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diff --git a/16415.txt b/16415.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a891bb0 --- /dev/null +++ b/16415.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8557 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales from Many Sources, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales from Many Sources + Vol. V + +Author: Various + +Release Date: August 2, 2005 [EBook #16415] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES FROM MANY SOURCES *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +Tales + +From Many Sources + +Vol. V. + + +New York + +Dodd Mead & Company + +1886 + +CONTENTS. + + PAGE. + + LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. BY JULIANA H. EWING. 1 + + WILD JACK. FROM TEMPLE BAR. 87 + + VIRGINIA. BY MRS. FORRESTER. 145 + + MR. JOSIAH SMITH'S BALLOON VOYAGE. FROM BELGRAVIA. 172 + + NUMBER 7639. BY MARY FRANCES PEARD. 137 + + GONERIL. BY A. MARY F. ROBINSON. 239 + + OUT OF SEASON. FROM TEMPLE BAR. 266 + + + + +LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE + +INTRODUCTORY. + + +Lob Lie-By-The-Fire--the Lubber-fiend, as Milton calls him--is a rough +kind of Brownie or House Elf, supposed to haunt some north-country +homesteads, where he does the work of the farm labourers, for no grander +wages than + + "--to earn his cream bowl duly set." + +Not that he is insensible of the pleasures of rest, for + + "--When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, + His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn + That ten day-labourers could not end, + Then lies him down the Lubber-fiend, + And, stretched out all the chimney's length, + Basks at the fire his hairy strength." + +It was said that a Lob Lie-by-the-fire once haunted the little old Hall +at Lingborough. It was an old stone house on the Borders, and seemed to +have got its tints from the grey skies that hung above it. It was +cold-looking without, but cosy within, "like a north-country heart," +said Miss Kitty, who was a woman of sentiment, and kept a commonplace +book. + +It was long before Miss Kitty's time that Lob Lie-by-the-fire first came +to Lingborough. Why and whence he came is not recorded, nor when and +wherefore he withdrew his valuable help, which, as wages rose, and +prices rose also, would have been more welcome than ever. + +This tale professes not to record more of him than comes within the +memory of man. + +Whether (as Fletcher says) he were the son of a witch, if curds and +cream won his heart, and new clothes put an end to his labours, it does +not pretend to tell. His history is less known than that of any other +sprite. It may be embodied in some oral tradition that shall one day be +found; but as yet the mists of forgetfulness hide it from the +storyteller of to-day as deeply as the sea fogs are wont to lie between +Lingborough and the adjacent coast. + + + +THE LITTLE OLD LADIES.--ALMS DONE IN SECRET. + + +The little old ladies of Lingborough were heiresses. + +Not, mind you, in the sense of being the children of some mushroom +millionnaire, with more money than manners, and (as Miss Betty had seen +with her own eyes, on the daughter of a manufacturer who shall be +nameless) dresses so fine in quality and be-furbelowed in construction +as to cost a good quarter's income (of the little old ladies), but +trailed in the dirt from "beggarly extravagance," or kicked out behind +at every step by feet which fortune (and a very large fortune, too) had +never taught to walk properly. + +"And how should she know how to walk?" said Miss Betty. "Her mother +can't have taught her, poor body! that ran through the streets of Leith, +with a creel on her back, as a lassie; and got out of her coach (lined +with satin, you mind, sister Kitty?) to her dying day, with a bounce, +all in a heap, her dress caught, and her stockings exposed (among +ourselves, ladies!) like some good wife that's afraid to be late for the +market. Aye, aye! Malcolm Midden--good man!--made a fine pocket of +silver in a dirty trade, but his women'll jerk, and toss, and bounce, +and fuss, and fluster for a generation or two yet, for all the silks and +satins he can buy 'em." + +From this it will be seen that the little old ladies inherited some +prejudices of their class, and were also endowed with a shrewdness of +observation common among all classes of north-country women. + +But to return to what else they inherited. They were heiresses, as the +last representatives of a family as old in that Border country as the +bold blue hills which broke its horizon. They were heiresses also in +default of heirs male to their father who got the land from his uncle's +dying childless, sons being scarce in the family. They were heiresses, +finally, to the place and the farm, to the furniture that was made when +folk seasoned their wood before they worked it, to a diamond brooch +which they wore by turns, besides two diamond rings, and two black lace +shawls, that had belonged to their mother and their Auntie Jean, long +since departed thither where neither moth nor rust corrupt the true +riches. + +As to the incomings of Lingborough, "It was nobody's business but their +own," as Miss Betty said to the lawyer who was their man of business, +and whom they consulted on little matters of rent and repairs at as much +length, and with as much formal solemnity, as would have gone elsewhere +to the changing hands of half a million of money. Without violating +their confidence, however, we may say that the estate paid its way, kept +them in silk stockings, and gave them new tabbinet dresses once in three +years. It supplied their wants the better that they had inherited house +plenishing from their parents, "Which they thanked their stars was not +made of tag-rag, and would last their time," and that they were quite +content with an old home and old neighbours, and never desired to change +the grand air that blew about their native hills for worse, in order to +be poisoned with bad butter, and make the fortunes of extortionate +lodging-house keepers. + +The rental of Lingborough did more. How much more the little old ladies +did not know themselves, and no one else shall know, till that which was +done in secret is proclaimed from the housetops. + +For they had had a religious scruple, founded upon a literal reading of +the scriptural command that a man's left hand should not know what has +right hand gives in alms, and this scruple had been ingeniously set at +rest by the parson, who, failing in an attempt to explain the force of +Eastern hyperbole to the little ladies' satisfaction, had said that Miss +Betty, being the elder, and the head of the house, might be likened to +the right hand, and Miss Kitty, as the younger, to the left, and that if +they pursued their good works without ostentation, or desiring the +applause even of each other, the spirit of the injunction would be +fulfilled. + +The parson was a good man and a clever. He had (as Miss Betty justly +said) a very spiritual piety. But he was also gifted with much +shrewdness in dealing with the various members of his flock. And his +word was law to the sisters. + +Thus it came about that the little ladies' charities were not known even +to each other--that Miss Betty turned her morning camlet twice instead +of once, and Miss Kitty denied herself in sugar, to carry out benevolent +little projects which were accomplished in secret, and of which no +record appears in the Lingborough Ledger. + + + +AT TEA WITH MRS. DUNMAW. + + +The little ladies of Lingborough were very sociable, and there was, as +they said, "as much gaiety as was good for anyone" within their reach. +There were at least six houses at which they drank tea from time to +time, all within a walk. As hosts or guests, you always met the same +people, which was a friendly arrangement, and the programmes of the +entertainments were so uniform, that no one could possibly feel awkward. +The best of manners and home-made wines distinguished these tea parties, +where the company was strictly genteel, if a little faded. Supper was +served at nine, and the parson and the lawyer played whist for love with +different partners on different evenings with strict impartiality. + +Small jealousies are apt to be weak points in small societies, but there +was a general acquiescence in the belief that the parson had a friendly +preference for the little ladies of Lingborough. + +He lived just beyond them, too, which led to his invariably escorting +them home. Miss Betty and Miss Kitty would not for worlds have been so +indelicate as to take this attention for granted, though it was a custom +of many years' standing. The older sister always went through the form +of asking the younger to "see if the servant had come," and at this +signal the parson always bade the lady of the house good night, and +respectfully proffered his services as an escort to Lingborough. + +It was a lovely evening in June, when the little ladies took tea with +the widow of General Dunmaw at her cottage, not quite two miles from +their own home. + +It was a memorable evening. The tea party was an agreeable one. The +little ladies had new tabbinets on, and Miss Kitty wore the diamond +brooch. Miss Betty had played whist with the parson, and the younger +sister (perhaps because of the brooch) had been favoured with a good +deal of conversation with the lawyer. It was an honour, because the +lawyer bore the reputation of an _esprit fort_, and was supposed to +have, as a rule, a contempt for feminine intellects, which good manners +led him to veil under an almost officious politeness in society. But +honours are apt to be uneasy blessings, and this one was at least as +harassing as gratifying. For a somewhat monotonous vein of sarcasm, a +painful power of producing puns, and a dexterity in suggesting doubts of +everything, were the main foundation of his intellectual reputation, and +Miss Kitty found them hard to cope with. And it was a warm evening. + +But women have much courage, especially to defend a friend or a faith, +and the less Miss Kitty found herself prepared for the conflict the +harder she esteemed it her duty to fight. She fought for Church and +State, for parsons and poor people, for the sincerity of her friends, +the virtues of the Royal Family, the merit of Dr. Drugson's +prescriptions, and for her favourite theory that there is some good in +everyone and some happiness to be found every where. + +She rubbed nervously at the diamond brooch with her thin little mittened +hands. She talked very fast; and if the lawyer were guilty of feeling +any ungallant indifference to her observations, she did not so much as +hear his, and her cheeks became so flushed that Mrs. Dunmaw crossed the +room in her China crape shawl and said, "My dear Miss Kitty, I'm sure +you feel the heat very much. Do take my fan, which is larger than +yours." + +But Miss Kitty was saved a reply, for at this moment Miss Betty turned +on the sofa, and said, "Dear Kitty, will you kindly see if the +servant--" + +And the parson closed the volume of "Friendship's Offering" which lay +before him, and advanced towards Mrs. Dunmaw and took leave in his own +dignified way. + +Miss Kitty was so much flustered that she had not even presence of mind +to look for the servant, who had never been ordered to come, but the +parson relieved her by saying in his round, deep voice, "I hope you will +not refuse me the honour of seeing you home, since our roads happen to +lie together," And she was glad to get into the fresh air, and beyond +the doubtful compliments of the lawyer's nasal suavity--"You have been +very severe upon me to-night, Miss Kitty. I'm sure I had no notion I +should find so powerful an antagonist," etc. + + + +MIDSUMMER EVE.