servant of Mrs. Winslow’s own, +though, as Griff observed, not only character, but years and features +might alike acquit them of any such doings; but even he could not laugh +long, for it was no small vexation to him that such offence should have +arisen between his mother and wife. Of course there was no open +quarrel—my mother had far too much dignity to allow it to come to +that—but each said in private bitter things of the other, and my lady’s +manner of declining to leave her baby at Chantry House was almost +offensive. + +Poor Griffith, who had been growing more like himself every day, tried in +vain to smooth matters, and would have been very glad to leave his child +to my mother’s management, though, of course, he acquitted the nurse of +the midnight adventure. He privately owned to us that he had no opinion +of the woman, but he defended her to my mother, in whose eyes this was +tantamount to accusing her own respectable maids, since it was incredible +that any rational person could accept the phantom theory. + +Gladly would he have been on better terms, for he had had to confess that +his wife’s fortune had turned out to be much less than common report had +stated, or than her style of living justified, and that his marriage had +involved him in a sea of difficulties, so that he had to beg for a larger +allowance, and for assistance in paying off debts. + +The surrender of the London house and of some of the chief expenses were +made conditions of such favours, and Griffith had assented gratefully +when alone with his father; but after an interview with his wife, +demonstrations were made that it was highly economical to have a house in +town, and horses, carriages, and servants and that any change would be +highly derogatory to the heir of Earlscombe and the sacred wishes of the +late Sir Henry Peacock. + +In fact, it was impressed on us that we were mere homely, countrified +beings, who could not presume to dictate to her ladyship, but who had ill +requited her condescension in deigning to beam upon us. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. +SLACK WATER. + + + ‘O dinna look, ye prideful queen, on a’ aneath your ken, + For he wha seems the farthest _but_ aft wins the farthest _ben_, + And whiles the doubie of the schule tak’s lead of a’ the rest: + The birdie sure to sing is the gorbal of the nest. + + ‘The cauld, grey, misty morn aft brings a sunny summer day; + The tree wha’s buds are latest is longest to decay; + The heart sair tried wi’ sorrow still endures the sternest test: + The birdie sure to sing is the gorbal of the nest. + + ‘The wee wee stern that glints in heaven may be a lowin’ sun, + Though like a speck of light it seem amid the welkin dun; + The humblest sodger on the field may win a warrior’s crest: + The birdie sure to sing is the gorbal of the nest.’ + + _Scotch Newspaper_. + +THE wickedness of the nurse was confirmed in my mother’s eyes when the +doom on the first-born of the Winslows was fulfilled, and the poor little +baby, Clarence, succumbed to a cold on the chest caught while his nurse +was gossiping with a guardsman. + +He was buried in London. ‘It was better for Selina to get those things +over as quickly as possible,’ said Griff; but Clarence saw that he +suffered much more than his wife would let him show to her. ‘It is so +bad for him to dwell on it,’ she said. ‘You see. I never let myself +give way.’ + +And she was soon going out, nearly as usual, till their one other infant +came to open its eyes only for a few hours on this troublesome world, and +owe its baptism to Clarence’s exertions. My mother, who was in London +just after, attending on the good old Admiral’s last illness, was greatly +grieved and disgusted with all she heard and saw of the young pair, and +that was not much. She felt their disregard of her uncle as heartless, +or rather as insulting, on Selina’s part, and weak on Griff’s; and on all +sides she heard of their reckless extravagance, which made her forebode +the worst. + +All these disappointments much diminished my father’s pleasure and +interest in his inheritance. He had little heart to build and improve, +when his eldest son’s wife made no secret of her hatred to the place, or +to begin undertakings only to be neglected by those who came after; and +thus several favourite schemes were dropped, or prevented by Griffith’s +applications for advances. + +At last there was a crisis. At the end of the second season after their +visit to us, Clarence sent a hasty note, begging my father to join him in +averting an execution in Griffith’s house. I cannot record the +particulars, for just at that time I had a long low fever, and did not +touch my diary for many weeks; nor indeed did I know much about the +circumstances, since my good nurses withheld as much as possible, and +would not let me talk about what they believed to make me worse. Nor can +I find any letters about it. I believe they were all made away with long +ago, and thus I only know that my father hurried up to town, remained for +a fortnight, and came back looking ten years older. The house in London +had been given up, and he had offered a vacant one of our own, near home, +to Griff to retrench in, but Selina would not hear of it, insisting on +going abroad. + +This was a great grief to him and to us all. There was only one side of +our lives that was not saddened. Our old incumbent had died about six +months after the Fordyces had gone, and Mr. Henderson had gladly accepted +the living where the parsonage had been built. The lady to whom he had +been so long engaged was a great acquisition. Her home had been at +Oxford; and she was as thoroughly imbued with the spirit that there +prevailed as was the Hillside curate. She talked to us of Littlemore, +and of the sermons there and at St. Mary’s, and Emily and I shared to the +full her hero-worship. It was the nearest compensation my sister had had +for the loss of Ellen, with this difference, that Mrs. Henderson was +older, had read more, and had conversed thoughtfully with some of the +leading spirits in religious thought, so that she opened a new world to +us. + +People would hardly believe in our eagerness and enthusiasm over the +revelations of church doctrine; how we debated, consulted our books, and +corresponded with Clarence over what now seems so trite; how we viewed +the _British Critic_ and _Tracts for the Times_ as our oracles, and +worried the poor Wattlesea bookseller to get them for us at the first +possible moment. + +Church restoration was setting in. Henderson had always objected to +christening from a slop-basin on the altar, and had routed out a +dilapidated font; and now one, which was termed by the country paper +chaste and elegant, was by united efforts, in which Clarence had the +lion’s share, presented in time for the christening of the first child at +the Parsonage. It is that which was sent off to the Mission Chapel as a +blot on the rest of Earlscombe Church. Yet what an achievement it was +deemed at the time! + +The same may be said of most of our doings at that era. We effected them +gradually, and have ever since been undoing them, as our architectural +and ecclesiastical perceptions have advanced. I wonder how the next +generation will deal with our alabaster reredos and our stained windows, +with which we are all as well pleased as we were fifty years ago with the +plain red cross with a target-like arrangement above and below it in the +east window, or as poor Margaret may have been with her livery +altar-cloth. Indeed, it seems to me that we got more delight out of our +very imperfect work, designed by ourselves and sent to Clarence to be +executed by men in back streets in London, costing an immensity of +trouble, than can be had now by simply choosing out of a book of figures +of cut and dried articles. + +What an enthusiastic description Clarence sent of the illuminated +commandments in the new Church of St. Katharine in the Regent’s Park! +How Emily and I gloated over the imitation of them when we replaced the +hideous old tables, and how exquisite we thought the initial I, which +irreverent youngsters have likened, with some justice, to an enormous +overfed caterpillar, enwreathed with red and green cabbage leaves! + +My mother was startled at these innovations; but my father, who had kept +abreast with the thought of the day, owned to the doctrines as chiming in +with his unbroken belief, and transferred to the improvements in the +church the interest which he had lost in the estate. The farmers had +given up their distrust of him, and accepted him loyally as friend and +landlord, submitting to the reseating of the church, and only growling +moderately at decorations that cost them nothing. Daily service began as +soon as Henderson was his own master, and was better attended than it is +now; for the old people to whom it was a novelty took up the habit more +freely than their successors, to whom the bell has been familiar through +their days of toil. We were too far off to be constant attendants; but +evensong made an object for our airings, and my father’s head, now quite +white, was often seen there. He felt it a great relief amid the cares of +his later years. + +Perhaps it was with a view to him that Mr. Castleford arranged that +Clarence should become manager for the firm at Bristol, with a good +salary. The Robsons would not take a fresh lodger—they were getting too +old for fresh beginnings; but they kept their rooms ready for him, +whenever he had to be in town, and Gooch found him a trustworthy widow as +housekeeper. He took a little cottage at Clifton, availing himself of +the coach to spend his Sundays with us; and it was an acknowledged joy to +every one that I should drive to meet him every Saturday afternoon at the +Carpenter’s Arms, and bring him home to be my father’s aid in all his +business, and a most valuable help in Sunday parish work, in which he had +an amount of experience which astonished us. + +What would have become of the singing without him? The first hint +against the remarkable anthems had long ago alienated our tuneful choir +placed on high, and they had deserted _en masse_. Then Emily and the +schoolmistress had toiled at the school children, whose thin little pipes +and provincialisms were a painful infliction, till Mrs. Henderson, backed +by Clarence, worked up a few promising men’s voices to support them. We +thought everything but the New and Old Versions smacked of dissent, +except the hymns at the end of the Prayer-book, though we did not go as +far as Chapman, who told Emily he understood as how all the tunes was +tried over in Doctor’s Commons afore they were sent out, and it was not +‘liable’ to change them. One of Clarence’s amusements in his lonely life +had been the acquisition of a knowledge of music, and he had a really +good voice; while his adherence to our choir encouraged other young men +of the farmer and artisan class to join us. Choir, however, did not mean +surplices and cassocks, but a collection of our best voices, male and +female, in the gallery. + +Martyn began to be a great help when at home, never having wavered in his +purpose of becoming a clergyman. On going to Oxford, he became imbued +with the influences that made Alma Mater the focus of the religious life +and progress of that generation which is now the elder one. There might +in some be unreality, in others extravagance, in others mere imitation; +but there was a truly great work on the minds of the young men of that +era—a work which has stood the test of time, made saints and martyrs, and +sown the seed whereof we have witnessed a goodly growth, in spite of +cruel shocks and disappointments, fightings within and fears without, +slanders and follies to provoke them, such as we can now afford to laugh +over. With Martyn, rubrical or extra-rubrical observances were the +outlet of the exuberance of youth, as chivalry and romance had been to +us; and on Frank Fordyce’s visits, it was delightful to find that he too +was in the full swing of these ideas and habits, partly from his own +convictions, partly from his parish needs, and partly carried along by +curates fresh from Oxford. + +In the first of his summer vacations Martyn joined a reading party, with +a tutor of the same calibre, and assured them that if they took up their +quarters in a farmhouse not many miles by the map from Beachharbour, they +would have access to unlimited services, with the extraordinary luxury of +a surpliced choir, and intercourse with congenial spirits, which to him +meant the Fordyces. + +On arriving, however, the bay proved to be so rocky and dangerous that +there was no boating across it, as he had confidently expected. The farm +depended on a market town in the opposite direction, and though the +lights of Beachharbour could be seen at night, there was no way thither +except by a six-miles walk along a cliff path, with a considerable détour +in order to reach a bridge and cross the rapid river which was an element +of danger in the bay, on the north side of the promontory which sheltered +the harbour to the south. + +So when Martyn started as pioneer on the morning before the others +arrived, he descended into Beachharbour later than he intended, but still +he was in time to meet Anne Fordyce, a tall, bright-faced girl of +fourteen, taking her after-lessons turn on the parade with a governess, +who looked amazed as the two met, holding out both hands to one another, +with eager joy and welcome. + +It was not the same when Anne flew into the Vicarage with the rapturous +announcement, ‘Here’s Martyn!’ The vicar was gone to a clerical meeting, +and Mrs. Fordyce said nothing about staying to see him. The luncheon was +a necessity, but with quiet courtesy Martyn was made to understand that +he was regarded as practically out of reach, and ‘Oh, mamma, he could +come and sleep,’ was nipped in the utterance by ‘Martyn is busy with his +studies; we must not disturb him.’ This was a sufficient intimation that +Mrs. Fordyce did not intend to have the pupils dropping in on her +continually, and making her house their resort; and while Martyn was +digesting the rebuff, the governess carried Anne off to prepare for a +music lesson, and her mother gave no encouragement to lingering or +repeating the visit. + +Still Martyn, on his way homewards, based many hopes on the return of Mr. +Fordyce; but all that ensued was, three weeks later, a note regretting +the not having been able to call, and inviting the whole party to a great +school-feast on the anniversary of the dedication of the first of the +numerous new churches of Beachharbour. There was no want of cordiality +on that occasion, but time was lacking for anything beyond greetings and +fleeting exchanges of words. Parson Frank tried to talk to Martyn, +bemoaned the not seeing more of him, declared his intentions of coming to +the farm, began an invitation, but was called off a hundred ways; and +Anne was rushing about with all the children of the place, gentle and +simple, on her hands. Whenever Martyn tried to help her, he was called +off some other way, and engaged at last in the hopeless task of teaching +cricket where these fisher boys had never heard of it. + +That was all he saw of our old friends, and he was much hurt by such +ingratitude. So were we all, and though we soon acquitted the head of +the family of more than the forgetfulness of over occupation, the +soreness at his wife’s coldness was not so soon passed over. Yet from +her own point of view, poor woman, she might be excused for a panic lest +her second daughter might go the way of the first. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. +OUTWARD BOUND. + + + ‘As slow our ship her foamy track + Against the wind was cleaving, + Her trembling pennant still looked back + To the dear isle ’twas leaving. + So loath we part from all we love, + From all the links that bind us, + So turn our hearts as on we rove + To those we’ve left behind us.’ + + T. MOORE. + +THE first time I saw Clarence’s _ménage_ was in that same summer of poor +Martyn’s repulse. My father had come in for a small property in his +original county of Shropshire, and this led to his setting forth with my +mother to make necessary arrangements, and then to pay visits to old +friends; leaving Emily and me to be guests to our brother at Clifton. + +We told them it was their harvest honeymoon, and it was funny to see how +they enjoyed the scheme when they had once made up their minds to it, and +our share in the project was equally new and charming, for Emily and I, +though both some way on in our twenties, were still in many respects home +children, nor had I ever been out on a visit on my own account. The +yellow chariot began by conveying Emily and me to our destination. + +Clifton has grown considerably since those days, and terraces have +swallowed up the site of what the post-office knew as Prospect Cottage, +but we were apt to term the doll’s house, for, as Emily said, our visit +there had something the same effect as a picnic or tea drinking at little +Anne’s famous baby house. In like manner, it was tiny, square, with one +sash-window on each side of the door, but it was nearly covered with +creepers, odds and ends which Clarence brought from home, and induced to +flourish and take root better than their parent stocks. In his nursery +days his precision had given him the name of ‘the old bachelor,’ and he +had all a sailor’s tidiness. Even his black cat and brown spaniel each +had its peculiar basket and mat, and had been taught never to transgress +their bounds or interfere with one another; and the effect of his +parlour, embellished as it was in our honour, was delightful. The +outlook was across the beautiful ravine, into the wooded slopes on the +further side, and, on the other side, down the widening cleft to that +giddy marvel, the suspension bridge, with vessels passing under it, and +the expanse beyond. + +Most entirely we enjoyed ourselves, making merry over Clarence’s +housekeeping, employing ourselves after our wonted semi-student, +semi-artist fashion in the morning; and, when our host came home from +business, starting on country expeditions, taking a carriage whenever the +distance exceeded Emily’s powers of walking beside my chair; sketching, +botanising, or investigating church architecture, our newest hobby. I +sketched, and the other two rambled about, measuring and filling up +archæological papers, with details of orientation, style, and all the +rest, deploring barbarisms and dilapidations, making curious and +delightful discoveries, pitying those who thought the Dun Cow’s rib and +Chatterton’s loft the most interesting features of St. Mary’s Redcliff, +and above all rubbing brasses with heel ball, and hanging up their grim +effigies wherever there was a vacant space on the walls of our doll’s +house. + +And though we grumbled when Clarence was detained at the office later +than we expected, this was qualified by pride at feeling his importance +there as a man in authority. It was, however, with much dismay and some +inhospitality that we learnt that a young man belonging to the office—in +fact, Mr. Frith’s great-nephew—was coming to sail for Canton in one of +the vessels belonging to the firm, and would have to be ‘looked after.’ +He could not be asked to sleep at Prospect Cottage, for Emily had the +only spare bedchamber, and Clarence had squeezed himself into a queer +little dressing closet to give me his room; but the housekeeper (a +treasure found by Gooch) secured an apartment in the next house, and we +were to act hosts, much against our will. Clarence had barely seen the +youth, who had been employed in the office at Liverpool, living with his +mother, who was in ill-health and had died in the last spring. The only +time of seeing him, he had seemed to be a very shy raw lad; but, ‘poor +fellow, we can make the best of him,’ was the sentiment; ‘it is only for +one night.’ However, we were dismayed when, as Emily was in the crisis +of washing-in a sky, it was announced that a gentleman was asking for Mr. +Winslow. Churlishness bade us despatch him to the office, but humanity +prevailed to invite him previously to share our luncheon. Yet we doubted +whether it had not been a cruel mercy when he entered, evidently +unprepared to stumble on a young lady and a deformed man, and stammering +piteously as he hoped there was no mistake—Mr. Winslow—Prospect, etc. + +Emily explained, frustrating his desire to flee at once to the office, +and pointing out his lodging, close at hand, whence he was invited to +return in a few minutes to the meal. + +We had time for some amiable exclamations, ‘The oaf!’ ‘What a bore!’ +‘He has spoilt my sky!’ ‘I shan’t finish this to-day!’ ‘Shall we order +a carriage and take him to the office; we can’t have him on our hands all +the afternoon?’ ‘And we might get the new number of _Nicholas +Nickleby_.’ + +N.B.—Perhaps it was _Oliver Twist_ or _The Old Curiosity Shop_—I am not +certain which was the current excitement just then; but I am quite sure +it was Mrs. Nickleby who first disclosed to us that our guest had a +splendid pair of dark eyes. Hitherto he had kept them averted in the +studious manner I have often noticed in persons who did not wish to +excite suspicion of staring at my peculiarities; but that lady’s feelings +when her neighbour’s legs came down her chimney were too much for his +self-consciousness, and he gave a glance that disclosed dark liquid +depths, sparkling with mirth. He was one number in advance of us, and +could enlighten us on the next stage in the coming story; and this went +far to reconcile us to the invasion, and to restore him to the proper use +of his legs and arms—and very shapely limbs they were, for he was a slim, +well-made fellow, with a dark gipsy complexion, and intelligent, honest +face, altogether better than we expected. + +Yet we could have groaned when in the evening, Clarence brought him back +with tidings that something had gone wrong with the ship. If I tried to +explain, I might be twitted with, + + ‘The bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes.’ + +But of course Clarence knew all about it, and he thought it unlikely that +the vessel would be in sailing condition for a week at soonest. Great +was our dismay! Getting through one evening by the help of walking and +then singing was one thing, having the heart of our visit consumed by an +interloper was another; though Clarence undertook to take him to the +office and find some occupation for him that might keep him out of our +way. But it was Clarence’s leisure hours that we begrudged; though truly +no one could be meeker than this unlucky Lawrence Frith, nor more +conscious of being an insufferable burthen. I even detected a tear in +his eye when Clarence and Emily were singing ‘Sweet Home.’ + +‘Do you know,’ said Clarence, on the second evening, when his guest had +gone to dress for dinner, ‘I am very sorry for that poor lad. It is only +six weeks since he lost his mother, and he has not a soul to care for +him, either here or where he is going. I had fancied the family were +under a cloud, but I find it was only that old Frith quarrelled with the +father for taking Holy Orders instead of going into our house. Probably +there was some imprudence; for the poor man died a curate and left no +provision for his family. The only help the old man would give was to +take the boy into the office at Liverpool, stopping his education just as +he was old enough to care about it. There were a delicate mother and two +sisters then, but they are all gone now; scarlet fever carried off the +daughters, and Mrs. Frith never was well again. He seems to have spent +his time in waiting on her when off duty, and to have made no friends +except one or two contemporaries of hers; and his only belongings are old +Frith and Mrs. Stevens, who are packing him off to Canton without caring +a rap what becomes of him. I know what Mrs. Stevens is at; she comes up +to town much oftener now, and has got her husband’s nephew into the +office, and is trying to get everything for him; and that’s the reason +she wants to keep up the old feud, and send this poor Lawrence off to the +ends of the earth.’ + +‘Can’t you do anything for him?’ asked Emily. ‘I thought Mr. Frith did +attend to you.’ + +Clarence laughed. ‘I know that Mrs. Stevens hates me like poison; but +that is the only reason I have for supposing I might have any influence.’ + +‘And can’t you speak to Mr. Castleford?’ + +‘Set him to interfere about old Frith’s relations! He would know better! +Besides, the fellow is too old to get into any other line—four-and-twenty +he says, though he does not look it; and he is as innocent as a baby, +indifferent just now to what becomes of him, or whither he goes; it is +all the same to him, he says; there is no one to care for him anywhere, +and I think he is best pleased to go where it is all new. And there, you +see, the poor lad will be left to drift to destruction—mother’s darling +that he has been—just for want of some human being to care about him, and +hinder his getting heartless and reckless!’ + +Clarence’s voice trembled, and Emily had tears in her eyes as she asked +if absolutely nothing could be done for him. Clarence meant to write to +Mr. Castleford, who would no doubt beg the chaplain at the station to +show the young man some kindness; also, perhaps, to the resident partner, +whom Clarence had looked at once over his desk, but in his rawest and +most depressed days. The only clerk out there, whom he knew, would, he +thought, be no element of safety, and would not like the youth the better +either for bringing his recommendation or bearing old Frith’s name. + +We were considerably softened towards our guest, though the next time +Emily came on him he was standing in the hall, transfixed in +contemplation of her greatest achievement in brass-rubbing, a severe and +sable knight with the most curly of nostrils, the stiffest and +straightest of mouths, hair straight on his brows, pointed toes joined +together below, and fingers touching over his breast. There he hung in +triumph just within the front door, fluttering and swaying a little on +his pins whenever a draught came in; and there stood Lawrence Frith, +freshly aware of him, and unable to repress the exclamation, ‘I say! +isn’t he a guy?’ + +‘Sir Guy de Warrenne,’ began Emily composedly; ‘don’t you see his coat of +arms? “chequy argent and azure.”’ + +‘Does your brother keep him there to scare away the tramps?’ + +Emily’s countenance was a study. + +The subject of brasses was unfolded to Lawrence Frith, and before the end +of the week he had spent an entire day on his hands and knees, scrubbing +away with the waxy black compound at a figure in the Cathedral—the +office-work, as we declared, which Clarence gave him to do. In fact he +became so thoroughly infected that it was a pity that he was going where +there would be no exercise in ecclesiology—rather the reverse. +Embarrassment on his side, and hostility on ours, may be said to have +vanished under the influence of Sir Guy de Warrenne’s austere +countenance. The youth seemed to regard ‘Mr. Winslow’ in the light of a +father, and to accept us as kindly beings. He ceased to contort his +limbs in our awful presence, looked at me like as an ordinary person, and +even ventured on giving me an arm. He listened with unfeigned pleasure +to our music, perilled his neck on St. Vincent’s rocks in search of +plants, and by and by took to hanging back with Emily, while Clarence +walked on with me, to talk to her out of his full heart about his mother +and sisters. + +Three weeks elapsed before the _Hoang-ho_ was ready to sail, and by that +time Lawrence knew that there were some who would rejoice in his success, +or grieve if things went ill with him. Clarence and I had promised him +long home letters, and impressed on him that we should welcome his +intelligence of himself. For verily he had made his way into our hearts, +as a thoroughly good-hearted, affectionate being, yearning for something +to cling to; intelligent and refined, though his recent cultivation had +been restricted, soundly principled, and trained in religious feelings +and habits, but so utterly inexperienced that there was no guessing how +it might be with him when cast adrift, with no object save his own +maintenance, and no one to take an interest in him. + +Clarence talked to him paternally, and took him to second-hand shops to +provide a cheap library of substantial reading, engaging to cater for him +for the future, not omitting Dickens; and Emily worked at providing him +with the small conveniences and comforts for the voyage that called for a +woman’s hand. He was so grateful that it was like fitting out a dear +friend or younger brother. + +‘I wonder,’ said Clarence, as he walked by my chair on one of the last +days, ‘whether it was altogether wise to have this young Frith here so +much, though it could hardly have been helped.’ + +To which I rejoined that it could hardly have displeased the uncle, and +that if it did, the youth’s welfare was worth annoying him for. + +‘I meant something nearer home,’ said Clarence, and proceeded to ask if I +did not think Lawrence Frith a good deal smitten with Emily. + +To me it seemed an idea not worth consideration. Any youth, especially +one who had lived so secluded a life, would naturally be taken by the +first pleasing young woman who came in his way, and took a kindly +interest in him; but I did not think Emily very susceptible, being +entirely wrapped up in home and parish matters; and I reminded Clarence +that she had not been loverless. She had rejected the Curate of +Hillside; and we all saw, though she did not, that only her evident +indifference kept Sir George Eastwood’s second son from making further +advances. + +Clarence was not convinced. He said he had never seen our sister look at +either of these as she did when Lawrence came into the room; and there +was no denying that there was a soft and embellishing light on her whole +countenance, and a fresh sweetness in her voice. But then he seemed such +a boy as to make the notion ridiculous; and yet, on reckoning, it proved +that their years were equal. All that could be hoped was that the +sentiment, if it existed, would not discover itself before they parted, +so as to open their eyes to the dreariness of the prospect, and cause our +mother to think we had betrayed our trust in the care of our sister. As +we could do nothing, we were not sorry that this was the last day. +Clarence was to go on board with Frith, see him out of the river, and +come back with the pilot; and we all drove down to the wharf together; +nobody saying much by the way, except the few jerky remarks we brothers +felt bound to originate and reply to. + +Emily sat very still, her head bent under her shading bonnet—I think she +was trying to keep back tears for the solitary exile; and Lawrence, +opposite, was unable to help watching her with wistful eyes, which would +have revealed all, if we had not guessed it already. It might be +presumptuous, but it made us very sorry for him. + +When the moment of parting came, there was a wringing of hands, and, +‘Thank you, thank you,’ in a low, broken, heartfelt voice, and to Emily, +‘You have made life a new thing to me. I shall never forget,’ and the +showing of a tiny book in his waistcoat pocket. + +When the two had disappeared, Emily, no longer restraining her tears, +told me that she had exchanged Prayer-books with him, and they were to +read the Psalms at the same time every day. ‘I thought it might be a +help to him,’ she said simply. + +Nor was there any consciousness in her talk as she related to me what he +had told her about his mother and sisters, and his dreary sense of +piteous loneliness, till we had adopted him as a brother—in which +capacity I trusted that she viewed him. + +However, Clarence had been the recipient of all the poor lad’s fervent +feelings for Miss Winslow, how she had been a new revelation to his +desolate spirit, and was to be the guiding star of his life, etc., etc., +all from the bottom of his heart, though he durst not dream of requital, +and was to live, not on hope, but on memory of the angelic kindness of +these three weeks. + +It was impossible not to be touched, though we strove to be worldly wise +old bachelors, and assured one another that the best and most probable +thing that could happen to Lawrence Frith would be to have his dream +blown away by the Atlantic breezes, and be left open to the charms of +some Chinese merchant’s daughter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. +TOO LATE. + + + ‘Thus Esau-like, our Father’s blessing miss, + Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown.’ + + KEBLE. + +AFTER such a rebuff as Martyn had experienced at Beachharbour, he no +longer haunted its neighbourhood, but devoted the long vacation of the +ensuing year to a walking tour in Germany, with one or two congenial +spirits, who shared his delight in scenery, pictures, and architecture. + +By and by he wrote to Clarence from Baden Baden— + +‘Whom do you think I should find here but Griffith and his bird? I first +spotted the old fellow smoking under a tree in the Grand Platz, but he +looked so seedy and altered altogether that I was not sure enough of him +to speak, especially as he showed no signs of knowing me. (He says it +was my whiskers that stumped him.) I made inquiries and found that they +figured as “Sir Peacock and lady,” but they were entered all right in the +book. He is taking the “Kür”—he looks as if he wanted it—and she is +taking _rouge et noir_. I saw her at the salon, with her neck grown as +long as her namesake’s, but not as pretty, claws to match, thin and +painted, as if the ruling passion was consuming her. Poor old Griff! he +was glad enough to see me, but he is wofully shaky, and nearly came to +tears when he asked after Ted and all at home. They had an upset of +their carriage in Vienna last winter, and he got some twist, or other +damage, which he thought nothing of, but it has never righted itself; I +am sure he is very ill, and ought to be looked after. He has had only +foreign doctoring, and you know he never was strong in languages. I +heard of the medico here inquiring what precise symptom _der Englander_ +meant by being “down in zie mout!” Poor Griff is that, whatever else he +is, and Selina does not see it, nor anything else but her _rouge et noir_ +table. I am afraid he plays too, when he is up to it, but he can’t stand +much of the stuffiness of the place, and he respects my innocence, poor +old beggar; so he has kept out of it, since we have been here. He seems +glad to have me to look after him, but afraid to let me stay, for fear of +my falling a victim to the place. I can’t well tell him that there is a +perpetual warning to youth in the persons of himself and his Peacock. +His mind might be vastly relieved if I were out of it, but scarcely his +body; and I shall not leave him till I hear from home. Thomson says I am +right. I should like to bring the poor old man home for advice, +especially if my lady could be left behind, and by all appearances she +would not object. Could not you come, or mamma? Speak to papa about it. +It is all so disgusting that I really could not write to him. It is +enough to break one’s heart to see Griff when he hears about home, and +Edward, and Emily. I told him how famously you were getting on, and he +said, “It has been all up, up with him, all down, down with me,” and then +he wanted me to fix my day for leaving Baden, as if it were a sink of +infection. I fancy he thinks me a mere infant still, for he won’t heed a +word of advice about taking care of himself and _will_ do the most +foolish things imaginable for a man in his state, though I can’t make out +what is the matter with him. I tried both French and Latin with his +doctor, equally in vain.’ + +There was a great consultation over this letter. Our parents would fain +have gone at once to Baden, but my father was far from well; in fact, it +was the beginning of the break-up of his constitution. He had been +ageing ever since his disappointment in Griffith, and though he had so +enjoyed his jaunt with my mother that he had seemed revived for the time, +he had been visibly failing ever since the winter, and my mother durst +not leave him. Indeed she was only too well aware that her presence was +apt to inspire Selina with the spirit of contradiction, and that Clarence +would have a better chance alone. He was to go up to London by the mail +train, see Mr. Castleford, and cross to Ostend. + +A valise from the lumber-room was wanted, and at bedtime he went in quest +of it. He came back white and shaken; and I said— + +‘You have not seen _her_?’ + +‘Yes, I have.’ + +‘It is not her time of year.’ + +‘No; I was not even thinking of her. There was none of the wailing, but +when I looked up from my rummaging, there was her face as if in a window +or mirror on the wall.’ + +‘Don’t dwell on it’ was all I could entreat, for the apparition at +unusual times had been mentioned as a note of doom, and not only did it +weigh on me, but it might send Clarence off in a desponding mood. +Tidings were less rapid when telegraphs were not, and railways +incomplete. Clarence did not reach Baden till ten days after the +despatch of Martyn’s letter, and Griffith’s condition had in the meantime +become much more serious. Low fever had set in, and he was confined to +his dreary lodgings, where Martyn was doing his best for him in an +inexperienced, helpless sort of way, while Lady Peacock was at the +_salle_, persisting in her belief that the ailment was a temporary +matter. Martyn afterwards declared that he had never seen anything more +touching than poor Griff’s look of intense rest and relief at Clarence’s +entrance. + +On the way through London, by the assistance of Mr. Castleford, Clarence +had ascertained how to procure the best medical advice attainable, and he +was linguist enough to be an adequate interpreter. Alas! all that was +achieved was the discovery that between difficulties of language, Griff’s +own indifference, and his wife’s carelessness, the injury had developed +into fatal disease. An operation _might_ yet save him, if he could rally +enough for it, but the fever was rapidly destroying his remaining +strength. Selina ascribed it to excitement at meeting Martyn, and indeed +he had been subject to such attacks every autumn. Any way, he had no +spirits nor wish for improvement. If his brothers told him he was +better, he smiled and said it was like a condemned criminal trying to +recover enough for the gallows. His only desire was to be let alone and +have Clarence with him. He had ceased to be uneasy as to Martyn’s +exposure to temptation, but he said he could hardly bear to watch that +bright, fresh young manhood, and recollect how few years had passed since +he had been such another, nor did he like to have any nurse save +Clarence. His wife at first acquiesced, holding fast to the theory of +the periodical autumnal fever, and then that the operation would restore +him to health; and as her presence fretted him, and he received her small +attentions peevishly, she persisted in her usual habits, and heard with +petulance his brothers’ assurances of his being in a critical condition, +declaring that it was always thus with these fevers—he was always cross +and low-spirited, and no one could tell what she had undergone with him. + +Then came days of positive pain, and nights of delirious, dreary +murmuring about home and all of us, more especially Ellen Fordyce. +Clarence had no time for letters, and Martyn’s became a call for mamma, +with the old childish trust in her healing and comforting powers, +declaring that he would meet her at Cologne, and steer her through the +difficulties of foreign travel. + +Hesitation was over now. My father was most anxious to send her, and she +set forth, secure that she could infuse life, energy, and resolution into +her son, when those two poor boys had failed. + +It was not, however, Martyn who met her, but his friend Thomson, with the +tidings that the suffering had become so severe as to prevent Martyn from +leaving Baden, not only on his brother’s account, but because Lady +Peacock had at last taken alarm, and was so uncontrollable in her +distress that he was needed to keep her out of the sickroom, where her +presence, poor thing, only did mischief. + +She evidently had a certain affection for her husband; and it was the +more piteous that in his present state he only regarded her as the +tempter who had ruined his life—his false Duessa, who had led him away +from Una. On one unhappy evening he had been almost maddened by her +insisting on arguing with him; he called her a hag, declared she had been +the death of his children, the death of that dear one—could she not let +him alone now she had been the death of himself? + +When Martyn took her away, she wept bitterly, and told enough to make the +misery of their life apparent, when the gaiety was over, and regrets and +recriminations set in. + +However, there came a calmer interval, when the suffering passed off, but +in the manner which made the German doctor intimate that hope was over. +Would life last till his mother came? + +His brothers had striven from the first to awaken thoughts of higher +things, and turn remorse into repentance; but every attempt resulted in +strange, sad wanderings about Esau, the birthright, and the blessing. +Indeed, these might not have been entirely wanderings, for once he said, +‘It is better this way, Bill. You don’t know what you wish in trying to +bring me round. Don’t be hard on me. She drove me to it. It is all +right now. The Jews will be disappointed.’ + +For even at the crisis in London, he had concealed that he had raised +money on _post obits_, so that, had he outlived my father, Chantry House +would have been lost. Lady Peacock’s fortune had been undermined when +she married him; extravagance and gambling had made short work of the +rest. + +Why should I speak of such things here, except to mourn over our +much-loved brother, with all his fine qualities and powers wasted and +overthrown? He clung to Clarence’s affection, and submitted to prayers +and psalms, but without response. He showed tender recollection of us +all, but scarcely durst think of his father, and hardly appeared to wish +to see his mother. Clarence’s object soon came to be to obtain +forgiveness for the wife, since bitterness against her seemed the great +obstacle to seeking pardon, peace, or hope; but each attempt only +produced such bitterness against her, and such regrets and mourning for +Ellen, as fearfully shook the failing frame, while he moaned forth +complaints of the blandishments and raillery with which his temptress had +beguiled him. Clarence tried in vain to turn away this idea, but nothing +had any effect till he bethought himself of Ellen’s message, that she +knew even this fatal act had been prompted by generosity of spirit. +There was truth enough in it to touch Griff, but only so far as to cry, +‘What might I not have been with her?’ Still, there was no real +softening till my mother came. He knew her at once, and all the old +childish relations were renewed between them. There was little time left +now, but he was wholly hers. Even Clarence was almost set aside, save +where strength was needed, and the mother seemed to have equal control of +spirit and body. It was she, who, scarcely aware of what had gone +before, caused him to admit Selina. + +‘Tell her not to talk,’ he said. ‘But we have each much to forgive one +another.’ + +She came in, awed and silent, and he let her kiss him, sit near at hand, +and wait on my mother, whose coming had, as it were, insensibly taken the +bitterness away and made him as a little child in her hands. He could +follow prayers in which she led him, as he could not, or did not seem to +do, with any one else, for he was never conscious of the presence of the +clergyman whom Thomson hunted up and brought, and who prayed aloud with +Martyn while the physical agony claimed both my mother and Clarence. + +Once Griff looked about him and called out for our father, then +recollecting, muttered, ‘No—the birthright gone—no blessing.’ + +It grieved us much, it grieves me now, that this was his last distinct +utterance. He _looked_ as if the comforting replies and the appeals to +the Source of all redemption did awaken a response, but he never spoke +articulately again; and only thirty-six hours after my mother’s arrival, +all was over. + +Poor Selina went into passions of hysterics and transports of grief, +needing all the firmness of so resolute a woman as my mother to deal with +her. She was wild in self-accusation, and became so ill that the care of +her was a not unwholesome occupation for my mother, who was one of those +with whom sorrow has little immediate outlet, and is therefore the more +enduring. + +She would not bring our brother’s coffin home, thinking the agitation +would be hurtful to my father, and anxious to get back to him as soon as +possible. So Griff was buried at Baden, and from time to time some of us +have visited his grave. Of course she proposed Selina’s return to +Chantry House with her; but Mr. Clarkson, the brother, had come out to +the funeral, and took his sister home with him, certainly much to our +relief, though all the sad party at Baden had drawn much nearer together +in these latter days. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. +A PURPOSE. + + + ‘It then draws near the season + Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.’ + + _Hamlet_. + +WE had really lost our Griffith long before—our bright, generous, +warm-hearted, promising Griff, the brilliance of our home; but his actual +death made the first breach in a hitherto unbroken family, and was a new +and strange shock. It made my father absolutely an old man; and it also +changed Martyn. His first contact with responsibility, suffering, and +death had demolished the light-hearted boyishness which had lasted in the +youngest of the family through all his high aspirations. Till his return +to Oxford, his chief solace was in getting some one of us alone, going +through all the scenes at Baden, discussing his new impressions of the +trials and perplexities of life, and seeking out passages in the books +that were becoming our oracles. What he had admired externally before, +he was grasping from within; nor can I describe what the _Lyra +Apostolica_, and the two first volumes of _Parochial Sermons preached at +Littlemore_, became to us. + +Mr. Clarkson had been rather dry with my brothers at Baden, evidently +considering that poor Griffith had been as fatal to his sister as we +thought Selina had been to our brother. It was hardly just, for there +had been much more to spoil in him than in her; and though she would +hardly have trod a much higher path, there is no saying what he might +have been but for her. + +Griffith had said nothing about providing for her, not having forgiven +her till he was past recollecting the need, but her brother had intimated +that something was due from the family, and Clarence had assented—not, +indeed, as to her deserts, poor woman, but her claims and her needs—well +knowing that my father would never suffer Griff’s widow to be in want. + +He judged rightly. My father was nervously anxious to arrange for giving +her £500 a year, in the manner most likely to prevent her from making +away with it, and leaving herself destitute. But there had already been +heavy pulls on his funded property, and ways and means had to be +considered, making Clarence realise that he had become the heir. +Somehow, there still remained, especially with my mother and himself, a +sense of his being a failure, and an inferior substitute, although my +father had long come to lean upon him, as never had been the case with +our poor Griff. + +The first idea of raising the amount required was by selling an outlying +bit of the estate near the Wattlesea Station, for which an enterprising +builder was making offers, either to purchase or take on a building +lease. My father had received several letters on the subject, and only +hesitated from a feeling against breaking up the estate, especially if +this were part of the original Chantry House property, and not a more +recent acquisition of the Winslows. Moreover, he would do nothing +without Clarence’s participation. + +The title-deeds were not in the house, for my father had had too much of +the law to meddle more than he could help with his own affairs, and had +left them in the hands of the family solicitor at Bristol, where Clarence +was to go and look over them. He rejoiced in the opportunity of being +able to see whether anything would throw light on the story of the +mullion chamber; and the certainty that the Wattlesea property had never +been part of the old endowment of the Chantry did not seem nearly so +interesting as a packet of yellow letters tied with faded red tape. Mr. +Ryder made no difficulty in entrusting these to him, and we read them by +our midnight lamp. + +Clarence had seen poor Margaret’s will, bequeathing her entire property +to her husband’s son, Philip Winslow, and had noted the date, 1705; also +the copy of the decision in the Court of Probate that there was no +sufficient evidence of entail on the Fordyce family to bar her power of +disposing of it. We eagerly opened the letters, but found them +disappointing, as they were mostly offerings of ‘Felicitations’ to Philip +Winslow on having established his ‘Just Claim,’ and ‘refuted the +malicious Accusations of Calumny.’ They only served to prove the fact +that he had been accused of something, and likewise that he had powerful +friends, and was thought worth being treated with adulation, according to +the fashion of his day. Perhaps it was hardly to be expected that he +should have preserved evidence against himself, but it was baffling to +sift so little out of such a mass of correspondence. If we could have +had access to the Fordyce papers, no doubt they would have given the +other phase of the transaction, but they were unattainable. The only +public record that Clarence could discover was much abbreviated, and +though there was some allusion to intimidation, the decision seemed to +have been fixed by the non-existence of any entail. + +Christmas was drawing on, and gathering together what was left of us. +Though Griffith had spent only one Christmas at home in nine years, it +was wonderful how few we seemed, even when Martyn returned. My father +liked to have us about him, and even spoke of Clarence’s giving up his +post as manager at Bristol, and living entirely at home to attend to the +estate; but my mother did not encourage the idea. She could not quite +bear to accept any one in Griff’s place, and rightly thought there was +not occupation enough to justify bringing Clarence home. I was competent +to assist my father through all the landlord’s business that came to him +within doors, and Emily had ridden and walked about enough with him to be +an efficient inspector of crops and repairs, besides that Clarence +himself was within reach. + +‘Indeed,’ he said to me, ‘I cannot loose my hold on Frith and Castleford +till I see my way into the future.’ + +I did not know what he intended either then or when he gave his voice +against dismembering the property by selling the Wattlesea estate, but +arranged for raising Selina’s income otherwise, persuading my father to +let him undertake the building of the required cottages out of his own +resources, on principles much more wholesome than were likely to be +employed by the speculator. Nor did grasp what was in his mind when he +made me look out my ‘ghost journal,’ as we called my record of each +apparition reported in the mullion chamber or the lawn, with marks to +those about which we had no reasonable doubt. Separately there might be +explanation, but conjointly and in connection with the date they had a +remarkable force. + +‘I am resolved,’ said Clarence, ‘to see whether that figure can have a +purpose. I have thought of it all those years. It has hitherto had no +fair play. I was too much upset by the sight, and beaten by the utter +incredulity of everybody else; but now I am determined to look into it.’ + +There was both awe and resolution in his countenance, and I only +stipulated that he should not be alone, or with no more locomotive +companion than myself. Martyn was as old as I had been at our former +vigil, and a person to be relied on. + +A few months ago he would have treated the matter as a curious +adventurous enterprise—a concession to superstition or imagination; but +now he took it up with much grave earnestness. He had been discussing +the evidence for such phenomena with friends at Oxford, and the +conclusion had been that they were at times permitted, sometimes as +warnings, sometimes to accomplish the redress of a wrong, sometimes to +teach us the reality of the spiritual world about us; and, likewise, that +some constitutions were more susceptible than others to these influences. +Of course he had adduced all that he knew of his domestic haunted +chamber, but had found himself uncertain as to the amount of direct or +trustworthy evidence. So he eagerly read our jottings, and was very +anxious to keep watch with Clarence, though there were greater +difficulties in the way than when the outer chamber was Griffith’s +sitting-room, and always had a fire lighted. + +To our disappointment, likewise, there came an invitation from the +Eastwoods for the evening of the 27th of December, the second of the +recurring days of the phantom’s appearance. My father could not, and my +mother would not go, but they so much wanted my brothers and sister to +accept it that it could not well be declined. It was partly a political +affair, and my father was anxious to put Clarence forward, and make him +take his place as the future squire; and my mother thought depression had +lasted long enough with her children, and did not like to see Martyn so +grave and preoccupied. ‘It was quite right and very nice in him, dear +boy, but it was not natural at his age, though he was to be a clergyman.’ + +As to Emily, her gentle cheerfulness had helped us all through our time +of sorrow, and just now we had been gratified by the tidings of young +Lawrence Frith. That youth was doing extremely well. There had been +golden reports from manager and chaplain, addressed to Mr. Castleford, +the latter adding that the young man evidently owed much to Mr. Winslow’s +influence. Moreover, Lawrence had turned out an excellent correspondent. +Long letters, worthy of forming a book of travels, came regularly to +Clarence and me, indeed they were thought worth being copied into that +fat clasped MS. book in the study. Writing them must have been a real +solace to the exile, in his island outside the town, whither all the +outer barbarians were relegated. So, no doubt, was the packing of the +gifts that were gradually making Prospect Cottage into a Chinese +exhibition of nodding mandarins, ivory balls, exquisite little cups, and +faggots of tea. Also, a Chinese walking doll was sent humbly as an +offering for the amusement of Miss Winslow’s school children, whom indeed +she astonished beyond measure; and though her wheels are out of order, +and her movements uncertain, she is still a stereotyped incident in the +Christmas entertainments. + +There was no question but that these letters and remembrances gave great +pleasure to Emily; but I believe she was not in the least conscious that +though greater in degree, it was not of the same quality as that she felt +when a runaway scholar who had gone to sea presented her in token of +gratitude with a couple of dried sea-horses. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. +THE MIDNIGHT CHASE. + + + ‘What human creature in the dead of night + Had coursed, like hunted hare, that cruel distance, + Had sought the door, the window in her flight + Striving for dear existence?’ + + HOOD. + +ON the night of the 26th of December, Clarence and Martyn, well wrapped +in greatcoats, stole into the outer mullion room; but though the usual +sounds were heard, and the mysterious light again appeared, Martyn +perceived nothing else, and even Clarence declared that if there were +anything besides, it was far less distinct to him than it had been +previously. Could it be that his spiritual perceptions were growing +dimmer as he became older, and outgrew the sensitiveness of nerves and +imagination? + +We came to the conclusion that it would be best to watch the outside of +the house, rather than within the chamber; and the dinner-party +facilitated this, since it accounted for being up and about nearer to the +hour when the ghost might be expected. Egress could be had through the +little garden door, and I undertook to sit up and keep up the fire. + +All three came to my room on their return home, for Emily had become +aware of our scheme, and entreated to be allowed to watch with us. +Clarence had unfastened the alarum bell from my shutters, and taken down +the bar after the curtains had been drawn by the housemaid, and he now +opened them. It was a frosty moonlight night, and the lawn lay white and +crisp, marked with fantastic shadows. The others looked grave and pale, +Emily was in a thick white shawl and hood, with a swan’s down boa over +her black dress, a somewhat ghostly figure herself, but we were in far +too serious a mood for light observations. + +There was something of a shudder about Clarence as he went to unbolt the +back door; Martyn kept close to him. We saw them outside, and then Emily +flew after them. From my window I could watch them advancing on the +central gravel walk, Emily standing still between her brothers, clasping +an arm of each. I saw the light near the ruin, and caught some sounds as +of shrieks and of threatening voices, the light flitted towards the gable +of the mullion rooms, and then was the concluding scream. All was over, +and the three came back much agitated, Emily sinking into an armchair, +panting, her hands over her face, and a nervous trembling through her +whole frame, Martyn’s eyes looking wide and scared, Clarence with the +well-known look of terror on his face. He hurried to fetch the tray of +wine and water that was always left on the table when anyone went to a +party at night, but he shivered too much to prevent the glasses from +jingling, and I had to pour out the sherry and administer it to Emily. +‘Oh! poor, poor thing,’ she gasped out. + +‘You saw?’ I exclaimed. + +‘They did,’ said Martyn; ‘I only saw the light, and heard! That was +enough!’ and he shuddered again. + +‘Then Emily did,’ I began, but Clarence cut me short. ‘Don’t ask her +to-night.’ + +‘Oh! let me tell,’ cried Emily; ‘I can’t go away to bed till I have had +it out.’ + +Then she gave the details, which were the more notable because she had +not, like Martyn, been studying our jottings, and had heard comparatively +little of the apparition. + +‘When I joined the boys,’ she said, ‘I looked toward the mullion rooms; I +saw the windows lighted up, and heard a sobbing and crying inside.’ + +‘So did I,’ put in Martyn, and Clarence bent his head. + +‘Then,’ added Emily, ‘by the moonlight I saw the gable end, not blank, +and covered by the magnolia as it is now, but with stone steps up to the +bricked-up doorway. The door opened, the light spread, and there came +out a lady in black, with a lamp in one hand, and a kind of parcel in the +other, and oh, when she turned her face this way, it was Ellen’s!’ + +‘So you called out,’ whispered Martyn. + +‘Dear Ellen, not as she used to be,’ added Emily, ‘but like what she was +when last I saw her; no, hardly that either, for this was sad, sad, +scared, terrified, with eyes all tears, as Ellen never, never was.’ + +‘I saw,’ added Clarence, ‘I saw the shape, but not the countenance and +expression as I used to do.’ + + [Picture: Lady Margaret’s ghost] + +‘She came down the steps,’ continued Emily, ‘looking about her as if +making her escape, but, just as she came opposite to us, there was a +sound of tipsy laughing and singing from the gate up by the wood.’ + +‘I thought it real,’ said Martyn. + +‘Then,’ continued Emily, ‘she wavered, then turned and went under an arch +in the ruin—I fancied she was hiding something—then came out and fled +across to the steps; but there were two dark men rushing after her, and +at the stone steps there was a frightful shriek, and then it was all +over, the steps gone, all quiet, and the magnolia leaves glistening in +the moonshine. Oh! what can it all mean?’ + +‘Went under the arch,’ repeated Clarence. ‘Is it what she hid there that +keeps her from resting?’ + +‘Then you believe it really happened?’ said Emily, ‘that some terrible +scene is being acted over again. Oh! but can it be the real spirits!’ + +‘That is one of the great mysteries,’ answered Martyn; ‘but I could tell +you of other instances.’ + +‘Don’t now,’ I interposed; ‘Emily has had quite enough.’ + +We reminded her that the ghastly tragedy was over and would not recur +again for another year; but she was greatly shaken, and we were very +sorry for her, when the clock warned her to go to her own room, whither +Martyn escorted her. He lighted every candle he could find, and revived +the fire; but she was sadly overcome by what she had witnessed, she lay +awake all the rest of the night, and in the morning, looked so unwell, +and had so little to tell about the party that my mother thought her +spirits had been too much broken for gaieties. + +The real cause could not be confessed, for it would have been ascribed to +some kind of delirium, and have made a commotion for which my father was +unfit. Besides, we had reached an age when, though we would not have +disobeyed, liberty of thought and action had become needful. All our +private confabulations were on this extraordinary scene. We looked for +the arch in the ruin, but there was, as our morning senses told us, +nothing of the kind. She tried to sketch her remembrance of both that +and the gable of the mullion chamber, and Martyn prowled about in search +of some hiding-place. Our antiquarian friend, Mr. Stafford, had made a +conjectural drawing of the Chapel restored, and all the portfolios about +the house were searched for it, disquieting mamma, who suspected Martyn’s +Oxford notions of intending to rebuild it, nor would he say that it ought +not to be done. However, he with his more advanced ecclesiology, +pronounced Mr. Stafford’s reconstruction to be absolutely mistaken and +impossible, and set to work on a fresh plan, which, by the bye, he +derides at present. It afforded, however, an excuse for routing under +the ivy and among the stones, but without much profit. From the +mouldings on the materials and in the stables and the front porch, it was +evident that the chapel had been used as a quarry, and Emily’s arch was +very probably that of the entrance door. In a dry summer, the +foundations of the walls and piers could be traced on the turf, and the +stumps of one or two columns remained, but the rest was only a confused +heap of fragments within which no one could have entered as in that +strange vision. + +Another thing became clear. There had once been a wall between the beech +wood and the lawn, with a gate or door in it; Chapman could just remember +its being taken down, in James Winslow’s early married life, when +landscape gardening was the fashion. It must have been through this that +the Winslow brothers were returning, when poor Margaret perhaps expected +them to enter by the front. + +We wished we could have consulted Dame Dearlove, but she had died a few +years before, and her school was extinct. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. +WILLS OLD AND NEW. + + + ‘And that to-night thou must watch with me + To win the treasure of the tomb.’ + + SCOTT. + +SOME seasons seem to be peculiarly marked, as if Death did indeed walk +forth in them. + +Old Mr. Frith died in the spring of 1841, and it proved that he had shown +his gratitude to Clarence by a legacy of shares in the firm amounting to +about £2000. The rest of his interest therein went to Lawrence Frith, +and his funded property to his sister, Mrs. Stevens, a very fair and +upright disposition of his wealth. + +Only six weeks later, my father had a sudden seizure, and there was only +time to summon Clarence from London and Martyn from Oxford, before a +second attack closed his righteous and godly career upon earth. + +My mother was very still and calm, hardly shedding a tear, but her whole +demeanour was as if life were over for her, and she had nothing to do +save to wait. She seemed to care very little for tendernesses or +attentions on our part. No doubt she would have been more desolate +without them, but we always had a baffled feeling, as though our +affection were contrasted with her perfect union with her husband. Yet +they had been a singularly undemonstrative couple; I never saw a kiss +pass between them, except as greeting or farewell before or after a +journey; and if my mother could not use the terms papa or your father, +she always said, ‘Mr. Winslow.’ There was a large gathering at the +funeral, including Mr. Fordyce, but he slept at Hillside, and we scarcely +saw him—only for a few kind words and squeezes of the hand. Holy Week +was begun, and he had to hurry back to Beachharbour that very night. + +The will had been made on my father’s coming into the inheritance. It +provided a jointure of £800 per annum for my mother, and gave each of the +younger children £3000. A codicil had been added shortly after +Griffith’s death, written in my father’s hand, and witnessed by Mr. +Henderson and Amos Bell. This put Clarence in the position of heir; +secured £500 a year to Griffith’s widow, charged on the estate, and +likewise an additional £200 a year to Emily and to me, hers till +marriage, mine for life, £300 a year to Martyn, until Earlscombe Rectory +should be voided, when it was to be offered to him. The executors had +originally been Mr. Castleford and my mother, but by this codicil, +Clarence was substituted for the former. + +The legacies did not come out of the Chantry House property, for my +father had, of course, means of his own besides, and bequests had accrued +to both him and my mother; but Clarence was inheriting the estate much +more burthened than it had been in 1829, having £2000 a year to raise out +of its proceeds. + +My mother was quite equal to business, with a sort of outside sense, +which she applied to it when needful. Clarence made it at once evident +to her that she was still mistress of Chantry House, and that it was +still to be our home; and she immediately calculated what each ought to +contribute to the housekeeping. She looked rather blank when she found +that Clarence did not mean to give up business, nor even to become a +sleeping partner; but when she examined into ways and means, she allowed +that he was prudent, and that perhaps it was due to Mr. Castleford not to +deprive him of an efficient helper under present circumstances. Meantime +she was content to do her best for Earlscombe ‘for the present,’ by which +she meant till her son brought home a wife; but we knew that to him the +words bore a different meaning, though he was still in doubt and +uncertainty how to act, and what might be the wrong to be undone. + +He was anxious to persuade her to go from home for a short time, and +prevailed on her at last to take Emily and me to Dawlish, while the +repairs went on which had been deferred during my father’s feebleness; at +least that was the excuse. We two, going with great regret, knew that +his real reason was to have an opportunity for a search among the ruins. + +It was in June, just as Martyn came back from Oxford, eager to share in +the quest. Those two brothers would trust no one to help them, but one +by one, in the long summer evenings, they moved each of those stones; I +believe the servants thought they were crazed, but they could explain +with some truth that they wanted to clear up the disputed points as to +the architecture, as indeed they succeeded in doing. + +They had, however, nearly given up, having reached the original pavement +and disinterred the piscina of the side altar, also a beautiful coffin +lid with a floriated cross; when, in a kind of hollow, Martyn lit upon +the rotten remains of something silken, knotted together. It seemed to +have enclosed a bundle. There were some rags that might have been a +change of clothing, also a Prayer-book, decayed completely except the +leathern covering, inside which was the startling inscription, ‘Margaret +Winslow, her booke; Lord, have mercy on a miserable widow woman.’ There +was also a thick leathern roll, containing needles, pins, and scissors, +entirely corroded, and within these a paper, carefully folded, but almost +destroyed by the action of damp and the rust of the steel, so that only +thus much was visible. ‘I, Margaret Winslow, being of sound mind, do +hereby give and bequeath—’ + +Then came stains that defaced every line, till the extreme end, where a +seal remained; the date 1707 was legible, and there were some scrawls, +probably the poor lady’s signature, and perhaps that of witnesses. +Clarence and Martyn said very little to one another, but they set out for +Dawlish the next day. + +‘Found’ was indicated to us, but no more, for they arrived late, and had +to sleep at the hotel, after an evening when we were delighted to hear my +mother ask so many questions about household and parish affairs. In the +morning she was pleased to send all ‘the children’ out on the beach, then +free from the railway. It was a beautiful day, with the intensely blue +South Devon sea dancing in golden ripples, and breaking on the shore with +the sound Clarence loved so well, as, in the shade of the dark crimson +cliffs, Emily sat at my feet and my brothers unfolded their strange +discoveries into her lap. There was a kind of solemnity in the thing; we +scarcely spoke, except that Emily said, ‘Oh, will she come again,’ and, +as the tears gathered at sight of the pathetic petition in the old book, +‘Was that granted?’ + +We reconstructed our theory. The poor lady must have repented of the +unjust will forced from her by her stepsons, and contrived to make +another; but she must have been kept a captive until, during their +absence at some Christmas convivialities, she tried to escape; but +hearing sounds betokening their return, she had only time to hide the +bundle in the ruin before she was detected, and in the scuffle received a +fatal blow. + +‘But why,’ I objected, ‘did she not remain hidden till her enemies were +safe in the house?’ + +‘Terrified beyond the use of her senses,’ said Clarence. + +‘By all accounts,’ said Martyn, ‘the poor creature must have been rather +a silly woman.’ + +‘For shame, Martyn,’ cried Emily, ‘how can you tell? They might have +seen her go in, or she might have feared being missed.’ + +‘Or if you watch next Christmas you may see it all explained.’ + +To which Emily replied with a shiver that nothing would induce her to go +through it again, and indeed she hoped the spirit would rest since the +discovery had been made. + +‘And then?’—one of us said, and there was a silence, and another futile +attempt to read the will. + +‘I shall take it to London and see what an expert can do with it,’ said +Clarence. ‘I have heard of wonderful decipherings in the Record Office; +but you will remember that even if it can be made out, it will hardly +invalidate our possession after a hundred and thirty years.’ + +‘Clarence!’ cried Emily in a horrified voice; and I asked if the date +were not later than that by which we inherited. + +‘Three years,’ Clarence said, ‘yes; but as things stand, it is absolutely +impossible for me to make restitution at present.’ + +‘On account of the burthens on the estate?’ I said. + +‘Oh, but we could give up,’ said Emily. + +‘I dare say!’ said Clarence, smiling; ‘but to say nothing of poor Selina, +my mother would hardly see it in the same light, nor should I deal +rightly, even if I could make any alterations; I doubt whether my father +would have held himself bound—certainly not while no one can read this +document.’ + +‘It would simply outrage his legal mind,’ said Martyn. + +‘Then what is to be done? Is the injustice to be perpetual?’ asked +Emily. + +‘This is what I have thought of,’ said Clarence. ‘We must leave matters +as they are till I can realise enough either to pay off all these +bequests, or to offer Mr. Fordyce the value of the estate.’ + +‘It is not the whole,’ I said. + +‘Not the Wattlesea part. This means Chantry House and the three farms in +the village. £10,000 would cover it.’ + +‘Is it possible?’ asked Emily. + +‘Yes,’ returned Clarence, ‘God helping me. You know our concern is +bringing in good returns, and Mr. Castleford will put me in the way of +doing more with my available capital.’ + +‘We will save so as to help you!’ added Emily. At which he smiled. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. +ON A SPREE. + + + ‘Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, + Like twilight too, her dusky hair, + But all things else about her drawn + From May-time and the cheerful dawn, + A dancing shape, an image gay, + To haunt, to startle, and waylay.’ + + WORDSWORTH. + +CLARENCE went to London according to his determination, and as he had for +some time been urgent that I should try some newly-invented mechanical +appliances, he took me with him, this being the last expedition of the +ancient yellow chariot. One of his objects was that I should see St. +Paul’s, Knightsbridge, which was then the most distinguished church of +our school of thought, and where there was to be some special preaching. +The Castlefords had a seat there, and I was settled there in good time, +looking at the few bits of stained glass then in the east window, when, +as the clergy came in from the vestry, I beheld a familiar face, and +recognised the fine countenance and bearing of our dear old friend Frank +Fordyce. + +Then, looking at the row of ladies in front of me, I beheld for a moment +an outline of a profile recalling many things. No doubt, Anne Fordyce +was there, though instead of barely emulating my stunted stature, she +towered above her companions, looking to my mind most fresh and graceful +in her pretty summer dress; and I knew that Clarence saw her too. + +I had never heard Mr. Fordyce preach before, as in his flying visits his +ministrations were due at Hillside; and I certainly should have been +struck with the force and beauty of his sermon if I had never known him +before. It was curious that it was on the 49th Psalm, meant perhaps for +the fashionable congregation, but remarkably chiming in with the feelings +of us, who were conscious of an inheritance of evil from one who had +‘done well unto himself;’ though, no doubt, that was the last thing +honest Parson Frank was thinking of. + +When the service was over, and Anne turned, she became aware of us, and +her face beamed all over. It was a charming face, with a general +likeness to dear Ellen’s, but without the fragile ethereal look, and all +health, bloom, and enjoyment recalling her father’s. She was only moving +to let her pew-fellows pass out, and was waiting for him to come for her, +as he did in a few moments, and he too was all pleasure and cordiality. +He told us when we were outside that he had come up to preach, and ‘had +brought Miss Anne up for a spree.’ They were at a hotel, Mrs. Fordyce +was at home, and the Lesters were not in town this season—a matter of +rejoicing to us. Could we not come home and dine with them at once? We +were too much afraid of disappointing Gooch to do so, but they made an +appointment to meet us at the Royal Academy as soon as it was open the +next morning. + +There was a fortnight of enjoyment. Parson Frank was like a boy out for +a holiday. He had not spent more than a day or two in town for many +years; Anne had not been there since early childhood, and they adopted +Clarence as their lioniser, going through such a country-cousin course of +delights as in that memorable time with Ellen. They even went down to +Eton and Windsor, Frank Fordyce being an old Etonian. I doubt whether +Clarence ever had a more thoroughly happy time, not even in the north of +Devon, for there was no horse on his mind, and he was not suppressed as +in those days. Indeed, I believe, it is the experience of others besides +ourselves that there is often more unmixed pleasure on casual holidays +like this than in those of early youth; for even if spirits are less high +(which is not always the case), anticipations are less eager, there is +more readiness to accept whatever comes, more matured appreciation, and +less fret and friction at _contretemps_. + +I was not much of a drag, for when I could not be with the others, I had +old friends, and the museum was as dear to me as ever, in those recesses +that had been the paradise of my youth; but there was a good deal in +which we could all share, and as usual they were all kind consideration. + +Anne overflowed with minute remembrances of her old home, and Clarence so +basked in her sunshine that it began to strike me that here might be the +solution of all the perplexities especially after the first evening, when +he had shown his strange discovery to Mr. Fordyce, who simply laughed and +said we need not trouble ourselves about it. Illegible was it? He was +heartily glad to hear that it was. Even otherwise, forty years’ +possession was quite enough, and then he pointed to the grate, and said +that was the best place for such things. There was no fire, but Clarence +could hardly rescue the paper from being torn up. + +As to the ghost, he knew much less than his daughter Ellen had done. He +said his old aunt had some stories about Chantry House being haunted, and +had thought it incumbent on her to hate the Winslows, but he had thought +it all nonsense, and such stories were much better forgotten. ‘Would he +not see if there were any letters?’ + +There might be, perhaps in the solicitor’s office at Bath, but if he ever +got hold of them, he should certainly burn them. What was the use of +being Christians, if such quarrels were to be remembered? + +Anne knew nothing. Aunt Peggy had died before she could remember, and +even Martyn had been discreet. Clarence said no more after that one +conversation, and seemed to me engrossed between his necessary business +at the office, and the pleasant expeditions with the Fordyces. Only when +they were on the point of returning home, did he tell me that the will +had been pronounced utterly past deciphering, and that he thought he saw +a way of setting all straight. ‘So do I,’ was my rejoinder, and there +must have been a foolishly sagacious expression about me that made him +colour up, and say, ‘No such thing, Edward. Don’t put that into my +head.’ + +‘Isn’t it there already?’ + +‘It ought not to be. It would be mere treachery in these sweet, fresh, +young, innocent, days of hers, knowing too what her mother would think of +it and of me. Didn’t you observe in old Frank’s unguarded way of reading +letters aloud, and then trying to suppress bits, that Mrs. Fordyce was +not at all happy at our being so much about with them, poor woman. No +wonder! the child is too young,’ he added, showing how much, after all, +he was thinking of it. ‘It would be taking a base advantage of them +_now_.’ + +‘But by and by?’ + +‘If she should be still free when the great end is achieved and the evil +repaired, then I might dare.’ + +He broke off with a look of glad hope, and I could see it was forbearance +rather than constitutional diffidence that withheld him from awakening +the maiden’s feelings. He was a very fine looking man, in his +prime—tall, strong, and well made, with a singularly grave, thoughtful +expression, and a rare but most winning smile; and Anne was overflowing +with affectionate gladness at intercourse with one who belonged to the +golden age of her childhood. I could scarcely believe but that in the +friction of the parting the spark would be elicited, and I should even +have liked to kindle it for them myself, being tolerably certain that +warm-hearted, unguarded Parson Frank would forget all about his lady and +blow it with all his might. + +We dined with the Fordyces at their hotel, and sat in the twilight with +the windows open, and we made Anne and Clarence sing, as both could do +without notes, but he would not undertake to remember anything with an +atom of sentiment in it, and when Anne did sing, ‘Auld lang syne,’ with +all her heart, he went and got into a dark corner, and barely said, +‘Thank you.’ + +Not a definite answer could be extracted from him in reply to all the +warm invitations to Beachharbour that were lavished on us by the father, +while the daughter expatiated on its charms; the rocks I might sketch, +the waves and the delicious boating, and above all the fisher children +and the church. Nothing was wanting but to have us all there! Why had +we not brought Mrs. Winslow, and Emily, and Martyn, instead of going to +Dawlish? + +Good creatures, they little knew the chill that had been cast upon +Martyn. They even bemoaned the having seen so little of him. And we +knew all the time that they were mice at play in the absence of their +excellent and cautious cat. + +‘Now mind you do come!’ said Anne, as we were in the act of taking leave. +‘It would be as good as Hillside to have you by my Lion rock. He has a +nose just like old Chapman’s, and you must sketch it before it crumbles +off. Yes, and I want to show you all the dear old things you made for my +baby-house after the fire, your dear little wardrobe and all.’ + +She was coming out with us, oblivious that a London hotel was not like +her own free sea-side house. Her father was out at the carriage door, +prepared to help me in, Clarence halted a moment— + +‘Please, pray, go back, Anne,’ he said, and his voice trembled. ‘This is +not home you know.’ + +She started back, but paused. ‘You’ll not forget.’ + +‘Oh no; no fear of my forgetting.’ + +And when seated beside me, he leant back with a sigh. + +‘How could you help?’ I said. + +‘How? Why the perfect, innocent, childish, unconsciousness of the +thing,’ he said, and became silent except for one murmur on the way. + +‘Consequences must be borne—’ + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. +THE PRICE. + + + ‘With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go + Athwart the foaming brine.’ + + LORD BYRON. + +CLARENCE would not tell me his purpose, he said, till he had considered +it more fully; nor could we have much conversation on the way home, as my +mother had arranged that we should bring an old friend of hers back with +us to pay her a visit. So I had to sit inside and make myself agreeable +to Mrs. Wrightson, while Clarence had plenty of leisure for meditation +outside on the box seat. The good lady said much on the desirableness of +marriage for Clarence, and the comfort it would be to my mother to see +Emily settled. + +We had heard much in town of railway shares; and the fortunes of Hudson, +the railway king, were under discussion. I suspected Clarence of +cogitating the using his capital in this manner; and hoped that when he +saw his way, he might not think it dishonourable to come into further +contact with Anne, and reveal his hopes. He allowed that he was +considering of such investments, but would not say any more. + +My mother and Emily had, in the meantime, been escorted home by Martyn. +The first thing Clarence did was to bespeak Emily’s company in a turn in +the garden. What passed then I never knew nor guessed for years after. +He consulted her whether, in case he were absent from England for five, +seven, or ten years, she would be equal to the care of my mother and me. +Martyn, when ordained, would have duties elsewhere, and could only be +reckoned upon in emergencies. My mother, though vigorous and practical, +had shown symptoms of gout, and if she were ill, I could hardly have done +much for her; and on the other hand, though my health and powers of +moving were at their best, and I was capable of the headwork of the +estate, I was scarcely fit to be the representative member of the family. +Moreover, these good creatures took into consideration that poor mamma +and I would have been rather at a loss as each other’s sole companions. +I could sort shades for her Berlin work, and even solve problems of +intricate knitting, and I could read to her in the evening; but I could +not trot after her to her garden, poultry-yard, and cottages; nor could +she enter into the pursuits that Emily had shared with me for so many +years. Our connecting link, that dear sister, knew how sorely she would +be missed, and she told Clarence that she felt fully competent to +undertake, conjointly with us, all that would be incumbent on Chantry +House, if he really wanted to be absent. For the rest, Clarence believed +my mother would be the happier for being left regent over the estate; and +his scheme broke upon me that very forenoon, when my mother and he were +settling some executor’s business together, and he told her that Mr. +Castleford wished him to go out to Hong Kong, which was then newly ceded +to the English, and where the firm wished to establish a house of +business. + +‘You can’t think of it,’ she exclaimed, and the sound fell like a knell +on my ears. + +‘I think I must,’ was his answer. ‘We shall be cut out if we do not get +a footing there, and there is no one who can quite answer the purpose.’ + +‘Not that young Frith—’ + +‘Ten to one but he is on his way home. Besides, if not, he has his own +work at Canton. We see our way to very considerable advantages, if—’ + +‘Advantages!’ she interrupted. ‘I hate speculation. I should have +thought you might be contented with your station; but that is the worst +of merchants,—they never know when to stop. I suppose your ambition is +to make this a great overgrown mansion, so that your father would not +know it again.’ + +‘Certainly not that, mamma,’ said Clarence smiling; ‘it is the last thing +I should think of; but stopping would in this case mean going backward.’ + +‘Why can’t Mr. Castleford send one of his own sons?’ + +‘Probably Walter may come out by and by, but he has not experience enough +for this.’ + +Clarence had not in the least anticipated my mother’s opposition, for he +had come to underestimate her affection for and reliance on him. He had +us all against him, for not only could we not bear to part with him; but +the climate of Hong-Kong was in evil repute, and I had become persuaded +that, with his knowledge of business, railway shares and scrip might be +made to realise the amount needed, but he said, ‘That is what _I_ call +speculation. The other matter is trade in which, with Heaven’s blessing, +I can hope to prosper.’ + +He explained that Mr. Castleford had received him on his coming to London +with almost a request that he would undertake this expedition; but with +fears whether, in his new position, he could or would do so, although his +presence in China would be very important to the firm at this juncture; +and there would be opportunities which would probably result in very +considerable profits after a few years. If Clarence had been, as before, +a mere younger brother, it would have been thought an excellent chance; +and he would almost have felt bound by his obligations to Mr. Castleford +to undertake the first starting of the enterprise, if it had not been for +our recent loss, and the doubt whether he could he spared from home. + +He made light of the dangers of climate. He had never suffered in that +way in his naval days, and scarcely knew what serious illness meant. +Indeed, he had outgrown much of that sensibility of nerve which had made +him so curiously open to spiritual or semi-spiritual impressions. + +‘Any way,’ he said, ‘the thing is right to be done, provided my mother +does not make an absolute point of my giving it up; and whether she does +or not depends a good deal on how you others put it to her.’ + +‘Right on Mr. Castleford’s account?’ I asked. + +‘That is one side of it. To refuse would put him in a serious +difficulty; but I could perhaps come home sooner if it were not for this +other matter. I told him so far as that it was an object with me to +raise this sum in a few years, and he showed me how there is every +likelihood of my being able to do so out there. So now I feel in your +hands. If you all, and Edward chiefly, set to and persuade my mother +that this undertaking is a dangerous business, and that I can only be led +to it by inordinate love of riches—’ + +‘No, no—’ + +‘That’s what she thinks,’ pursued Clarence, ‘and that I want to be a +grander man than my father. That’s at the bottom of her mind, I see. +Well, if you deplore this, and let her think the place can’t do without +me, she will come out in her strength and make it my duty to stay at +home.’ + +‘It is very tempting,’ said Emily. + +‘We all undertook to give up something.’ + +‘We never thought it would come in this way!’ + +‘We never do,’ said Clarence. + +‘Tell me,’ said Martyn, ‘is this to content that ghost, poor thing? For +it is very hard to believe in her, except in the mullion room in +December.’ + +‘Exactly so, Martyn,’ he answered. ‘Impressions fade, and the intellect +fails to accept them. But I do not think that is my motive. We know +that a wicked deed was done by our ancestor, and we hardly have the right +to pray, “Remember not the sins of our forefathers,” unless, now that we +know the crime, we attempt what restitution in us lies.’ + +There was no resisting after this appeal, and after the first shock, my +mother was ready to admit that as Clarence owed everything to Mr. +Castleford, he could not well desert the firm, if it were really needful +for its welfare that he should go out. We got her to look on Mr. +Castleford as captain of the ship, and Clarence as first lieutenant; and +when she was once convinced that he did not want to aggrandise the +family, but to do his duty, she dropped her objections; and we soon saw +that the occupations that his absence would impose on her would be a +fresh interest in life. + +Just as the decision was thus ratified, a packet from Canton arrived for +Clarence from Bristol. It was the first reply of young Frith to the +tidings of the bequest which had changed the poor clerk to a wealthy man, +owning a large proportion of the shares of the prosperous house. + +I asked if he were coming home, and Clarence briefly replied that he did +not know,—‘it depended—’ + +‘Is he going to wed a fair Chinese with lily feet?’ asked Martyn, to +which the reply was an unusually discourteous ‘Bosh,’ as Clarence escaped +with his letter. He was so reticent about it that I required a solemn +assurance that poor Lawrence’s head had not been turned by his fortune, +and that there was nothing wrong with him. Indeed, there was great +stupidity in never guessing the purport of that thick letter, nor that it +contained one for Emily, where Lawrence Frith laid himself, and all that +he had, at her feet, ascribing to her all the resolution with which he +had kept from evil, and entreating permission to come home and endeavour +to win her heart. We lived so constantly together that it is surprising +that Clarence contrived to give the letter to Emily in private. She +implored him to say nothing to us, and brought him the next day her +letter of uncompromising refusal. + +He asked whether it would have been the same if he had intended to remain +at home. + +‘As if you were a woman, you conceited fellow,’ was all the answer she +vouchsafed him. + +Nor could he ascertain, nor perhaps would she herself examine, on which +side lay her heart of hearts. The proof had come whether she would abide +by her pledge to him to accept the care of us in his absence. When he +asked it, it had not occurred to him that it might be a renunciation of +marriage. Now he perceived that so it had been, but she kept her counsel +and so did he. We others never guessed at what was going on between +those two. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. +PAYING THE COST. + + + ‘But oh! the difference to me.’ + + WORDSWORTH. + +SO Clarence was gone, and our new life begun in its changed aspect. +Emily showed an almost feverish eagerness to make it busy and cheerful, +getting up a sewing class in the village, resuming the study of Greek, +grappling with the natural system in botany, all of which had been +fitfully proposed but hindered by interruptions and my father’s +feebleness. + +On a suggestion of Mr. Stafford’s, we set to work on that _History of +Letter Writing_ which, what with collecting materials, and making +translations, lasted us three years altogether, and was a great resource +and pleasure, besides ultimately bringing in a fraction towards the great +purpose. Emily has confessed that she worked away a good deal of vague, +weary depression, and sense of monotony into those Greek choruses: but to +us she was always a sunbeam, with her ever ready attention, and the +playfulness which resumed more of genuine mirth after the first effort +and strain of spirits were over. + +Then journal-letters on either side began to bridge the gulf of +separation,—those which, minus all the specially interesting portions, +are to be seen in the volume we culled from them, and which had +considerable success in its day. + +Martyn worked in the parish and read with Mr. Henderson till he was old +enough for Ordination, and then took the curacy of St. Wulstan’s, under a +hardworking London vicar, and thenceforth his holidays were our +festivals. Our old London friends pitied us for what they viewed as a +fearfully dull life, and in the visits they occasionally paid us thought +they were doing us a great favour by bringing us new ideas and shooting +our partridges. + +We hardly deserved their compassion: our lives were full of interest to +ourselves—that interest which comes of doing ever so feeble a stroke of +work in one great cause; and there was much keen participation in the +general life of the Church in the crisis through which she was passing. +We found that, what with drawing pictures, writing little books, +preparing lessons for teachers, and much besides which is now ready done +by the National Society and Sunday School Institute, we could do a good +deal to assist Martyn in his London work, and our own grew upon us. + +For the first year of her widowhood, my mother shrank from society, and +afterwards had only spasmodic fits of doubt whether it were not her duty +to make my sister go out more. So that now and then Emily did go to a +party, or to make a visit of some days or weeks from home, and then we +knew how valuable she was. It would be hard to say whether my mother +were relieved or disappointed when Emily refused James Eastwood, in spite +of many persuasions, not only from himself, but his family. I believe +mamma thought it selfish to be glad, and that it was a failure in duty +not to have performed that weighty matter of marrying her daughter; +feeling in some way inferior to ladies who had disposed of a whole flock +under five and twenty, whereas she had not been able to get rid of a +single one! + +Of Clarence’s doings in China I need not speak; you have read of them in +the book for yourselves, and you know how his work prospered, so that the +results more than fulfilled his expectations, and raised the firm to the +pitch of greatness and reputation which it has ever since preserved, and +this without soiling his hands with the miserable opium traffic. Some of +the subordinates were so set on the gains to be thus obtained, that he +and Lawrence Frith had a severe struggle with them to prevent it, and +were forced conjointly to use all their authority as principals to make +it impossible. Those two were the greatest of friends. Their chief +relaxation was one another’s company, and their earnest aim was to +support the Christian mission, and to keep up the tone of their English +dependants, a terribly difficult matter, and one that made the time of +their return somewhat doubtful, even when Walter Castleford was gone out +to relieve them. Their health had kept up so well that we had ceased to +be anxious on that point, and it was through the Castlefords that we +received the first hint that Clarence might not be as well as his absence +of complaint had led us to believe. + +In fact he had never been well since a terrible tempest, when he had +worked hard and exposed himself to save life. I never could hear the +particulars, for Lawrence was away, and Clarence could not write about it +himself, having been prostrated by one of those chills so perilous in hot +countries; but from all I have heard, no resident in Hong-Kong would have +believed that Mr. Winslow’s courage could ever have been called in +question. He ought to have come home immediately after that attack of +fever; for the five years were over, and his work nearly done; but there +was need to consolidate his achievements, and a strong man is only too +apt to trifle with his health. We might have guessed something by the +languor and brevity of his letters, but we thought the absence of detail +owing to his expectation of soon seeing us; and had gone on for months +expecting the announcement of a speedy return, when an unexpected shock +fell on us. Our dear mother was still an active woman, with few signs of +age about her, when, in her sixty-seventh year, she was almost suddenly +taken from us by an attack of gout in the stomach. + +I feel as if I had not done her justice, and as if she might seem stern, +unsympathising, and lacking in tenderness. Yet nothing could be further +from the truth. She was an old-fashioned mother, who held it her duty to +keep up her authority, and counted over-familiarity and indulgence as +sins. To her ‘the holy spirit of discipline was the beginning of +wisdom,’ and to make her children godly, truthful, and honourable was a +much greater object than to win their love. And their love she had, and +kept to a far higher degree than seems to be the case with those who +court affection by caresses and indulgence. We knew that her approval +was of a generous kind, we prized enthusiastically her rare betrayals of +her motherly tenderness, and we depended on her in a manner we only +realised in the desolation, dreariness, and helplessness that fell upon +us, when we knew that she was gone. She had not, nor had any of us, +understood that she was dying, and she had uttered only a few words that +could imply any such thought. On hearing that there was a letter from +Clarence, she said, ‘Poor Clarence! I should like to have seen him. He +is a good boy after all. I’ve been hard on him, but it will all be right +now. God Almighty bless him!’ + +That was the only formal blessing she left among us. Indeed, the last +time I saw her was with an ordinary good-night at the foot of the stairs. +Emily said she was glad that I had not to carry with me the remembrance +of those paroxysms of suffering. My dear Emily had alone the whole force +of that trial—or shall I call it privilege? Martyn did not reach home +till some hours after all was over, poor boy. + +And in the midst of our desolateness, just as we had let the daylight in +again upon our diminished numbers round the table, came a letter from +Hong-Kong, addressed to me in Lawrence Frith’s writing, and the first +thing I saw was a scrawl, as follows:— + + ‘DEAREST TED—All is in your hands. You can do _it_. God bless you + all. W. C. W.’ + +When I came to myself, and could see and hear, Martyn was impressing on +me that where there is life there is hope, though indeed, according to +poor Lawrence’s letter, there was little of either. He feared our +hearing indirectly, and therefore wrote to prepare us. + +He had been summoned to Hong-Kong to find Clarence lying desperately ill, +for the most part semi-delirious, holding converse with invisible forms, +or entreating some one to let him alone—he had done his best. In one of +his more lucid intervals he had made Lawrence find that note in a case +that lay near him, and promise to send it; and he had tried to send some +messages, but they had become confused, and he was too weak to speak +further. + +The next mail was sure to bring the last tidings of one who had given his +life for right and justice. It was only a reprieve that what it actually +brought was the intelligence that he was still alive, and more sensible, +and had been able to take much pleasure in seeing the friend of his +youth, Captain Coles, who was there with his ship, the _Douro_. Then +there had been a relapse. Captain Coles had brought his doctor to see +him, and it had been pronounced that the best chance of saving him was a +sea-voyage. The _Douro_ had just received orders to return to England, +and Coles had offered to take home both the friends as guests, though +there was evidently little hope that our brother would reach any earthly +home. As we knew afterwards, he had smiled and said it was like +rehabilitation to have the chance of dying on board one of H.M. ships. +And he was held in such respect, and was so entirely one of the leading +men of the little growing colony, and had been known as such a friend to +the naval men, and had so gallantly aided a Queen’s ship in that +hurricane, that his passage home in this manner only seemed a natural +tribute of respect. A few last words from Lawrence told us that he was +safely on board, all unconscious of the silent, almost weeping, +procession that had escorted his litter to the _Douro’s_ boat, only too +much as if it were his bier. In fact, Captain Coles actually promised +him that if he died at sea he should be buried with the old flag. + +We could not hope to hear more for at least six weeks, since our letter +had come by overland mail, and the _Douro_ would take her time. It was a +comfort in this waiting time that Martyn could be with us. His rector +had been promoted; there was a general change of curates; and as Martyn +had been working up to the utmost limits of his strength, we had no +scruple in inducing him to remain with us, and undertake nothing fresh +till this crisis was past. Though as to rest, not one Sunday passed +without requests for his assistance from one or more of the neighbouring +clergy. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. +ACHIEVED. + + + ‘And hopes and fears that kindle hope, + An undistinguishable throng, + And gentle wishes long subdued— + Subdued and cherished long.’ + + S. T. COLERIDGE. + +THE first that we did hear of our brother was a letter with a Falmouth +postmark, which we scarcely dared to open. There was not much in it, but +that was enough. ‘D. G.—I shall see you all again. We put in at +Portsmouth.’ + +There was no staying at home after that. We three lost no time in +starting, for railways had become available, and by the time we had +driven from the station at Portsmouth the _Douro_ had been signalled. + +Martyn took a boat and went on board alone, for besides that Emily did +not like to leave me, her dress would have been a revelation that _all_ +were no longer there to greet the arrival. The precaution was, however, +unnecessary. There stood Clarence on deck, and after the first greeting, +he laid his hand on Martyn’s arm and said, ‘My mother is gone?’ and on +the wondering assent, ‘I was quite sure of it.’ + +So they came ashore, Clarence lying in the man-of-war’s boat, in which +his friend insisted on sending him, able now to give a smiling response +and salute to the three cheers with which the crew took leave of him. He +was carried up to our hotel on a stretcher by half-a-dozen blue jackets. +Indeed he was grievously changed, looking so worn and weak, so +hollow-eyed and yellow, and so fearfully wasted, that the very memory is +painful; and able to do nothing but lie on the sofa holding Emily’s hand, +gazing at us with a face full of ineffable peace and gladness. There was +a misgiving upon me that he had only come back to finish his work and bid +us farewell. + +Kindly and considerately they had sent him on before with Martyn. In a +quarter of an hour’s time his good doctor came in with Lawrence Frith, a +considerable contrast to our poor Clarence, for the slim gypsy lad had +developed into a strikingly handsome man, still slender and lithe, but +with a fine bearing, and his bronzed complexion suiting well with his +dark shining hair and beautiful eyes. They had brought some of the +luggage, and the doctor insisted that his patient should go to bed +directly, and rest completely before trying to talk. + +Then we heard that his condition, though still anxious, was far from +being hopeless, and that after the tropics had been passed, he had been +gradually improving. The kind doctor had got leave to go up to London +with us, and talk over the case with L---, and he hoped Clarence might be +able to bear the journey by the next afternoon. + +Presently after came Captain Coles, whom we had not seen since the short +visit when we had idolised the big overgrown midshipman, whom Clarence +exhibited to our respectful and distant admiration nearly twenty years +ago. My mother used to call him a gentlemanly lad, and that was just +what he was still, with a singularly soft gentle manner, gallant officer +and post-captain as he was. He cheered me much, for he made no doubt of +Clarence’s ultimate recovery, and he added that he had found the dear +fellow so valued and valuable, so useful in all good works, and so much +respected by all the English residents, ‘that really,’ said the captain, +‘I did not know whether to deplore that the service should have lost such +a man, or whether to think it had been a good thing for him, though not +for us, that—that he got into such a scrape.’ + +I said something of our thanks. + +‘To tell you the truth,’ said Coles, ‘I had my doubts whether it had not +been a cruel act, for he had a terrible turn after we got him on board, +and all the sounds of a Queen’s ship revived the past associations, and +always of a painful kind in his delirium, till at last, just as I gave +him up, the whole character of his fancies seemed to change, and from +that time he has been gaining every day.’ + +We kept the captain to dinner, and gathered a good deal more +understanding of the important position to which Clarence had risen by +force of character and rectitude of purpose in that strange little +Anglo-Chinese colony; and afterwards, I was allowed to make a long visit +to Clarence, who, having eaten and slept, was quite ready to talk. + +It seemed that the great distress of his illness had been the +recurrence—nay, aggravation—of the strange susceptibility of brain and +nerve that had belonged to his earlier days, and with it either +imagination or perception of the spirit-world. Much that had seemed +delirium had belonged to that double consciousness, and he perfectly +recollected it. As Coles had said, the sights and sounds of the ship had +been a renewal of the saddest time in his life; he could not at night +divest himself of the impression that he was under arrest, and the sins +of his life gathered themselves in fearful and oppressive array, as if to +stifle him, and the phantom of poor Margaret with her lamp—which had +haunted him from the beginning of his illness—seemed to taunt him with +having been too fainthearted and tardy to be worthy to espouse her cause. +The faith to which he tried to cling _would_ seem to fail him in those +awful hours, when he could only cry out mechanical prayers for mercy. +Then there had come a night when he had heard my mother say, ‘All right +now; God Almighty bless him.’ And therewith the clouds cleared from his +mind. The power of _feeling_, as well as believing in, the blotting out +of sin, returned, the sense of pardon and peace calmed him, and from that +time he was fully himself again, ‘though,’ he said, ‘I knew I should not +see my mother here.’ + +If she could only have seen him come home under the Union Jack, cheered +by sailors, and carried ashore by them, it would have been to her like +restoration. Perhaps Clarence in his dreamy weakness had so felt it, for +certainly no other mode of return to Portsmouth, the very place of his +degradation, could so have soothed him and effaced those memories. The +English sounds were a perfect charm to him, as well as to Lawrence, the +commonest street cry, the very slices of bread and butter, anything that +was not Chinese, was as water to the thirsty! And wasted as was his +face, the quiet rest and joy were ineffable. + +Still Portsmouth was not the best place for him, and we were glad that he +was well enough to go up to London in the afternoon; intensely delighting +in the May beauty of the green meadows, and white blossoming hedgerows, +and the Church towers, especially the gray massiveness of Winchester +Cathedral. ‘Christian tokens,’ he said, instead of the gay, gilded +pagodas and quaint crumpled roofs he had left. The soft haze seemed to +be such a rest after the glare of perpetual clearness. + +We were all born Londoners, and looked at the blue fog, and the broad, +misty river, and the brooding smoke, with the affection of natives, to +the amazement of Lawrence, who had never been in town without being +browbeaten and miserable. That he hardly was now, as he sat beside Emily +all the way up, though they did not say much to one another. + +He told us it was quite a new sensation to walk into the office without +timidity, and to have no fears of a biting, crushing speech about his +parents or himself; but to have the clerks getting up deferentially as +soon as he was known for Mr. Frith. He had hardly ever been allowed by +his old uncle to come across Mr. Castleford, who was of course cordial +and delighted to receive him, and, without loss of time, set forth to see +Clarence. + +The consultation with the physician had taken place, and it was not +concealed from us that Clarence’s health was completely shattered, and +his state still very precarious, needing the utmost care to give him any +chance of recovering the effects of the last two years, when he had +persevered, in spite of warning, in his eagerness to complete his +undertaking, and then to secure what he had effected. The upshot of the +advice given him was to spend the summer by the seaside, and if he had by +that time gathered strength, and surmounted the symptoms of disease, to +go abroad, as he was not likely to be able as yet to bear English cold. +Business and cares were to be avoided, and if he had anything necessary +to be done, it had better be got over at once, so as to be off his mind. +Martyn and Frith gathered that the case was thought doubtful, and +entirely dependent on constitution and rallying power. Clarence himself +seemed almost passive, caring only for our presence and the +accomplishment of his task. + +We had a blessed thanksgiving for mercies received in the Margaret Street +Chapel, as we called what is now All Saints; but he and I were unfit for +crowds, and on Sunday morning availed ourselves of a friend’s seat in our +old church, which felt so natural and homelike to us elders that Martyn +was scandalised at our taste. But it was the church of our Confirmation +and first Communion, and Clarence rejoiced that it was that of his first +home-coming Eucharist. What a contrast was he now to the shrinking boy, +scarcely tolerated under his stigmatised name. Surely the Angel had led +him all his life through! + +How happy we two were in the afternoon, while the others conducted +Lawrence to some more noteworthy church. + +‘Now,’ said Clarence, ‘let us go down to Beachharbour. It must be done +at once. I have been trying to write, and I can’t do it,’ and his face +lighted with a quiet smile which I understood. + +So we wrote to the principal hotel to secure rooms, and set forth on +Tuesday, leaving Frith to finish with Mr. Castleford what could not be +settled in the one business interview that had been held with Clarence on +the Monday. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. +RESTITUTION. + + + ‘Ah! well for us all some sweet hope lies + Deeply buried from human eyes.’ + + WHITTIER. + +THINGS always happen in unexpected ways. During the little hesitation +and difficulty that always attend my transits at a station, a voice was +heard to say, ‘Oh! Papa, isn’t that Edward Winslow?’ Martyn gave a +violent start, and Mr. Fordyce was exclaiming, ‘Clarence, my dear fellow, +it isn’t you! I beg your pardon; you have strength enough left nearly to +wring one’s hand off!’ + +‘I—I wanted very much to see you, sir,’ said Clarence. ‘Could you be so +good as to appoint a time?’ + +‘See you! We must always be seeing you of course. Let me think. I’ve +got three weddings and a funeral to-morrow, and Simpson coming about the +meeting. Come to luncheon—all of you. Mrs. Fordyce will be delighted, +and so will somebody else.’ + +There was no doubt about the somebody else, for Anne’s feet were as +nearly dancing round Emily as public propriety allowed, and the radiance +of her face was something to rejoice in. Say what people will, +Englishwomen in a quiet cheerful life are apt to gain rather than lose in +looks up to the borders of middle age. Our Emily at two-and-thirty was +fair and pleasant to look on; while as for Anne Fordyce at twenty-three, +words will hardly tell how lovely were her delicate features, brown eyes, +and carnation cheeks, illuminated by that sunshine brightness of her +father’s, which made one feel better all day for having been beamed upon +by either of them. Clarence certainly did, when the good man turned back +to say, ‘Which hotel? Eh? That’s too far off. You must come nearer. I +would see you in, but I’ve got a woman to see before church time, and I’m +short of a curate, so I must be sharp to the hour.’ + +‘Can I be of any use?’ eagerly asked Martyn. ‘I’ll follow you as soon as +I have got these fellows to their quarters.’ + +We had Amos with us, and were soon able to release Martyn, after a few +compliments on my not being as usual _the_ invalid; and by and by he came +back to take Emily to inspect a lodging, recommended by our friends, +close to the beach, and not a stone’s throw from the Rectory built by Mr. +Fordyce. As we two useless beings sat opposite to each other, looking +over the roofs of houses at the blue expanse and feeling the salt breeze, +it was no fancy that Clarence’s cheek looked less wan, and his eyes +clearer, as a smile of content played on his lips. ‘Years sit well on +her,’ he said gaily; and I thought of rewards in store for him. + +Then he took this opportunity of consulting me on the chances for Frith, +telling of the original offer, and the quiet constancy of his friend, and +asking whether I thought Emily would relent. And I answered that I +suspected that she would,—‘But you must get well first.’ + +‘I begin to think that more possible,’ he answered, and my heart bounded +as he added, ‘she would be satisfied since you would always have a home +with _us_.’ + +Oh, how much was implied in that monosyllable. He knew it, for a little +faint colour came up, as he, shyly, laughed and hesitated, ‘That is—if—’ + +‘If’ included Mrs. Fordyce’s not being ungracious. Nor was she. Emily +had found her as kind as in the old days at Hillside, and perfectly ready +to bring us into close vicinity. It was not caprice that had made this +change, but all possible doubt and risk of character were over, the old +wound was in some measure healed, and the friendship had been brought +foremost by our recent sorrow and our present anxiety. Anne was in +ecstasies over Emily. ‘It is so odd,’ she said, ‘to have grown as old as +you, whom I used to think so very grown up,’ and she had all her pet +plans to display in the future. Moreover, Martyn had been permitted to +relieve the Rector from the funeral—a privilege which seemed to gratify +him as much as if it had been the liveliest of services. + +We were to lunch at the Rectory, and the move of our goods was to be +effected while we were there. We found Mrs. Fordyce looking much older, +but far less of an invalid than in old times, and there was something +more genial and less exclusive in her ways, owing perhaps to the +difference of her life among the many classes with whom she was called on +to associate. + +Somersetshire, Beachharbour, and China occupied our tongues by turns, and +we had to begin luncheon without the Rector, who had been hindered by +numerous calls; in fact, as Anne warned us, it was a wonder if he got the +length of the esplanade without being stopped half-a-dozen times. + +His welcome was like himself, but he needed a reminder of Clarence’s +request for an interview. Then we repaired to the study, for Clarence +begged that his brothers might be present, and then the beginning was +made. ‘Do you remember my showing you a will that I found in the ruins +at Chantry House?’ + +‘A horrid old scrap that you chose to call one. Yes; I told you to burn +it.’ + +‘Sir, we have proved that a great injustice was perpetrated by our +ancestor, Philip Winslow, and that the poor lady who made that will was +cruelly treated, if not murdered. This is no fancy; I have known it for +years past, but it is only now that restitution has become possible.’ + +‘Restitution? What are you talking about? I never wanted the place nor +coveted it.’ + +‘No, sir, but the act was our forefather’s. You cannot bid us sit down +under the consciousness of profiting by a crime. I could not do so +before, but I now implore you to let me restore you either Chantry House +and the three farms, or their purchase money, according to the valuation +made at my father’s death. I have it in hand.’ + +Frank Fordyce walked about the room quite overcome. ‘You foolish +fellow!’ he said, ‘Was it for this that you have been toiling and +throwing away your health in that pestiferous place? Edward, did you +know this?’ + +‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Clarence has intended this ever since he found the +will.’ + +‘As if that was a will! You consented.’ + +‘We all thought it right.’ + +He made a gesture of dismay at such folly. + +‘I do not think you understand how it was, Mr. Fordyce,’ said Clarence, +who by this time was quivering and trembling as in his boyish days. + +‘No, nor ever wish to do so. Such matters ought to be forgotten, and you +don’t look fit to say another word.’ + +‘Edward will tell you,’ said Clarence, leaning back. + +I had the whole written out, and was about to begin, when the person, +with whom there was an appointment, was reported, and we knew that the +rest of the day was mapped out. + +‘Look here,’ said Mr. Fordyce, ‘leave that with me; I can’t give any +answer off-hand, except that Don Quixote is come alive again, only too +like himself.’ + +Which was true, for Clarence took long to rally from the effort, and had +to be kept quiet for some time in the study where we were left. He +examined me on the contents of my paper, and was vexed to hear that I had +mentioned the ghost, which he said would discredit the whole. Never was +the dear fellow so much inclined to be fretful, and when Martyn +restlessly observed that if we did not want him, he might as well go back +to the drawing-room, the reply was quite sharp—‘Oh yes, by all means.’ + +No wonder there was pain in the tone; for the next words, after some +interval, were, when two happy voices came ringing in from the garden +behind, ‘You see, Edward.’ + +Somehow I had never thought of Martyn. He had simply seemed to me a boy, +and I had decided that Anne would be the crown of Clarence’s labours. I +answered ‘Nonsense; they are both children together!’ + +‘The nonsense was elsewhere,’ he said. ‘They always were devoted to each +other. I saw how it was the moment he came into the room.’ + +‘Don’t give up,’ I said; ‘it is only the old habit. When she knows all, +she must prefer—’ + +‘Hush!’ he said. ‘An old scarecrow and that beautiful young creature!’ +and he laughed. + +‘You won’t be an old scarecrow long.’ + +‘No,’ he said in an ominous way, and cut short the discussion by going +back to Mrs. Fordyce. + +He was worn out, had a bad night, and did not get up to breakfast; I was +waiting for it in the sitting-room, when Mr. Fordyce came in after matins +with Emily and Martyn. + +‘I feel just like David when they brought him the water of Bethlehem,’ he +said. ‘You know I think this all nonsense, especially this—this ghost +business; and yet, such—such doings as your brother’s can’t go for +nothing.’ + +His face worked, and the tears were in his eyes; then, as he partook of +our breakfast, he cross-examined us on my statement, and even tried to +persuade us that the phantom in the ruin was Emily; and on her observing +that she could not have seen herself, he talked of the Brocken Spectre +and fog mirages; but we declared the night was clear, and I told him that +all the rational theories I had ever heard were far more improbable than +the appearance herself, at which he laughed. Then he scrupulously +demanded whether this—this (he failed to find a name for it) would be an +impoverishment of our family, and I showed how Clarence had provided that +we should be in as easy circumstances as before. In the midst came in +Clarence himself, having hastened to dress, on hearing that Mr. Fordyce +was in the house, and looking none the better for the exertion. + +‘Look here, my dear boy,’ said Frank, taking his hot trembling hand, ‘you +have put me in a great fix. You have done the noblest deed at a terrible +cost, and whatever I may think, it ought not to be thrown away, nor you +be hindered from freeing your soul from this sense of family guilt. But +here, my forefathers had as little right to the Chantry as yours, and +ever since I began to think about such things, I have been thankful it +was none of mine. Let us join in giving it or its value to some good +work for God—pour it out to the Lord, as we may say. Bless me! what have +I done now.’ + +For Clarence, muttering ‘thank you,’ sank out of his grasp on a chair, +and as nearly as possible fainted; but he was soon smiling and saying it +was all relief, and he felt as if a load he had been bearing had been +suddenly removed. + +Frank Fordyce durst stay no longer, but laid his hand on Clarence’s head +and blessed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. +THE FORDYCE STORY. + + + ‘For soon as once the genial plain + Has drunk the life-blood of the slain, + Indelible the spots remain, + And aye for vengeance call.’ + + EURIPIDES—(_Anstice_). + +STILL all was not over, for by the next day our brother was as ill, or +worse, than ever. The doctor who came from London allowed that he had +expected something of the kind, but thought we must have let him exert +himself perilously. Poor innocent Martyn and Anne, they little suspected +that their bright eyes and happy voices had something to do with the +struggle and disappointment, which probably was one cause of the +collapse. As to poor Frank Fordyce, I never saw him so distressed; he +felt as if it were all his own fault, or that of his ancestors, and, +whenever he was not required by his duties, was lingering about for news. +I had little hope, though Clarence seemed to me the very light of my +eyes; it was to me as though, his task being accomplished, and the +earthly reward denied, he must be on his way to the higher one. + +His complete quiescence confirmed me in the assurance that he thought so +himself. He was too ill for speech, but Lawrence, who could not stay +away, was struck with the difference from former times. Not only were +there no delusions, but there was no anxiety or uneasiness, as there had +always been in the former attacks, when he was evidently eager to live, +and still more solicitous to be told if he were in a hopeless state. Now +he had plainly resigned himself— + + ‘Content to live, but not afraid to die;’ + +and perhaps, dear fellow, it was chiefly for my sake that he was willing +to live. At least, I know that when the worst was over, he announced it +by putting those wasted fingers into mine, and saying— + +‘Well, dear old fellow, I believe we shall jog on together, after all.’ + +That attack, though the most severe of all, brought, either owing to +skilful treatment or to his own calm, the removal of the mischief, and +the beginning of real recovery. Previously he had given himself no time, +but had hurried on to exertions which retarded his cure, so as very +nearly to be fatal; but he was now perfectly submissive to whatever +physicians or nurses desired, and did not seem to find his slow +convalescence in the least tedious, since he was amongst us all again. + +It was nearly a month before he was disposed to recur to the subject of +his old solicitude again, and then he asked what Mr. Fordyce had said or +done. Just nothing at all; but on the next visit paid to the sick-room, +Parson Frank yielded to his earnest request to send for any documents +that might throw light on the subject, and after a few days he brought us +a packet of letters from his deed-box. They were written from Hillside +Rectory to the son in the army in Flanders, chiefly by his mother, and +were full of hot, angry invective against our family, and pity for poor, +foolish ‘Madam,’ or ‘Cousin Winslow,’ as she was generally termed, for +having put herself in their power. + +The one most to the purpose was an account of the examination of Molly +Cox, the waiting-woman, who had been in attendance on the unfortunate +Margaret, and whose story tallied fairly with Aunt Peggy’s tradition. +She declared that she was sure that her mistress had met with foul play. +She had left her as usual at ten o’clock on the fatal 27th of December +1707, in the inner one of the old chambers; and in the night had heard +the tipsy return home of the gentlemen, followed by shrieks. In the +morning she (the maid) who usually was the first to go to her room, was +met by Mistress Betty Winslow, and told that Madam was ill, and +insensible. The old nurse of the Winslows was called in; and Molly was +never left alone in the sick-room, scarcely permitted to approach the +bed, and never to touch her lady. Once, when emptying out a cup at the +garden-door, she saw a mark of blood on the steps, but Mr. Philip came up +and swore at her for a prying fool. Doctor Tomkins was sent for, but he +barely walked through the room, and ‘all know that he is a mere creature +of Philip Winslow,’ wrote the Mrs. Fordyce of that date to her son. And +presently after, ‘Justice Eastwood declared there is no case for a Grand +Jury; but he is a known Friend and sworn Comrade of the Winslows, and +bound to suppress all evidence against them. Nay, James Dearlove swears +he saw Edward Winslow slip a golden Guinea into his Clerk’s Hand. But as +sure as there is a Heaven above us, Francis, poor Cousin Winslow was +trying to escape to us of her own Kindred, and met with cruel Usage. Her +Blood is on their Heads.’ + +‘There!’ said Frank Fordyce. ‘This Francis challenged Philip Winslow’s +eldest son, a mere boy, three days after he joined the army before Lille, +and shot him like a dog. I turned over the letter about it in searching +for these. I can’t boast of my ancestors more than you can. But may God +accept this work of yours, and take away the guilt of blood from both of +us.’ + +‘And have you thought what is best to be done?’ asked Clarence, raising +himself on his cushions. + +‘Have you?’ asked the Vicar. + +‘Oh yes; I have had my dreams.’ + +They put their castles together, and they turned out to be for an +orphanage, or rather asylum, not too much hampered with strict rules, +combined with a convalescent home. The battle of sisterhoods was not yet +fought out, and we were not quite prepared for them; but Frank Fordyce +had, as he said, ‘the two best women in the world in his eye’ to make a +beginning. + +There was full time to think and discuss the scheme, for our patient was +in no condition to move for many weeks, lying day after day on a couch +just within the window of our sitting-room, which was as nearly as +possible in the sea, so that he constantly had the freshness of its +breezes, the music of its ripple, and the sight of its waves, and seemed +to find endless pleasure in watching the red sails, the puffs of steam, +and the frolics of the children, simple or gentle, on the beach. + +Something else was sometimes to be watched. Martyn, all this time, was +doing the work of two curates, and was to be seen walking home with Anne +from church or school, carrying her baskets and bags, and, as we were +given to understand, discussing by turns ecclesiastical questions, +visionary sisterhoods, and naughty children. At first I wished it were +possible to remove Clarence from the perpetual spectacle, but we had one +last talk over the matter, and this was quite satisfactory. + +‘It does me no harm,’ he said; ‘I like to see it. Yes, it is quite true +that I do. What was personal and selfish in my fancies seems to have +been worn out in the great lull of my senses under the shadow of death; +and now I can revert with real joy and thankfulness to the old delight of +looking on our dear Ellen as our sister, and watch those two children as +we used when they talked of dolls’ fenders instead of the surplice war. +I have got you, Edward; and you know there is a love “passing the love of +women.”’ + +A lively young couple passed by the window just then, and with untamed +voices observed— + +‘There are those two poor miserable objects! It is enough to make one +melancholy only to look at them.’ + +Whereat we simultaneously burst out laughing; perhaps because a choking, +very far from misery, was in our throats. + +At any rate, Clarence was prepared to be the cordial, fatherly brother, +when Martyn came headlong in upon us with the tidings that utterly +indescribable, unimaginable joy had befallen him. A revelation seemed +simultaneously to have broken upon him and Anne while they were copying +out the Sunday School Registers, that what they had felt for each other +all their lives was love—‘real, true love,’ as Anne said to Emily, ‘that +never could have cared for anybody else.’ + +Mrs. Fordyce’s sharp eyes had seen what was coming, and accepted the +inevitable, quite as soon as Clarence had. She came and talked it over +with us, saying she was perfectly satisfied and happy. Martyn was all +that could be wished, and she was sincerely glad of the connection with +her old friends. So, in fact, was dear old Frank, but he had been +running about with his head full, and his eyes closed, so that it was +quite a shock to him to find that his little Anne, his boon companion and +playfellow, was actually grown up, and presuming to love and be loved; +and he could hardly believe that she was really seven years older than +her sister had been when the like had begun with her. But if Anne must +be at those tricks, he said, shaking his head at her, he had rather it +was with Martyn than anybody else. + +There was no difficulty as to money matters. In truth, Martyn was not so +good a match as an heiress, such as was Anne Fordyce, might have aspired +to, and her Lester kin were sure to be shocked; but even if Clarence +married, the Earlscombe living went for something (though, by the bye, he +has never held it), and the Fordyces only cared that there should be easy +circumstances. The living of Hillside would be resigned in favour of +Martyn in the spring, and meantime he would gain more experience at +Beachharbour, and this would break the separation to the Fordyces. + +After all, however, theirs was not to be our first wedding. I have said +little of Emily. The fact was, that after that week of Clarence’s +danger, we said she lived in a kind of dream. She fulfilled all that was +wanted of her, nursing Clarence, waiting on me, ordering dinner, making +the tea, and so forth; but it was quite evident that life began for her +on the Saturdays, when Lawrence came down, and ended on the Mondays, when +he went away. If, in the meantime, she sat down to work, she went off +into a trance; if she was sent out for fresh air, she walked quarter-deck +on the esplanade, neither seeing nor hearing anything, we averred, but +some imaginary Lawrence Frith. + +If she had any drawback, good girl, it was the idea of deserting me; but +then, as I could honestly tell her, nobody need fear for my happiness, +since Clarence was given back to me. And she believed, and was ready to +go to China with her Lawrence. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. +THE LAST DISCOVERY. + + + ‘Grief will be joy if on its edge + Fall soft that holiest ray, + Joy will be grief, if no faint pledge + Be there of heavenly day.’ + + KEBLE. + +WE did not move from Beachharbour till September, and by that time it had +been decided that Chantry House itself should be given up to the new +scheme. It was too large for us, and Clarence had never lived there +enough to have any strong home feeling for it; but he rather connected it +with disquiet and distress, and had a longing to make actual restitution +thereof, instead of only giving an equivalent, as he did in the case of +the farms. Our feelings about the desecrated chapel were also +considerably changed from the days when we regarded it merely as a +picturesque ruin, and it was to be at once restored both for the benefit +of the orphanage, and for that of the neighbouring households. For +ourselves, a cottage was to be built, suited to our idiosyncrasies; but +that could wait till after the yacht voyage, which we were to make +together for the winter. + +Thus it came to pass that the last time we inhabited Chantry House was +when we gave Emily to Lawrence Frith. We would fain have made it a +double wedding, but the Fordyces wished to wait for Easter, when Martyn +would have been inducted to Hillside. They came, however, that Mrs. +Fordyce might act lady of the house, and Anne be bridesmaid, as well as +lay the first stone of St. Cecily’s restored chapel. + +It was on the day on which they were expected, when the workmen were +digging foundations, and clearing away rubbish, that the foreman begged +Mr. Winslow to come out to see something they had found. Clarence came +back, very grave and awe-struck. It was an old oak chest, and within lay +a skeleton, together with a few fragments of female clothing, a wedding +ring, and some coins of the later Stewarts, in a rotten leathern purse. +This was ghastly confirmation, though there was nothing else to connect +the bones with poor Margaret. We had some curiosity as to the coffin in +the niche in the family vault which bore her name, but both Clarence and +Mr. Fordyce shrank from investigations which could not be carried out +without publicity, and might perhaps have disturbed other remains. + +So on the ensuing night there was a strange, quiet funeral service at +Earlscombe Church. Mr. Henderson officiated, and Chapman acted as clerk. +These, with Amos Bell, alone knew the tradition, or understood what the +discovery meant to the two Fordyces and three Winslows who stood at the +opening of the vault, and prayed that whatever guilt there might be +should be put away from the families so soon to be made one. The coins +were placed with those of Victoria, which the next day Anne laid beneath +the foundation-stone of St. Cecily’s. I need not say that no one has +ever again heard the wailings, nor seen the lady with the lamp. + +What more is there to tell? It was of this first half of our lives that +I intended to write, and though many years have since passed, they have +not had the same character of romance and would not interest you. Our +honeymoon, as Mr. Fordyce called the expedition we two brothers made in +the Mediterranean, was a perfect success; and Clarence regained health, +and better spirits than had ever been his; while contriving to show me +all that I was capable of being carried to see. It was complete +enjoyment, and he came home, not as strong as in old times, but with fair +comfort and capability for the work of life, so as to be able to take Mr. +Castleford’s place, when our dear old friend retired from active +direction of the firm. + +You all know how the two old bachelors have kept house together in London +and at Earlscombe cottage, and you are all proud of the honoured name +Clarence Winslow has made for himself, foremost in works for the glory of +God and the good of men—as one of those merchant princes of England whose +merchandise has indeed been Holiness unto the Lord. + +Thus you must all have felt a shock on finding that he always looked on +that name as blotted, and that one of the last sayings I heard from him +was, ‘O remember not the sins and offences of my youth, but according to +Thy mercy, think upon me, O Lord, for Thy goodness.’ + +Then he almost smiled, and said, ‘Yes, He has so looked on me, and I am +thankful.’ + +Thankful, and so am I, for those thirty-four peaceful years we spent +together, or rather for the seventy years of perfect brotherhood that we +have been granted, and though he has left me behind him, I am content to +wait. It cannot be for long. My brothers and sisters, their children, +and my faithful Amos Bell, are very good to me; and in writing up to that +_mezzo termine_ of our lives, I have been living it over again with my +brother of brothers, through the troubles that have become like joys. + + + +REMARKS. + + +Uncle Edward has not said half enough about his dear old self. I want to +know if he never was unhappy when he was young about being _like that_, +though mother says his face was always nearly as beautiful as it is now. +And it is not only goodness. It _is_ beautiful with his sweet smile and +snowy white hair. + + ELLEN WINSLOW. + +And I wonder, though perhaps he could not have told, what Aunt Anne would +have done if Uncle Clarence had not been so forbearing before he went to +China. + + CLARE FRITH. + +The others are highly impertinent questions, but we ought to know what +became of Lady Peacock. + + ED. G. W. + + + +REPLY. + + +Poor woman, she drifted back to London after about ten years, with an +incurable disease. Clarence put her into lodgings near us, and did his +best for her as long as she lived. He had a hard task, but she ended by +saying he was her only friend. + +To question No. 2 I have nothing to say; but as to No. 1, with its +extravagant compliment, Nature, or rather God, blessed me with even +spirits, a methodical nature that prefers monotony, and very little +morbid shyness; nor have I ever been devoid of tender care and love. So +that I can only remember three severe fits of depression. One, when I +had just begun to be taken out in the Square Gardens, and Selina Clarkson +was heard to say I was a hideous little monster. It was a revelation, +and must have given frightful pain, for I remember it acutely after +sixty-five years. + +The second fit was just after Clarence was gone to sea, and some very +painful experiments had been tried in vain for making me like other +people. For the first time I faced the fact that I was set aside from +all possible careers, and should be, as I remember saying, ‘no better +than a girl.’ I must have been a great trial to all my friends. My +father tried to reason on resignation, and tell me happiness could be +_in_ myself, till he broke down. My mother attempted bracing by reproof. +Miss Newton endeavoured to make me see that this was my cross. Every +word was true, and came round again, but they only made me for the time +more rebellious and wretched. That attack was ended, of all things in +the world, by heraldry. My attention somehow was drawn that way, and the +study filled up time and thought till my misfortunes passed into custom, +and haunted me no more. + +My last was a more serious access, after coming into the country, when +improved health and vigour inspired cravings that made me fully sensible +of my blighted existence. I had gone the length of my tether and +overdone myself; I missed London life and Clarence; and the more I blamed +myself, and tried to rouse myself, the more despondent and discontented I +grew. + +This time my physician was Mr. Stafford; I had deciphered a bit of old +French and Latin for him, and he was very much pleased. ‘Why, Edward,’ +he said, ‘you are a very clever fellow; you can be a distinguished—or +what is better—a useful man.’ + +Somehow that saying restored the spring of hope, and gave an impulse! I +have not been a distinguished man, but I think in my degree I have been a +fairly useful one, and I am sure I have been a happy one. + + E. W. + +‘Useful! that you have, dear old fellow. Even if you had done nothing +else, and never been an unconscious backbone to Clarence; your influence +on me and mine has been unspeakably blest. But pray, Mistress Anne, how +about that question of naughty little Clare’s?’ + + M. W. + +‘Don’t you think you had better let alone that question, reverend sir? +Youngest pets are apt to be saucy, especially in these days, but I didn’t +expect it of you! It might have been the worse for you if W. C. W. had +not held his tongue in those days. Just like himself, but I am heartily +glad that so he did. + + A. 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