--A LOST DIAMOND. + + +It was Midsummer Eve. The long light of the North was pale and clear, +and the western sky shone luminous through the fir-wood that bordered +the road. Under such dim lights colours deepen, and the great bushes of +broom, that were each one mass of golden blossom, blazed like fairy +watch-fires up the lane. + +Miss Kitty leaned on the left arm of the parson and Miss Betty on his +right. She chatted gaily, which left her younger sister at leisure to +think of all the convincing things she had not remembered to say to the +lawyer, as the evening breeze cooled her cheeks. + +"A grand prospect for the crops, sir," said Miss petty; "I never saw the +broom so beautiful." But as he leaned forward to look at the yellow +blaze which foretells good luck to farmers, as it shone in the hedge on +the left-hand side of the road, she caught sight of the brooch in Miss +Kitty's lace shawl. Through a gap in the wood the light from the western +sky danced among the diamonds. But where one of the precious stones +should have been there was a little black hole. + +"Sister, you've lost a stone out of your brooch!" screamed Miss Betty. +The little ladies were well-trained, and even in that moment of despair +Miss Betty would not hint that her sister's ornaments were not her sole +property. + +When Miss Kitty burst into tears the parson was a little astonished as +well as distressed. Men are apt to be so, not perhaps because women cry +on such very small accounts, as because the full reason does not always +transpire. Tears are often the climax of nervous exhaustion and this is +commonly the result of more causes than one. Ostensibly Miss Kitty was +"upset" by the loss of the diamond, but she also wept away a good deal +of the vexation of her unequal conflict with the sarcastic lawyer, and +of all this the parson knew nothing. + +Miss Betty knew nothing of that, but she knew enough of things in +general to feel sure that the diamond was not all the matter. + +"What is amiss, sister Kitty?" said she. "Have you hurt yourself? Do you +feel ill? Did you know the stone was out?"--"I hope you're not going to +be hysterical, sister Kitty," added Miss Betty anxiously; "there never +was a hysterical woman in our family yet." + +"Oh dear no, sister Betty," sobbed Miss Kitty; "but it's all my fault. I +know I was fidgeting with it whilst I was talking; and it's a punishment +on my fidgety ways, and for ever presuming to wear it at all, when +you're the head of the family, and solely entitled to it. And I shall +never forgive myself if it's lost, and if it's found I'll never, never +wear it any more." And as she deluged her best company pocket-handkerchief +(for the useful one was in a big pocket under her dress, and could not be +got at, the parson being present), Church, State, the royal family, the +family Bible, her highest principles, her dearest affections, and the +diamond brooch, all seemed to swim before her disturbed mind in one sea +of desolation. + +There was not a kinder heart than the parson's toward women and children +in distress. He tucked the little ladies again under his arms, and +insisted upon going back to Mrs. Dunmaw's searching the lane as they +went. In the pulpit or the drawing room a ready anecdote never failed +him, and on this occasion he had several. Tales of lost rings, and even +single gems, recovered in the most marvellous manner and the most +unexpected places--dug up in gardens, served up to dinner in fishes, and +so forth. "Never," said Miss Kitty, afterward, "never, to her dying day, +could she forget his kindness." + +She clung to the parson as a support under both her sources of trouble, +but Miss Betty ran on and back, and hither and thither, looking for the +diamond. Miss Kitty and the parson looked too, and how many aggravating +little bits of glass and silica, and shining nothings and +good-for-nothings there are in the world, no one would believe who has +not looked for a lost diamond on a high road. + +But another story of found jewels was to be added to the parson's stock. +He had bent his long back for about the eighteenth time, when such a +shimmer as no glass or silica can give flashed into his eyes, and he +caught up the diamond out of the dust, and it fitted exactly into the +little black hole. + +Miss Kitty uttered a cry, and at the same moment Miss Betty, who was +farther down the road, did the same, and these were followed by a third, +which sounded like a mocking echo of both. And then the sisters rushed +together. + +"A most miraculous discovery!" gasped Miss Betty. + +"You must have passed the very spot before," cried Miss Kitty. + +"Though I'm sure, sister, what to do with it now we have found it I +don't know," said Miss Betty, rubbing her nose, as she was wont to do +when puzzled. + +"It shall be taken better care of for the future, sister Betty," said +Miss Kitty penitently. "Though how it got out I can't think now." + +"Why, bless my soul! you don't suppose it got there of itself, sister?" +snapped Miss Betty. "How it did get there is another matter." + +"I felt pretty confident about it, for my own part," smiled the parson +as he joined them. + +"Do you mean to say, sir, that you knew it was there?" asked Miss Betty, +solemnly. + +"I didn't know the precise spot, my dear madam, but----" + +"You didn't see it, sir, I hope?" said Miss Betty. + +"Bless me, my dear madam, I found it!" cried the parson. + +Miss Betty bridled and bit her lip. + +"I never contradict a clergyman, sir," said she, "but I can only say +that if you did see it, it was not like your usual humanity to leave it +lying there." + + I've got it in my hand, ma'am!" + "Why + He's got it in his hand, sister!" + +cried the parson and Miss Kitty in one breath. Miss Betty was too much +puzzled to be polite. + +"What are you talking about?" she asked. + +"The diamond, oh dear, oh dear! _The diamond!_" cried Miss Kitty. "But +what are you talking about, sister?" + +"_The baby_" said Miss Betty. + + + +WHAT MISS BETTY FOUND. + + +It was found under a broom-bush. Miss Betty was poking her nose near the +bank that bordered the wood, in her hunt for the diamond, when she +caught sight of a mass of yellow of a deeper tint than the mass of +broom-blossom above it, and this was the baby. + +This vivid color, less opaque than "deep chrome" and a shade more +orange, seems to have a peculiar attraction for wandering tribes. +Gipsies use it, and it is a favorite color with Indian squaws. To the +last dirty rag it is effective, whether it flutters near a tent on +Bagshot Heath, or in some wigwam doorway makes a point of brightness +against the grey shadows of the pine forest. + +A large kerchief of this, wound about its body, was the baby's only +robe, but he seemed quite comfortable in it when Miss Betty found him, +sleeping on a pillow of deep hair moss, his little brown fists closed as +fast as his eyes, and a crimson toadstool grasped in one of them. + +When Miss Betty screamed the baby awoke, and his long black lashes +tickled his cheeks and made him wink and cry. But by the time she +returned with her sister and the parson, he was quite happy again, +gazing up with dark eyes full of delight into the glowing broom-brush, +and fighting the evening breeze with his feet, which were entangled in +the folds of the yellow cloth, and with the battered toadstool which was +still in his hand. + +"And, indeed, sir," said Miss Betty, who had rubbed her nose till it +looked like the twin toadstool to that which the baby was flourishing in +her face, "you won't suppose I would have left the poor little thing +another moment, to catch its death of cold on a warm evening like this; +but having no experience of such cases, and remembering that murder at +the inn in the Black Valley, and that the body was not allowed to be +moved till the constables had seen it, I didn't feel to know how it +might be with foundlings, and--" + +But still Miss Betty did not touch the bairn. She was not accustomed to +children. But the parson had christened too many babies to be afraid of +them, and he picked up the little fellow in a moment, and tucked the +yellow rag round him, and then addressing the little ladies precisely as +if they were sponsors, he asked in his deep round voice, "Now where on +the face of the earth are the vagabonds who have deserted this child?" + +The little ladies did not know, the broom bushes were silent, and the +question has remained unanswered from that day to this. + +There were no railways near Lingborough at this time. The coach ran +three times a week, and a walking postman brought the letters from the +town to the small hamlets. Telegraph wires were unknown, and yet news +travelled quite as fast then as it does now, and in the course of the +following morning all the neighbourhood knew that Miss Betty had found a +baby under a broom bush, and the lawyer called in the afternoon to +inquire how the ladies found themselves after the tea party at Mrs. +General Dunmaw's. + +Miss Kitty was glad on the whole. She felt nervous, but ready for a +renewal of hostilities. Several clinching arguments had occurred to her +in bed last night, and after hastily looking up a few lines from her +common-place book, which always made her cry when she read them, but +which she hoped to be able to hurl at the lawyer with a steady voice, +she followed Miss Betty to the drawing-room. + +It was half a relief and half a disappointment to find that the lawyer +was quite indifferent to the subject of their late contest. He +overflowed with compliments; was quite sure he must have had the worst +of the argument, and positively dying of curiosity to hear about the +baby. + +The little ladies were very full of the subject themselves. An active +search for the baby's relations, conducted by the parson, the clerk, +the farm-bailiff, the constable, the cowherd, and several +supernumeraries, had so far proved quite vain. The country folk were +most anxious to assist, especially by word of mouth. Except a small but +sturdy number who had seen nothing, they had all seen "tramps," but +unluckily no two could be got together whose accounts of the tramps +themselves, of the hour at which they were seen, or of the direction in +which they went, would tally with each other. + +The little ladies were quite alive to the possibility that the child's +parents might never be traced, indeed the matter had been constantly +before their minds ever since the parson had carried the baby to +Lingborough, and laid it in the arms of Thomasina, the servant. + +Miss Betty had sat long before her toilette-table that evening, gazing +vacantly at the looking-glass. Not that the reflection of the eight +curl-papers she had neatly twisted up was conveyed to her brain. She was +in a brown study, during which the following thoughts passed through her +mind, and they all pointed one way: + +That that fine little fellow was not to blame for his people's +misconduct. + +That they would never be found. + +That it would probably be the means of the poor child's ruin, body and +soul, if they were. + +That the master of the neighbouring workhouse bore a bad character. + +That a child costs nothing to keep--where cows are kept too--for years. + +That just at the age when a boy begins to eat dreadfully and wear out +his clothes, he is very useful on a farm (though not for these reasons). + +That Thomasina had taken to him. + +That there need be no nonsense about it, as he could be brought up in +his proper station in life in the kitchen and the farm yard. + +That tramps have souls. + +That he would be taught to say his prayers. + +Miss Betty said hers, and went to bed; but all through that midsummer +night the baby kept her awake, or flaunted his yellow robe and crimson +toadstool through her dreams. + +The morning brought no change in Miss Betty's views, but she felt +doubtful as to how her sister would receive them. Would she regard them +as foolish and unpractical, and her respect for Miss Betty's opinion be +lessened thenceforward? + +The fear was needless. Miss Kitty was romantic and imaginative. She had +carried the baby through his boyhood about the Lingborough fields whilst +she was dressing; and he was attending her own funeral in the capacity +of an attached and faithful servant, in black livery with worsted frogs, +as she sprinkled salt on her buttered toast at breakfast, when she was +startled from this affecting daydream by Miss Betty's voice. + +"Dear sister Kitty, I wish to consult you as to our plans in the event +of those wicked people who deserted the baby not being found." + +The little ladies resolved that not an inkling of their benevolent +scheme must be betrayed to the lawyer. But they dissembled awkwardly, +and the tone in which they spoke of the tramp-baby roused the lawyer's +quick suspicions. He had a real respect for the little ladies, and was +kindly anxious to save them from their own indiscretion. + +"My dear ladies," said he, "I do hope your benevolence--may I say your +romantic benevolence?--of disposition is not tempting you to adopt this +gipsy waif?" + +"I hope we know what is due to ourselves, and to the estate--small, as +it is--sir," said Miss Betty, "as well as to Providence, too well to +attempt to raise any child, however handsome, from that station of life +in which he was born." + +"Bless me, madam! I never dreamed you would adopt a beggar child as your +heir; but I hope you mean to send it to the workhouse, if the gipsy +tramps it belongs to are not to be found?" + +"We have not made up our minds, sir, as to the course we propose to +pursue," said Miss Betty, with outward dignity proportioned to her +inward doubts. + +"My dear ladies," said the lawyer anxiously, "let me implore you not to +be rash. To adopt a child in the most favorable circumstances is the +greatest of risks. But if your benevolence _will_ take that line, pray +adopt some little boy out of one of your tenants' families. Even your +teaching will not make him brilliant, as he is likely to inherit the +minimum of intellectual capacity; but he will learn his catechism, +probably grow up respectable, and possibly grateful, since his +forefathers have (so Miss Kitty assures me) had all these virtues for +generations. But this baby is the child of a heathen, barbarous, and +wandering race. The propensities of the vagabonds who have deserted him +are in every drop of his blood. All the parsons in the diocese won't +make a Christian of him, and when (after anxieties I shudder to foresee) +you flatter yourself that he is civilized, he will run away and leave +his shoes and stockings behind him." + +"He has a soul to be saved, if he is a gipsy," said Miss Kitty, +hysterically. + +"The soul, my dear Miss Kitty "--began the lawyer, facing round upon +her. + +"Don't say anything dreadful about the soul, sir, I beg," said Miss +Betty, firmly. And then she added in a conciliatory tone, "Won't you +look at the little fellow, sir? I have no doubt his relations are +shocking people; but when you see his innocent little face and his +beautiful eyes, I think you'll say yourself that if he were a duke's son +he couldn't be a finer child." + +"My experience of babies is so limited, Miss Betty," said the lawyer, +"that really--if you'll excuse me--but I can quite imagine him. I have +before now been tempted myself to adopt stray--puppies, when I have seen +them in the round, soft, innocent, bright-eyed stage. And when they have +grown up in the hands of more credulous friends into lanky, +ill-conditioned, misconducted curs, I have congratulated myself that I +was not misled by the graces of an age at which ill-breeding is less +apparent than later in life." + +The little ladies both rose. "If you see no difference, sir," said Miss +Betty in her stateliest manner, "between a babe with an immortal soul +and the beasts that perish, it is quite useless to prolong the +conversation." + +"Reason is apt to be useless when opposed to the generous impulses of a +sex so full of sentiment as yours, madam," said the lawyer, rising also. +"Permit me to take a long farewell, since it is improbable that our +friendship will resume its old position until your _protege_ has--run +away." + +The words "long farewell" and "old friendship" were quite sufficient to +soften wrath in the tender hearts of the little ladies. But the lawyer +had really lost his temper, and, before Miss Betty had decided how to +offer the olive branch without conceding her principles he was gone. + +The weather was warm. The little ladies were heated by discussion and +the parson by vain scouring of the country on foot, when they asked his +advice upon their project, and related their conversation with the +lawyer. The two gentlemen had so little in common that the parson felt +it his duty not to let his advice be prejudiced by this fact. For some +moments he sat silent, then he began to walk about as if he were +composing a sermon; then he stopped before the little ladies (who were +sitting as stiffly on the sofa as if it were a pew) and spoke as if he +were delivering one. + +"If you ask me, dear ladies, whether it is your duty to provide for this +child because you found him, I say that there is no such obligation. If +you ask if I think it wise in your own interests, and hopeful as to the +boy's career, I am obliged to agree with your legal adviser. Vagabond +ways are seldom cured in one generation, and I think it is quite +probable that, after much trouble and anxiety spent upon him, he may go +back to a wandering life. But, Miss Betty," continued the parson in +deepening tones, as he pounded his left palm with his right fist for +want of a pulpit, "If you ask me whether I believe any child of any race +is born incapable of improvement, and beyond benefit from the charities +we owe to each other, I should deny my faith if I could say yes. I shall +not, madam, confuse the end of your connection with him with the end of +your training in him, even if he runs away, or fancy that I see the one +because I see the other. I do not pretend to know how much evil he +inherits from his forefathers as accurately as our graphic friend; but I +do know that he has a Father whose image is also to be found in His +children--not quite effaced in any of them--and whose care of this one +will last when yours, madam, may seem to have been in vain." + +As the little ladies rushed forward and each shook a hand of the parson, +he felt some compunction for his speech. + +"I fear I am encouraging you in grave indiscretion," said he. "But, +indeed, my dear ladies, I am quite against your project, for you do not +realize the anxieties and disappointments that are before you, I am +sure. The child will give you infinite trouble. I think he will run +away. And yet I cannot in good conscience say that I believe love's +labour must be lost. He may return to the woods and wilds; but I hope he +will carry something with him." + +"Did the reverend gentleman mean Miss Betty's teaspoons?" asked the +lawyer, stroking his long chin, when he was told what the parson had +said. + + + +BABYHOOD.--PRETTY FLOWERS.--THE ROSE-COLOURED TULIPS. + + +The matter of the baby's cap disturbed the little ladies. It seemed so +like the beginning of a fulfilment of the lawyer's croakings. + +Miss Kitty had made it. She had never seen a baby without a cap before, +and the sight was unusual if not indecent. But Miss Kitty was a quick +needlewoman, and when the new cap was fairly tied over the thick crop of +silky black hair, the baby looked so much less like Puck, and so much +more like the rest of the baby world, that it was quite a relief. + +Miss Kitty's feelings may therefore be imagined when, going to the baby +just after the parson's departure, she found him in open rebellion +against his cap. It had been tied on whilst he was asleep, and his eyes +were no sooner open than he commenced the attack. He pulled with one +little brown hand and tugged with the other; he dragged a rosette over +his nose and got the frills into his eyes; he worried it as a puppy +worries your handkerchief if you tie it around its face and tell it to +"look like a grandmother." At last the strings gave way, and he cast it +triumphantly out of the clothes-basket which served him for cradle. + +Successive efforts to induce him to wear it proved vain, so Thomasina +said the weather was warm and his hair was very thick, and she parted +this and brushed it, and Miss Kitty gave the cap to the farm-bailiff's +baby, who took to it as kindly as a dumpling to a pudding-cloth. + +How the boy was ever kept inside his christening clothes, Thomasina said +she did not know. But when he got into the parson's arms he lay quite +quiet, which was a good omen. That he might lack no advantage, Miss +Betty stood godmother for him, and the parish clerk and the sexton were +his godfathers. + +He was named John. + +"A plain, sensible name," said Miss Betty. "And while we are about it," +she added, "we may as well choose his surname. For a surname he must +have, and the sooner it is decided upon the better." + +Miss Kitty had made a list of twenty-seven of her favourite Christian +names, which Miss Betty had sternly rejected, that everything might be +plain, practical, and respectable at the outset of the tramp-child's +career. For the same reason she refused to adopt Miss Kitty's +suggestions for a surname. + +"It's so seldom there's a chance of _choosing_ a surname for anybody, +sister," said Miss Kitty, "it seems a pity not to choose a pretty one." + +"Sister Kitty," said Miss Betty, "don't be romantic. The boy is to be +brought up in that station of life for which one syllable is ample. I +should have called him Smith if that had not been Thomasina's name. As +it is, I propose to call him Broom. He was found under a bush of broom, +and it goes very well with John, and sounds plain and respectable." + +So Miss Betty bought a Bible, and on the flyleaf of it she wrote in her +fine, round, gentlewoman's writing--_"John Broom. With good wishes for +his welfare, temporal and eternal. From a sincere friend!"_ And when the +inscription was dry the Bible was wrapped in brown paper, and put by in +Thomasina's trunk till John Broom should come to years of discretion. + +He was slow to reach them, though in other respects he grew fast. + +When he began to walk he would walk barefoot. To be out of doors was his +delight, but on the threshold of the house he always sat down and +discarded his shoes and stockings. Thomasina bastinadoed the soles of +his feet with the soles of his shoes "to teach him the use of them," so +she said. But Miss Kitty sighed, and thought of the lawyer's prediction. + +There was no blinking the fact that the child was as troublesome as he +was pretty. The very demon of mischief danced in his black eyes, and +seemed to possess his feet and fingers as if with quicksilver. And if, +as Thomasina said, you "never knew what he would be at next," you might +also be pretty sure that it would be something he ought to have left +undone. + +John Broom early developed a taste for glass and crockery, and as the +china cupboard was in that part of the house to which he by social +standing also belonged, he had many chances to seize upon cups, jugs, +and dishes. If detected with any thing that he ought not to have had, it +was his custom to drop the forbidden toy and toddle off as fast as his +unpractised feet would carry him. The havoc which this caused amongst +the glass and china was bewildering in a household where tea-sets and +dinner-sets had passed from generation to generation, where slapdash, +giddy-pated kitchenmaids never came, where Miss Betty washed the best +teacups in the parlor, where Thomasina was more careful than her +mistress, and the breaking of a single plate was a serious matter, and, +if beyond rivetting, a misfortune. + +Thomasina soon found that her charge was safest, as he was happiest, out +of doors. A very successful device was to shut him up in the drying +ground, and tell him to "pick the pretty flowers." John Broom preferred +flowers even to china cups with gilding on them. He gathered nosegays of +daisies and buttercups, and the winning way in which he would present +these to the little ladies atoned, in their benevolent eyes, for many a +smashed teacup. + +But the tramp-baby's restless spirit was soon weary of the +drying-ground, and he set forth one morning in search of "fresh woods +and pastures new." He had seated himself on the threshold to take off +his shoes, when he heard the sound of Thomasina's footsteps, and, +hastily staggering to his feet, toddled forth without farther delay. The +sky was blue above him, the sun was shining, and the air was very sweet. +He ran for a bit and then tumbled, and picked himself up again, and got +a fresh impetus, and so on till he reached the door of the kitchen +garden, which was open. It was an old-fashioned kitchen garden with +flowers in the borders. There were single rose-colored tulips which had +been in the garden as long as Miss Betty could remember, and they had +been so increased by dividing the clumps that they now stretched in two +rich lines of colour down both sides of the long walk. And John Broom +saw them. + +"Pick the pretty flowers, love," said he, in imitation of Thomasina's +patronising tone, and forthwith beginning at the end, he went steadily +to the top of the right-hand border, mowing the rose-coloured tulips as +he went. + +Meanwhile, when Thomasina came to look for him he could not be found, +and when all the back premises and the drying-ground had been searched +in vain, she gave the alarm to the little ladies. + +Miss Kitty's vivid imagination leaped at once to the conclusion that +the child's vagabond relations had fetched him away, and she became +rigid with alarm. But Miss Betty rushed out into the shrubbery, and Miss +Kitty took a whiff of her vinaigrette and followed her. + +When they came at last to the kitchen-garden, Miss Betty's grief for the +loss of John Broom did not prevent her observing that there was +something odd about the borders, and when she got to the top, and found +that all the tulips had been picked from one side, she sank down on the +roller which happened to be lying beside her. + +And John Broom staggered up to her, and crying, "For 'oo, Miss Betty," +fell headlong with a sheaf of rose-coloured tulips into her lap. + +As he did not offer any to Miss Kitty, her better judgment was not +warped, and she said, "You must slap him, sister Betty." + +"Put out your hand, John Broom," said Miss Betty much agitated. + +And John Broom, who was quite composed, put out both his little grubby +paws so trustfully that Miss Betty had not the heart to strike him. But +she scolded him, "Naughty boy!" and she pointed to the tulips and shook +her head. John Broom looked thoughtfully at them, and shook his. + +"Naughty boy!" repeated Miss Betty, and she added in very impressive +tones, "John Broom's a very naughty boy!" + +After which she took him to Thomasina, and Miss Kitty collected the +rose-colored tulips and put them into water in the best old china +punch-bowl. + +In the course of the afternoon she peeped into the kitchen, where John +Broom sat on the floor under the window, gazing thoughtfully up into the +sky. + +"As good as gold, bless his little heart!" murmured Miss Kitty. For as +his feet were tucked under him, she did not know that he had just put +his shoes and stockings into the pig-tub, into which he all but fell +himself from the exertion. He did not hear Miss Kitty, and thought on. +He wanted to be out again, and he had a tantalizing remembrance of the +ease with which the tender juicy stalks of the tulips went snap, snap, +in that new place of amusement he had discovered. Thomasina looked into +the kitchen and went away again. When she had gone, John Broom went away +also. + +He went both faster and steadier on his bare feet. And when he got into +the kitchen garden, it recalled Miss Betty to his mind. And he shook his +head, and said, "Naughty boy!" And then he went up the left-hand border, +mowing the tulips as he went; after which he trotted home, and met +Thomasina at the back door. And he hugged the sheaf of rose-coloured +tulips in his arms, and said, "John Broom a very naughty boy!" + +Thomasina was not sentimental, and she slapped him well--his hands for +picking the tulips, and his feet for going barefoot. + +But his feet had to be slapped with Thomasina's slipper, for his own +shoes could not be found. + +In spite of all his pranks, John Broom did not lose the favor of his +friends. Thomasina spoiled him, and Miss Betty and Miss Kitty tried not +to do so. + +The parson had said, "Treat the child fairly. Bring him up as he will +have to live hereafter. Don't make him half pet and half servant." And +following this advice, and her own resolve that there should be "no +nonsense" in the matter, Miss Betty had made it a rule that he should +not be admitted to the parlor. It bore more heavily on the tender hearts +of the little ladies than on the light heart of John Broom, and led to +their waylaying him in the passages and gardens with little gifts, +unknown to each other. And when Miss Kitty kissed his newly-washed +cheeks, and pronounced them "like ripe russets," Miss Betty murmured, +"Be judicious, sister Kitty;" and Miss Kitty would correct any possible +ill effects by saying, "_Now_ make your betters, John Broom, and say, +'Thank you, ma'am!'" which was accomplished by the child's giving a tug +to the forelock of his thick black hair, with a world of mischief in his +eyes. + +When he was old enough, the little ladies sent him to the village +school. + +The total failure of their hopes for his education was not the smallest +of the disappointments Miss Betty and Miss Kitty endured on his behalf. +The quarrel with the lawyer had been made up long ago, and though there +was always a touch of raillery in his inquiries after "the young gipsy," +he had once said, "If he turns out anything of a genius at school, I +might find a place for him in the office, by-and-by." The lawyer was +kind-hearted in his own fashion, and on this hint Miss Kitty built up +hopes, which unhappily were met by no responsive ambition in John Broom. + +As to his fitness to be an errand boy, he could not carry a message from +the kitchen to the cowhouse without stopping by the way to play with the +yard-dog, and a hedgehog in the path would probably have led him astray, +if Thomasina had had a fit and he had been despatched for the doctor. + +During school hours he spent most of his time under the fool's cap when +he was not playing truant. With his schoolmates he was good friends. If +he was seldom out of mischief, he was seldom out of temper. He could +beat any boy at a foot race (without shoes); he knew the notes and nests +of every bird that sang, and whatever an old pocket-knife is capable of, +that John Broom could and would do with it for his fellows. + +Miss Betty had herself tried to teach him to read, and she continued to +be responsible for his religious instruction. She had hoped to stir up +his industry by showing him the Bible, and promising that when he could +read it he should have it for his "very own." But he either could not or +would not apply himself, so the prize lay unearned in Thomasina's trunk. +But he would listen for any length of time to Scripture stories, if +they were read or told him, especially to the history of Elisha, and the +adventures of the judges. + +Indeed, since he could no longer be shut up in the drying-ground, +Thomasina had found that he was never so happy and so safe as when he +was listening to tales, and many a long winter evening he lay idle on +the kitchen hearth, with his head on the sheep dog, whilst the more +industrious Thomasina plied her knitting-needles, as she sat in the +inglenook, with the flickering firelight playing among the plaits of her +large cap, and told tales of the country side. + +Not that John Broom was her only hearer. Annie "the lass" sat by the +hearth also, and Thomasina took care that she did not "sit with her +hands before her." And a little farther away sat the cowherd. + +He had a sleeping-room above the barn, and took his meals in the house. +By Miss Betty's desire he always went in to family prayers after supper, +when he sat as close as possible to the door, under an uncomfortable +consciousness that Thomasina did not think his boots clean enough for +the occasion and would find something to pick off the carpet as she +followed him out, however hardly he might have used the door-scraper +beforehand. + +It might be a difficult matter to decide which he liked best, beer or +John Broom. But next to these he liked Thomasina's stories. + +Thomasina was kind to him. With all his failings and the dirt on his +boots, she liked him better than the farm-bailiff. The farm-bailiff was +thrifty, and sensible and faithful, and Thomasina was faithful and +sensible and thrifty, and they each had a tendency to claim the monopoly +of those virtues. Notable people complain, very properly, of thriftless +and untidy ones, but they sometimes agree better with them than with +rival notabilities. And so Thomasina's broad face beamed benevolently as +she bid the cowherd "draw up" to the fire, and he who (like Thomasina) +was a native of the country, would confirm the marvels she related, with +a proper pride in the wonderful district to which they both belonged. + +He would help her out sometimes with names and dates in a local +biography. By his own account he knew the man who was murdered at the +inn in the Black Valley so intimately that it turned Annie the lass as +white as a dish-cloth to sit beside him. If Thomasina said that folk +were yet alive who had seen the little green men dance in Dawborough +Croft the cowherd would smack his knees and cry, "Scores on 'em!" And +when she whispered of the white figure which stood at the cross roads +after midnight, he testified to having seen it himself--tall beyond +mortal height, and pointing four ways at once. He had a legend of his +own too, which Thomasina sometimes gave him the chance of telling, of +how he was followed home one moonlight night by a black Something as big +as a young calf, which "wimmled and wammled," around him till he fell +senseless into the ditch, and being found there by the farm-bailiff on +his return from market was unjustly accused of the vice of intoxication. + +"Fault-finders should be free of flaws," Thomasina would say with a prim +chin. She _had_ seen the farm-bailiff himself "the worse" for more than +his supper beer. + +But there was one history which Thomasina was always loth to relate, and +it was that which both John Broom and the cowherd especially +preferred--the history of the Lob Lie-by-the-fire. + +Thomasina had a feeling (which was shared by Annie the lass) that it was +better not to talk of "anything" peculiar to the house in which you were +living. One's neighbours' ghosts and bogles are another matter. + +But to John Broom and the cowherd no subject was so interesting as that +of the Lubber-fiend. The cowherd sighed to think of the good old times +when a man might sleep on in spite of cocks, and the stables be cleaner, +and the beasts better tended than if he had been up with the lark. And +John Broom's curiosity was never quenched about the rough, hairy +Good-fellow who worked at night that others might be idle by day, and +who was sometimes caught at his hard earned nap, lying "like a great +hurgin bear," where the boy loved to lie himself, before the fire, on +this very hearth. + +Why and where he had gone, Thomasina could not tell. She had heard that +he had originally come from some other household, where he had been +offended. But whether he had gone elsewhere when he forsook +Lingborough, or whether "such things had left the country" for good, she +did not pretend to say. + +And when she had told, for the third or fourth time, how his porridge +was put into a corner of the cowhouse for him over night, and how he had +been often overheard at his work, but rarely seen, and then only lying +before the fire, Miss Betty would ring for prayers, and Thomasina would +fold up her knitting and lead the way, followed by Annie the lass, whose +nerves John Broom would startle by treading on her heels, the rear being +brought up by the cowherd, looking hopelessly at his boots. + +Miss Betty and Miss Kitty did really deny themselves the indulgence of +being indulgent, and treated John Broom on principles, and for his good. +But they did so in their own tremulous and spasmodic way, and got little +credit for it. Thomasina, on the other hand, spoiled him with such a +masterful managing air, and so much sensible talk, that no one would +have thought that the only system she followed was to conceal his +misdemeanours, and to stand between him and the just wrath of the +farm-bailiff. + +The farm-bailiff, or grieve, as he liked to call himself, was a +Scotchman, with a hard-featured face (which he washed on the Sabbath), a +harsh voice, a good heart rather deeper down in his body than is usual, +and a shrewd, money-getting head, with a speckled straw hat on the top +of it. No one could venture to imagine when that hat was new, or how +long ago it was that the farm-bailiff went to the expense of purchasing +those work-day clothes. But the dirt on his face and neck was an orderly +accumulation, such as gathers on walls, oil-paintings, and other places +to which soap is not habitually applied; it was not a matter of spills +and splashes, like the dirt John Broom disgraced himself with. And his +clothes, if old, fitted neatly about him; they never suggested +raggedness, which was the normal condition of the tramp-boy's jacket. +They only looked as if he had been born (and occasionally buried) in +them. It is needful to make this distinction, that the good man may not +be accused of inconsistency in the peculiar vexation which John Broom's +disorderly appearance caused him. + +In truth, Miss Betty's _protege_ had reached the age at which he was to +"eat dreadfully, wear out his clothes, and be useful on the farm;" and +the last condition was quite unfulfilled. At eleven years old he could +not be trusted to scare birds, and at half that age the farm-bailiff's +eldest child could drive cattle. + +"And no' just ruin the leedies in new coats and compliments, either, +like some ne'er-do-weels," added the farm-bailiff, who had heard with a +jealous ear of sixpences given by Miss Betty and Miss Kitty to their +wasteful favourite. + +When the eleventh anniversary of John Broom's discovery was passed, and +his character at school gave no hopes of his ever qualifying himself to +serve the lawyer, it was resolved that--"idleness being the mother of +mischief," he should be put under the care of the farm-bailiff, to do +such odd jobs about the place as might be suited to his capacity and +love of out-door life. And now John Broom's troubles began. By fair +means or foul, with here an hour's weeding and there a day's bird +scaring, and with errands perpetual, the farm-bailiff contrived to "get +some work out of" the idle little urchin. His speckled hat and grim face +seemed to be everywhere, and always to pop up when John Broom began to +play. + +They lived "at daggers drawn." I am sorry to say that John Broom's +fitful industry was still kept for his own fancies. To climb trees, to +run races with the sheep dog, to cut grotesque sticks, gather hedge +fruits, explore a bog, or make new friends among beasts and birds--at +such matters he would labor with feverish zeal. But so far from trying +to cure himself of his indolence about daily drudgery, he found a new +and pleasant excitement in thwarting the farm-bailiff at every turn. + +It would not sound dignified to say that the farm-bailiff took pleasure +in thwarting John Broom. But he certainly did not show his satisfaction +when the boy did do his work properly. Perhaps he thought that praise is +not good for young people; and the child did not often give him the +chance of trying. Of blame he was free enough. Not a good scolding to +clear the air, such as Thomasina would give to Annie the lass, but his +slow, caustic tongue was always growling, like muttered thunder, over +John Broom's incorrigible head. + +He had never approved of the tramp-child, who had the overwhelming +drawbacks of having no pedigree and of being a bad bargain as to +expense. This was not altogether John Broom's fault, but with his +personal failings the farm bailiff had even less sympathy. It had been +hinted that he was born in the speckled hat, and whether this were so or +not, he certainly had worn an old head whilst his shoulders were still +young, and could not remember the time when he wished to waste his +energies on any thing that did not earn or at least save something. + +Once only did any thing like approval of the lad escape his lips. + +Miss Betty's uncle's second cousin had returned from foreign lands with +a good fortune and several white cockatoos. He kept the fortune himself, +but he gave the cockatoos to his friends, and he sent one of them to the +little ladies of Lingborough. + +He was a lovely creature (the cockatoo, not the cousin, who was plain), +and John Broom's admiration of him was boundless. He gazed at the +sulphur-colored crest, the pure white wings with their deeper-tinted +lining, and even the beak and the fierce round eyes, as he had gazed at +the broom bush in his babyhood, with insatiable delight. + +The cousin did things handsomely. He had had a ring put round one of the +cockatoo's ankles, with a bright steel chain attached and a fastener to +secure it to the perch. The cockatoo was sent in the cage by coach, and +a perch, made of foreign wood, followed by the carrier. + +Miss Betty and Miss Kitty were delighted both with the cockatoo and the +perch, but they were a good deal troubled as to how to fasten the two +together. There was a neat little ring on the perch, and the cockatoo's +chain was quite complete, and he evidently wanted to get out, for he +shook the walls of his cage in his gambols. But he put up his crest and +snapped when any one approached, in a manner so alarming that Annie the +lass shut herself up in the dairy, and the farm-bailiff turned his +speckled hat in his hands, and gave cautious counsel from a safe +distance. + +"How he flaps!" cried Miss Betty. "I'm afraid he has a very vicious +temper." + +"He only wants to get out, Miss Betty," said John Broom. "He'd be all +right with his perch, and I think I can get him on it." + +"Now Heaven save us from the sin o' presumption!" cried the +farm-bailiff, and putting on the speckled hat, he added, slowly: "I'm +thinking, John Broom, that if ye're engaged wi' the leddies this morning +it'll be time I turned my hand to singling these few turnips ye've been +thinking about the week past." + +On which he departed, and John Broom pressed the little ladies to leave +him alone with the bird. + +"We shouldn't like to leave you alone with a wild creature like that," +said Miss Betty. + +"He's just frightened on ye, Miss Betty. He'll be like a lamb when +you're gone," urged John Broom. + +"Besides, we should like to see you do it," said Miss Kitty. + +"You can look in through the window, miss. I must fasten the door, or +he'll be out." + +"I should never forgive myself if he hurt you, John," said Miss Betty, +irresolutely, for she was very anxious to have the cockatoo and perch in +full glory in the parlour. + +"He'll none hurt me, miss," said John, with a cheerful smile on his rosy +face. "I likes him, and he'll like me." + +This settled the matter. John was left with the cockatoo. He locked the +door, and the little ladies went into the garden and peeped through the +window. + +They saw John Broom approach the cage, on which the cockatoo put up his +crest, opened his beak slowly, and snarled, and Miss Betty tapped on the +window and shook her black satin workbag. + +"Don't go near him!" she cried. But John Broom paid no attention. + +"What are you putting up that top-knot of yours at me for?" said he to +the cockatoo. "Don't ye know your own friends? I'm going to let ye out, +I am. You're going on to your perch, you are." + +"Eh, but you're a bonny creature!" he added, as the cockatoo filled the +cage with snow and sulphur flutterings. + +"Keep away, keep away!" screamed the little ladies, playing a duet on +the window panes. + +"Out with you!" said John Broom, as he unfastened the cage door. + +And just when Miss Betty had run round, and as she shouted through the +keyhole, "Open the door, John Broom. We've changed our minds. We've +decided to keep it in its cage," the cockatoo strode solemnly forth on +his eight long toes. + +"Pretty Cocky!" said he. + +When Miss Betty got back to the window, John Broom had just made an +injudicious grab at the steel chain, on which Pretty Cocky flew fiercely +at him, and John, burying his face in his arms, received the attack on +his thick poll, laughing into his sleeves and holding fast to the chain, +whilst the cockatoo and the little ladies screamed against each other. + +"It'll break your leg--you'll tear its eyes out!" cried Miss Kitty. + +"Miss Kitty means that you'll break its leg, and it will tear your eyes +out," Miss Betty explained through the glass. "John Broom! Come away! +Lock it in! Let it go!" + +But Cocky was now waddling solemnly round the room, and John Broom was +creeping after him, with the end of the chain in one hand, and the perch +in the other, and in a moment more he had joined the chain and the ring, +and just as Miss Betty was about to send for the constable and have the +door broken open, Cocky--driven into a corner--clutched his perch and +was raised triumphantly to his place in the bow-window. + +He was now a parlour pet, and John Broom saw little of him. This vexed +him, for he had taken a passionate liking for the bird. The little +ladies rewarded him well for his skill, but this brought him no favour +from the farm-bailiff, and matters went on as ill as before. + +One day the cockatoo got his chain entangled, and Miss Kitty promptly +advanced to put it right. She had unfastened that end which secured it +to the perch, when Cocky, who had been watching the proceeding with much +interest, dabbed at her with his beak. Miss Kitty fled, but with great +presence of mind shut the door after her. She forgot, however, that the +window was open, in front of which stood the cockatoo scanning the +summer sky with his fierce eyes, and flapping himself in the breeze. + +And just as the little ladies ran into the garden, and Miss Kitty was +saying, "One comfort is, sister Betty, that it's quite safe in the room, +till we can think what to do next," he bowed his yellow crest, spread +his noble wings, and sailed out into the aether. + +In ten minutes the whole able-bodied population of the place was in the +grounds of Lingborough, including the farm-bailiff. + +The cockatoo was on the top of a fir-tree, and a fragment of the chain +was with him, for he had broken it, and below on the lawn stood the +little ladies, who, with the unfailing courage of women in a hopeless +cause, were trying to dislodge him by waving their pocket-handkerchiefs +and crying "sh!" + +He looked composedly down out of one eye for some time, and then he +began to move. + +"I think it's coming down now," said Miss Kitty. + +But in a quarter of a minute, Cocky had sailed a quarter of a mile, and +was rocking himself on the top of an old willow-tree. And at this moment +John Broom joined the crowd which followed him. + +"I'm thinking he's got his chain fast," said the farm-bailiff; "if +onybody that understood the beastie daured to get near him----" + +"I'll get him," said John Broom, casting down his hat. + +"Ye'll get yer neck thrawed," said the farm-bailiff. + +"We won't hear of it," said the little ladies. + +But to their horror, John Broom kicked off his shoes, after which he +spat upon his hands (a shock which Miss Kitty thought she never could +have survived), and away he went up the willow. + +It was not an easy tree to climb, and he had one or two narrow escapes, +which kept the crowd breathless, but he shook the hair from his eyes, +moistened his hands afresh, and went on. The farm-bailiff's far-away +heart was stirred. No Scotchman is insensible to gallantry. And courage +is the only thing a "canny" Scot can bear to see expended without +return. + +"John Broom," screamed Miss Betty, "come down! I order, I command you to +come down." + +The farm-bailiff drew his speckled hat forward to shade his upward gaze, +and folded his arms. + +"Dinna call on him, leddies," he said, speaking more quickly than usual. +"Dinna mak him turn his head. Steady, lad! Grip wi' your feet. Spit on +your pawms, man." + +Once the boy trod on a rotten branch, and as he drew back his foot, and +it came crashing down, the farm-bailiff set his teeth, and Miss Kitty +fainted in Thomasina's arms. + +"I'll reward anyone who'll fetch him down," sobbed Miss Betty. But John +Broom seated himself on the same branch as the cockatoo, and undid the +chain and prepared his hands for the downward journey. + +"You've got a rare perch, this time," said he. And Pretty Cocky crept +towards him, and rubbed its head against him and chuckled with joy. + +What dreams of liberty in the tree tops, with John Broom for a +playfellow, passed through his crested head, who shall say? But when he +found that his friend meant to take him prisoner, he became very angry +and much alarmed. And when John Broom grasped him by both legs and began +to descend, Cocky pecked him vigorously. But the boy held the back of +his head towards him, and went steadily down. + +"Weel done!" roared the farm-bailiff. "Gently, lad! Gude save us! ha'e +a care o' yoursen. That's weel. Keep your pow at him. Dinna let the +beast get to your een." + +But when John Broom was so near the ground as to be safe, the +farm-bailiff turned wrathfully upon his son, who had been gazing +open-mouthed at the sight which had so interested his father. + +"Ye look weel standing gawping here, before the leddies," said he, +"wasting the precious hours, and bringing your father's grey hairs wi' +sorrow to the grave; and John Broom yonder shaming ye, and you not so +much as thinking to fetch the perch for him, ye lazy loon. Away wi' ye +and get it, before I lay a stick about your shoulders." + +And when his son had gone for the perch, and John Broom was safely on +the ground, laughing, bleeding, and triumphant, the farm-bailiff said,-- + +"Ye're a bauld chiel, John Broom, I'll say that for ye." + + + +INTO THE MIST. + + +Unfortunately the favourable impression produced by "the gipsy lad's" +daring soon passed from the farm-bailiff's mind. It was partly effaced +by the old jealousy of the little ladies favour. Miss Betty gave the boy +no less than four silver shillings, and he ungraciously refused to let +the farm-bailiff place them in a savings bank for him. + +Matters got from bad to worse. The farming man was not the only one who +was jealous, and John Broom himself was as idle and restless as ever. +Though, if he had listened respectfully to the Scotchman's counsel, or +shown any disposition to look up to and be guided by him, much might +have been overlooked. But he made fun of him and made a friend of the +cowherd. And this latter most manifest token of low breeding vexed the +respectable taste of the farm-bailiff. + +John Broom had his own grievances too, and he brooded over them. He +thought the little ladies had given him over to the farm-bailiff, +because they had ceased to care for him, and that the farm-bailiff was +prejudiced against him beyond any hope of propitiation. The village folk +taunted him, too, with being an outcast, and called him Gipsy John, and +this maddened him. Then he would creep into the cowhouse and lie in the +straw against the white cow's warm back, and for a few of Miss Betty's +coppers, to spend in beer or tobacco, the cowherd would hide him from +the farm-bailiff and tell him countryside tales. To Thomasina's stories +of ghosts and gossip, he would add strange tales of smugglers on the +near-lying coast, and as John Broom listened, his restless blood +rebelled more and more against the sour sneers and dry drudgery that he +got from the farm-bailiff. + +Nor were sneers the sharpest punishment his misdemeanours earned. The +farm-bailiff's stick was thick and his arm was strong, and he had a +tendency to believe that if a flogging was good for a boy, the more he +had of it the better it would be for him. + +And John Broom, who never let a cry escape him at the time, would steal +away afterwards and sob out his grief into the long soft coat of the +sympathising sheep dog. + +Unfortunately he never tried the effect of deserving better treatment as +a remedy for his woes. The parson's good advice and Miss Betty's +entreaties were alike in vain. He was ungrateful even to Thomasina. The +little ladies sighed and thought of the lawyer. And the parson preached +patience. + +"Cocky has been tamed," said Miss Kitty thoughtfully, "perhaps John +Broom will get steadier by-and-by." + +"It seems a pity we can't chain him to a perch, Miss Kitty," laughed the +parson; "he would be safe then, at any rate." + +Miss Betty said afterwards that it did seem so remarkable that the +parson should have made this particular joke on this particular +night--the night when John Broom did not come home. + +He had played truant all day. The farm-bailiff had wanted him, and he +had kept out of the way. + +The wind was from the east, and a white mist rolled in from the sea, +bringing a strange invigorating smell, and making your lips clammy with +salt. It made John Broom's heart beat faster, and filled his head with +dreams of ships and smugglers, and rocking masts higher than the +willow-tree, and winds wilder than this wind, and dancing waves. + +Then something loomed through the fog. It was the farm-bailiff's +speckled hat. John Broom hesitated--the thick stick became visible. + +Then a cloud rolled between them, and the child turned, and ran, and +ran, and ran coastwards, into the sea mist. + + + +THE SEA.--THE ONE-EYED SAILOR.--THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD. + + +John Broom was footsore when he reached the coast, but that keen, +life-giving smell had drawn him on and held him up. The fog had cleared +off, and he strained his black eyes through the darkness to see the sea. + +He had never seen it--that other world within this, on which one lived +out of doors, and climbed about all day, and no one blamed him. + +When he did see it, he thought he had got to the end of the world. If +the edge of the cliff were not the end, he could not make out where the +sky began; and if that darkness were the sea, the sea was full of stars. + +But this was because the sea was quiet and reflected the colour of the +night sky, and the stars were the lights of the herring-boats twinkling +in the bay. + +When he got down by the water he saw the vessels lying alongside, and +they were dirtier than he had supposed. But he did not lose heart, and +remembering, from the cowherd's tales, that people who cannot pay for +their passage must either work it out or hide themselves on board ship, +he took the easier alternative, and got on to the first vessel which had +a plank to the quay, and hid himself under some tarpaulin on the deck. + +The vessel was a collier bound for London, and she sailed with the +morning tide. + +When he was found out he was not ill-treated. Indeed, the rough skipper +offered to take him home again on his return voyage. He would have liked +to go, but pride withheld him, and homesickness had not yet eaten into +his very soul. Then an old sailor with one eye (but that a sly one) met +him, and told him tales more wonderful than the cowherd's. And with him +he shipped as cabin-boy, on a vessel bound for the other side of the +world. + + * * * * * + +A great many sins bring their own punishment in this life pretty +clearly, and sometimes pretty closely; but few more directly or more +bitterly than rebellion against the duties, and ingratitude for the +blessings, of home. + +There was no playing truant on board ship; and as to the master poor +John Broom served now, his cruelty made the memory of the farm-bailiff a +memory of tenderness and gentleness and indulgence. Till he was +half-naked and half-starved, and had only short snatches of sleep in +hard corners, it had never struck him that when one has got good food +and clothes, and sound sleep in a kindly home, he has got more than +many people, and enough to be thankful for. + +He did everything he was told now as fast as he could do it, in fear for +his life. The one-eyed sailor had told him that the captain always took +orphans and poor friendless lads to be his cabin-boys, and John Broom +thought what a nice kind man he must be, and how different from the +farm-bailiff, who thought nobody could be trustworthy unless he could +show parents and grand-parents, and cousins to the sixth degree. But +after they had sailed, when John Broom felt very ill, and asked the +one-eyed sailor where he was to sleep, the one-eyed sailor pleasantly +replied that if he hadn't brought a four-post bed in his pocket he must +sleep where he could, for that all the other cabin-boys were sleeping in +Davy's Locker, and couldn't be disturbed. And it was not till John Broom +had learned ship's language that he found out that Davy's Locker meant +the deep, and that the other cabin-boys were dead. "And as they'd nobody +belonging to 'em, no hearts was broke," added the sailor, winking with +his one eye. + +John Broom slept standing sometimes for weariness, but he did not sleep +in Davy's Locker. Young as he was he had dauntless courage, a careless +hopeful heart, and a tough little body; and that strong, life-giving sea +smell bore him up instead of food, and he got to the other side of the +world. + +Why he did not stay there, why he did not run away into the wilderness +to find at least some easier death than to have his bones broken by the +cruel captain, he often wondered afterwards. He was so much quicker and +braver than the boys they commonly got, that the old sailor kept a sharp +watch over him with his one eye whilst they were ashore; but one day he +was too drunk to see out of it, and John Broom ran away. + +It was Christmas Day, and so hot that he could not run far, for he was +at the other side of the world, where things are upside down, and he sat +down by the roadside on the outskirts of the city; and as he sat, with +his thin, brown face resting on his hands, a familiar voice beside him +said, "Pretty Cocky!" and looking up he saw a man with several cages of +birds. The speaker was a cockatoo of the most exquisite shades of cream +colour, salmon and rose, and he had a rose-coloured crest. But lovely as +he was, John Broom's eyes were on another cage, where, silent, solemn, +and sulky, sat a big white one with sulphur-coloured trimmings and +fierce black eyes; and he was so like Miss Betty's pet, that the poor +child's heart bounded as if a hand had been held out to him from home. + +"If you let him get at you, you'll not do it a second time, mate," said +the man. "He's the nastiest tempered beast I ever saw. I'd have wrung +his neck long ago if he hadn't such a fine coat." + +But John Broom said, as he had said before, "I like him and he'll like +me." + +When the cockatoo bit his finger to the bone, the man roared with +laughter, but John Broom did not draw his hand away. He kept it still +at the bird's beak, and with the other he gently scratched him under the +crest and wings. And when the white cockatoo began to stretch out his +eight long toes, as cats clutch with their claws from pleasure, and +chuckled, and sighed, and bit softly without hurting, and laid his head +against the bars till his snow and sulphur feathers touched John Broom's +black locks, the man was amazed. + +"Look here, mate," said he, "you've the trick with birds, and no +mistake. I'll sell you this one cheap, and you'll be able to sell him +dear." + +"I've not a penny in the world," said John Broom. + +"You do look cleaned out too," said the man, scanning him from head to +foot. "I tell you what, you shall come with me a bit and tame the birds, +and I'll find you something to eat." + +Ten minutes before, John Broom would have jumped at this offer, but now +he refused it. The sight of the cockatoo had brought back the fever of +home-sickness in all its fierceness. He couldn't stay out here. He would +dare anything, do anything, to see the hills about Lingborough once more +before him died; and even if he did not live to see them, he might live +to sleep in that part of Davy's Locker which should rock him on the +shores of home. + +The man gave him a shilling for fastening a ring and chain on to the +Cocky's ankle, and with this he got the best dinner he had eaten since +he lost sight of the farm-bailiff's speckled hat in the mist. + +And then he went back to the one-eyed sailor, and shipped as cabin-boy +again for the homeward voyage. + + + +THE HIGHLANDER.--BARRACK LIFE.--THE GREAT CURSE.--JOHN BROOM'S +MONEY-BOX. + + +When John Broom did get home he did not go to sea again. He lived from +hand to mouth in the seaport town, and slept, as he was well accustomed +to sleep, in holes and corners. + +Every day and every night, through the long months of the voyage, he had +dreamed of begging his way barefoot to Miss Betty's door. But now he did +not go. His life was hard, but it was not cruel. He was very idle, and +there was plenty to see. He wandered about the country as of old. The +ships and shipping too had a fascination for him now that the past was +past, and here he could watch them from the shore; and, partly for shame +and partly for pride, he could not face the idea of going back. If he +had been taunted with being a vagrant boy before, what would be said now +if he presented himself, a true tramp, to the farm-bailiff? Besides, +Miss Betty and Miss Kitty could not forgive him. It was impossible! + +He was wandering about one day when he came to some fine high walls with +buildings inside. There was an open gateway, at which stood a soldier +with a musket. But a woman and some children went in, and he did not +shoot them; so when his back was turned, and he was walking stiffly to +where he came from, John Broom ran in through the gateway. + +The first man he saw was the grandest-looking man he had ever seen. +Indeed, he looked more like a bird than a man--a big bird with a big +black crest. He was very tall. His feet were broad and white, like the +feathered feet of some plumy bird, his legs were bare and brown and +hairy. He was clothed in many colours. He had fur in front, which swung +as he walked, and silver and shining stones about him. He held his head +very high and from it drooped great black plumes. His face looked as if +it had been cut--roughly but artistically--out of a block of old wood, +and his eyes were the colour of a summer sky. And John Broom felt as he +had felt when he first saw Miss Betty's cockatoo. + +In repose the Highlander's eye was as clear as a cairngorm and as cold, +but when it fell upon John Broom it took a twinkle not quite unlike the +twinkle in the one eye of the sailor; and then, to his amazement, this +grand creature beckoned to John Broom with a rather dirty hand. + +"Yes, sir," said John Broom, staring up at the splendid giant, with eyes +of wonder. + +"I'm saying," said the Highlander, confidentially (and it had a pleasant +homely sound to hear him speak like the farm-bailiff)--"I'm saying, I'm +confined to barracks, ye ken; and I'll gi'e ye a hawpenny if ye'll get +the bottle filled wi' whusky. Roun' yon corner ye'll see the 'Britain's +Defenders.'" + +But at this moment he erected himself, his turquoise eyes looked +straight before them, and he put his hand to his head and moved it +slowly away again, as a young man with more swinging grandeur of colors +and fur and plumes, and with greater glittering of gems and silver, +passed by, a sword clattering after him. + +Meanwhile John Broom had been round the corner and was back again. + +"What for are ye stan'in' there, ye fule?" asked his new friend. "What +for didna ye gang for the whusky?" + +"It's here, sir." + +"My certy, ye dinna let the grass grow under your feet," said the +Highlander; and he added, "If ye want to run errands, laddie, ye can +come back again." + +It was the beginning of a fresh life for John Broom. With many other +idle or homeless boys he now haunted the barracks, and ran errands for +the soldiers. His fleetness of foot and ready wit made him the +favourite. Perhaps, too, his youth and his bright face and eyes pleaded +for him, for British soldiers are a tender-hearted race. + +He was knocked about, but never cruelly, and he got plenty of coppers +and broken victuals, and now and then an old cap or pair of boots, a +world too large for him. His principal errands were to fetch liquor for +the soldiers. In arms and pockets he would sometimes carry a dozen +bottles at once, and fly back from the canteen or public-house without +breaking one. + +Before the summer was over he was familiar with every barrack-room and +guard-room in the place; he had food to eat and coppers to spare, and he +shared his bits with the mongrel dogs who lived, as he did, on the +good-nature of the garrison. + +It must be confessed that neatness was not among John Broom's virtues. +He looped his rags together with bits of string, and wasted his pence or +lost them. The soldiers standing at the bar would often give him a drink +out of their pewter-pots. It choked him at first, and then he got used +to it, and liked it. Some relics of Miss Betty's teachings kept him +honest. He would not condescend to sip by the way out of the soldiers' +jugs and bottles, as other errand-boys did, but he came to feel rather +proud of laying his twopence on the counter, and emptying his own pot of +beer with a grimace to the bystanders through the glass at the bottom. + +One day he was winking through the froth of a pint of porter at the +canteen sergeant's daughter, who was in fits of laughing, when the +pewter was knocked out of his grasp, and the big Highlander's hand was +laid on his shoulder and bore him twenty or thirty yards from the place +in one swoop. + +"I'll trouble ye to give me your attention," said the Highlander, when +they came to a standstill, "and to speak the truth. Did ye ever see me +the worse of liquor?" + +John Broom had several remembrances of the clearest kind to that effect, +so he put up his arms to shield his head from the probable blow, and +said, "Yes, M'Alister." + +"How often?" asked the Scotchman. + +"I never counted," said John Broom; "pretty often." + +"How many good-conduct stripes do you ken me to have lost of your ain +knowledge?" + +"Three, M'Alister." + +"Is there a finer man than me in the regiment?" asked the Highlander, +drawing up his head. + +"That there's not," said John Broom, warmly. + +"Our sairgent, now," drawled the Scotchman, "wad ye say he was a better +man than me?" + +"Nothing like so good," said John Broom, sincerely. + +"And what d'ye suppose, man," said the Highlander, firing with sudden +passion, till the light of his clear blue eyes seemed to pierce John +Broom's very soul--"what d'ye suppose has hindered me that I'm not +sairgent, when yon man is? What has keepit me from being an officer, +that had served my country in twa battles when oor quartermaster hadna +enlisted? Wha gets my money? What lost me my stripes? What loses me +decent folks' respect and, waur than that, my ain? What gars a hand that +can grip a broadsword tremble like a woman's? What fills the canteen and +the kirkyard? What robs a man of health and wealth and peace? What +ruins weans and women, and makes mair homes desolate than war? Drink, +man, drink! The deevil of drink!" + +It was not till the glare in his eyes had paled that John Broom ventured +to speak. Then he said,-- + +"Why don't ye give it up, M'Alister?" + +The man rose to his full height, and laid his hand heavily on the boy's +shoulder, and his eyes seemed to fade with that pitiful, weary look, +which only such blue eyes show so well, "Because I _canna_" said he; +"because, for as big as I am, I canna. But for as little as you are, +laddie, ye can, and, Heaven help me, ye shall." + +That evening he called John Broom into the barrack-room where he slept. +He was sitting on the edge of his bed, and had a little wooden money-box +in his hands. + +"What money have ye, laddie?" he asked. + +John Broom pulled out three halfpence lately earned, and the Scotchman +dropped them slowly into the box. Then he turned the key, and put it +into his pocket, and gave the box to the boy. + +"Ye'll put what ye earn in there," said he, "I'll keep the key, and +ye'll keep the box yoursel; and when it's opened we'll open it together, +and lay out your savings in decent clothes for ye against the winter." + +At this moment some men passing to the canteen shouted, "M'Alister?" The +Highlander did not answer, but he started to the door. Then he stood +irresolute, and then turned and reseated himself. + +"Gang and bring me a bit o' tobacco," he said, giving John Broom a +penny. And when the boy had gone he emptied his pocket of the few pence +left, and dropped them into the box, muttering, "If he manna, I wunna." + +And when the tobacco came, he lit his pipe, and sat on the bench +outside, and snarled at every one who spoke to him. + + + +OUTPOST DUTY.--THE SERGEANT'S STORY.--GRAND ROUNDS. + + +It was a bitterly cold winter. The soldiers drank a great deal, and John +Broom was constantly trotting up and down, and the box grew very heavy. + +Bottles were filled and refilled, in spite of greatly increased +strictness in the discipline of the garrison, for there were rumours of +invasion, and penalties were heavy, and sentry posts were increased, and +the regiments were kept in readiness for action. + +The Highlander had not cured himself of drinking, though he had cured +John Broom. But, like others, he was more wary just now, and had +hitherto escaped the heavy punishments inflicted in a time of probable +war; and John Broom watched over him with the fidelity of a sheep dog, +and more than once had roused him with a can of cold water when he was +all but caught by his superiors in a state of stupor, which would not +have been credited to the frost alone. + +The talk of invasion had become grave, when one day a body of men were +ordered for outpost duty, and M'Alister was among them. The officer had +got a room for them in a farmhouse, where they sat round the fire, and +went out by turns to act as sentries at various posts for an hour or two +at a time. + +The novelty was delightful to John Broom. He hung about the farmhouse, +and warmed himself at the soldiers' fire. + +In the course of the day M'Alister got him apart and whispered, "I'm +going on duty the night at ten, laddie. It's fearsome cold, and I hav'na +had a drop to warm me the day. If ye could ha' brought me a wee drappie +to the corner of the three roads--it's twa miles from here I'm +thinking--" + +"It's not the miles, M'Alister," said John Broom, "but you're on outpost +duty, and--" + +"And you're misdoubting what may be done to ye for bringing liquor to a +sentry on duty? Aye, aye, lad, ye do weel to be cautious," said the +Highlander, and he turned away. + +But it was not the fear of consequences to himself which had made John +Broom hesitate, and he was stung by the implication. + +The night was dark and very cold, and the Highlander had been pacing up +and down his post for about half-an-hour, when his quick ear caught a +faint sound of footsteps. + +"Wha goes there?" said he. + +"It's I, M'Alister," whispered John Broom. + +"Whisht, laddie," said the sentry; "are ye there after all? Did no one +see ye?" + +"Not a soul; I crept by the hedges. Here's your whiskey, M'Alister; but +oh be careful!" said the lad. + +The Scotchman's eyes glittered greedily at the bottle. + +"Never fear," said he, "I'll just rub a wee drappie on the pawms of my +hands to keep away the frost-bite, for its awsome cold, man. Now away +wi' ye, and take tent, laddie, keep off the other sentries." + +John Broom went back as carefully as he had come, and slipped in to warm +himself by the guardroom fire. + +It was a good one, and the soldiers sat close round it. The officer was +writing a letter in another room, and in a low, impressive voice, the +sergeant was telling a story which was listened to with breathless +attention. John Broom was fond of stories, and he listened also. + +It was of a friend of the sergeant's, who had been a boy with him in the +same village at home, who had seen active service with him abroad, and +who had slept at his post on such a night as this, from the joint +effects of cold and drink. It was war time, and he had been tried by +court-martial, and shot for the offence. The sergeant had been one of +the firing party to execute his friend, and they had taken leave of each +other as brothers, before the final parting face to face in this last +awful scene. + +The man's voice was faltering, when the tale was cut short by the +jingling of the field officer's accoutrements as he rode by to visit the +outposts. In an instant the officer and men turned out to receive him; +and, after the usual formalities, he rode on. The officer went back to +his letter, and the sergeant and his men to their fireside. + +The opening of the doors had let in a fresh volume of cold, and one of +the men called to John Broom to mend the fire. But he was gone. + + * * * * * + +John Broom was fleet of foot, and there are certain moments which lift +men beyond their natural powers, but he had set himself a hard task. + +As he listened to the sergeant's tale, an agonising fear smote him for +his friend M'Alister. Was there any hope that the Highlander could keep +himself from the whiskey? Officers were making their rounds at very +short intervals just now, and if drink and cold overcame him at his +post! + +Close upon these thoughts came the jingling of the field officer's +sword, and the turn out of the guard. "Who goes there?"--"Rounds."--"What +rounds?"--"Grand rounds."--"Halt, grand rounds, advance one, and give the +counter-sign!" The familiar words struck coldly on John Broom's heart, as +if they had been orders to a firing party, and the bandage was already +across the Highlander's blue eyes. Would the grand rounds be challenged at +the three roads to-night? He darted out into the snow. + +He flew, as the crow flies, across the fields, to where M'Alister was +on duty. It was a much shorter distance than by the road, which was +winding; but whether this would balance the difference between a horse's +pace and his own was the question, and there being no time to question, +he ran on. + +He kept his black head down, and ran from his shoulders. The clatter, +clatter, jingle, jingle, on the hard road came to him through the still +frost on a level with his left ear. It was terrible, but he held on, +dodging under the hedges to be out of sight, and the sound lessened, and +by-and-by, the road having wound about, he could hear it faintly, _but +behind him_. + +And he reached the three roads, and M'Alister was asleep in the ditch. + +But when, with jingle and clatter, the field officer of the day reached +the spot, the giant Highlander stood like a watch-tower at his post, +with a little snow on the black plumes that drooped upon his shoulders. + + + +HOSPITAL.--"HAME." + + +John Broom did not see the Highlander again for two or three days. It +was Christmas week, and, in spite of the war panic, there was festivity +enough in the barracks to keep the errand-boy very busy. + +Then came New Year's Eve--"Hogmenay," as the Scotch call it--and it was +the Highland regiment's particular festival. Worn-out with +whiskey-fetching and with helping to deck barrack-rooms and carrying +pots and trestles, John Broom was having a nap in the evening, in +company with a mongrel deer-hound, when a man shook him, and said, "I +heard some one asking for ye an hour or two back; M'Alister wants ye." + +"Where is he?" said John Broom, jumping to his feet. + +"In hospital; he's been there a day or two. He got cold on outpost duty, +and it's flown to his lungs, they say. Ye see he's been a hard drinker, +has M'Alister, and I expect he's breaking up." + +With which very just conclusion the speaker went on into the canteen, +and John Broom ran to the hospital. + +Stripped of his picturesque trappings, and with no plumes to shadow the +hollows in his temples, M'Alister looked gaunt and feeble enough, as he +lay in the little hospital bed, which barely held his long limbs. Such a +wreck of giant powers of body, and noble qualities of mind as the +drink-shops are preparing for the hospitals every day! + +Since the quickly-reached medical decision that he was in a rapid +decline, and that nothing could be done for him, M'Alister had been left +a good deal alone. His intellect (and it was no fool's intellect,) was +quite clear, and if the long hours by himself, in which he reckoned with +his own soul, had hastened the death-damps on his brow, they had also +written there an expression which was new to John Broom. It was not the +old sour look, it was a kind of noble gravity. + +His light-blue eyes brightened as the boy came in, and he held out his +hand, and John Broom took it with both his, saying. + +"I never heard till this minute, M'Alister. Eh, I do hope you'll be +better soon." + +"The Lord being merciful to me," said the Highlander. "But this warld's +nearly past, laddie, and I was fain to see ye again. Dinna greet, man, +for I've important business wi' ye, and I should wish your attention. +Firstly, I'm aboot to hand ower to ye the key of your box. Tak it, and +put it in a pocket that's no got a hole in it, if you're worth one. +Secondly, there's a bit bag I made mysel', and it's got a trifle o' +money in it that I'm giving and bequeathing to ye, under certain +conditions, namely, that ye shall spend the contents of the box +according to my last wishes and instructions, with the ultimate end of +your ain benefit, ye'll understand." + +A fit of coughing here broke M'Alister's discourse; but, after drinking +from a cup beside him, he put aside John Broom's remonstrances with a +dignified movement of his hand, and continued,-- + +"When a body comes of decent folks, he won't just care, maybe, to have +their names brought up in a barrack-room. Ye never heard me say ought of +my father or my mither?" + +"Never, M'Alister." + +"I'd a good hame," said the Highlander, with a decent pride in his tone. +"It was a strict hame--I've no cause now, to deceive mysel', and I'm +thinking it was a wee bit ower strict--but it was a good hame. I left +it, man--I ran away." + +The glittering blue eyes turned sharply on the lad, and he went on:-- + +"A body doesna care to turn his byeganes oot for every fool to pick at. +Did I ever speer about your past life, and whar ye came from?" + +"Never, M'Alister." + +"But that's no to say that, if I knew manners, I didna obsairve. And +there's been things now and again, John Broom, that's gar'd me think +that ye've had what I had, and done as I did. Did ye rin awa', laddie?" + +John Broom nodded his black head, but tears choked his voice. + +"Man!" said the Highlander, "ane word's as gude's a thousand. Gang back! +Gang hame! There's the bit siller here that's to tak ye, and the love +yonder that's waiting ye. Listen to a dying man, laddie, and gang hame!" + +"I doubt if they'd have me," sobbed John Broom, "I gave 'em a deal of +trouble, M'Alister." + +"And d'ye think, lad, that that thought has na' cursed _me_, and keepit +me from them that loved me? Aye, lad, and till this week I never +overcame it." + +"Weel may I want to save ye, bairn," added the Highlander tenderly, "for +it was the thocht of a' ye riskit for the like of me at the three roads +that made me consider wi' mysel' that I've aiblins been turning my back +a' my wilfu' life on love that's bigger than a man's deservings. It's +near done now, and it'll never lie in my poor power so much as rightly +to thank ye. It's strange that a man should set store by a good name +that he doesna deserve; but if any blessings of mine could bring ye +good, they're yours, that saved an old soldier's honour, and let him die +respectit in his regiment." + +"Oh, M'Alister, let me fetch one of the chaplains to write a letter to +fetch your father," cried John Broom. + +"The minister's been here this morning," said the Highlander, "and I've +tell't him mair than I've tell't you. And he's jest directed me to put +my sinful trust in the Father of us a'. I've sinned heaviest against +_Him_, laddie, but His love is stronger than the lave." + +John Broom remained by his friend, whose painful fits of coughing, and +of gasping for breath, were varied by intervals of seeming stupor. When +a candle had been brought in and placed near the bed, the Highlander +roused himself and asked,-- + +"Is there a Bible on yon table? Could ye read a bit to me, laddie?" + +There is little need to dwell on the bitterness of heart with which John +Broom confessed,-- + +"I can't read big words, M'Alister." + +"Did ye never go to school?" said the Scotchman. + +"I didn't learn," said the poor boy; "I played." + +"Aye, aye. Weel, ye'll learn, when ye gang hame," said the Highlander, +in gentle tones. + +"I'll never get home," said John Broom, passionately. "I'll never +forgive myself. I'll never get over it, that I couldn't read to ye when +ye wanted me, M'Alister." + +"Gently, gently," said the Scotchman. "Dinna daunt yoursel' owermuch wi' +the past, laddie. And for me--I'm not that presoomtious to think I can +square up a misspent life as a man might compound wi's creditors. 'Gin +HE forgi'es me, He'll forgi'e; but it's not a prayer up or a chapter +doun that'll stan' between me and the Almighty. So dinna fret yoursel', +but let me think while I may." + +And so, far into the night, the Highlander lay silent, and John Broom +watched by him. + +It was just midnight when he partly raised himself, and cried,-- + +"Whisht, laddie! do ye hear the pipes?" + +The dying ears must have been quick, for John Broom heard nothing; but +in a few moments he heard the bagpipes from the officers' mess, where +they were keeping Hogmenay. They were playing the old year out with +"Auld lang syne," and the Highlander beat the tune out with his hand, +and his eyes gleamed out of his rugged face in the dim light, as +cairngorms glitter in dark tartan. + +There was a pause after the first verse, and he restless, and turning +doubtfully to where John Broom sat, as if his sight were failing, he +said, "Ye'll mind your promise, ye'll gang hame?" And after awhile he +repeated the last word. + +_"Hame!"_ + +But as he spoke there settled over his face a smile so tender and so +full of happiness, that John Broom held his breath as he watched him. As +the light of sunrise creeps over the face of some rugged rock, it crept +from chin to brow, and the pale blue eyes shone tranquil, like water +that reflects heaven. + +And when it had passed it left them still open, but gems that had lost +their ray. + + + +LUCK GOES.--AND COMES AGAIN. + + +The spirit does not always falter in its faith because the flesh is +weary with hope deferred. When week after week, month after month, and +year after year, went by and John Broom was not found, the +disappointment seemed to "age" the little ladies, as Thomasina phrased +it. But yet they said to the parson, "We do not regret it." + +"God forbid that you should regret it," said he. + +And even the lawyer (whose heart was kinder than his tongue) abstained +from taunting them with his prophecies, and said, "The force of habits +of early education is a power as well as that of inherent tendencies. It +is only for your sake that I regret a too romantic benevolence." And +Miss Betty and Miss Kitty tried to put the matter quite away. But John +Broom was very closely bound up with the life of many years past. +Thomasina mourned him as if he had been her son, and Thomasina being an +old and valuable servant, it is needless to say that when she was +miserable no one in the house was permitted to be quite at ease. + +As to Pretty Cocky, he lived, but Miss Kitty fancied that he grew less +pretty and drooped upon his polished perch. + +There were times when the parson felt almost conscience-stricken because +he had encouraged the adoption of John Broom. Disappointments fall +heavily upon elderly people. They may submit better than the young, but +they do not so easily revive. The little old ladies looked greyer and +more nervous, and the little old house looked greyer and gloomier than +of old. + +Indeed there were other causes of anxiety. Times were changing, prices +were rising, and the farm did not thrive. The lawyer said that the +farm-bailiff neglected his duties, and that the cowherd did nothing but +drink; but Miss Betty trembled, and said they could not part with old +servants. + +The farm-bailiff had his own trouble, but he kept it to himself. No one +knew how severely he had beaten John Broom the day before he ran away, +but he remembered it himself with painful clearness. Harsh men are apt +to have consciences, and his was far from easy about the lad who had +been entrusted to his care. He could not help thinking of it when the +day's work was over, and he had to keep filling up his evening +whiskey-glass again and again to drown disagreeable thoughts. + +The whiskey answered this purpose, but it made him late in the morning: +it complicated business on market days, not to the benefit of the farm, +and it put him at a disadvantage in dealing with the drunken cowherd. + +The cowherd was completely upset by John Broom's mysterious +disappearance, and he comforted himself as the farm-bailiff did, but to +a larger extent. And Thomasina winked at many irregularities in +consideration of the groans of sympathy with which he responded to her +tears as they sat round the hearth where John Broom no longer lay. + +At the time that he vanished from Lingborough the gossips of the country +side said, This comes of making pets of tramps' brats, when honest +folk's sons may toil and moil without notice. But when it was proved +that the tramp-boy had stolen nothing, when all search for him was vain, +and when prosperity faded from the place season by season and year by +year, there were old folk who whispered that the gaudily-clothed child +Miss Betty had found under the broom-bush had something more than common +in him, and that whoever and whatever had offended the eerie creature, +he had taken the luck of Lingborough with him when he went away. + +It was early summer. The broom was shining in the hedges with uncommon +wealth of golden blossoms. "The lanes looked for all the world as they +did the year that poor child was found," said Thomasina, wiping her +eyes. Annie the lass sobbed hysterically, and the cowherd found himself +so low in spirits that after gazing dismally at the cowstalls, which had +not been cleaned for days past, he betook himself to the ale-house to +refresh his energies for this and other arrears of work. + +On returning to the farm, however, he found his hands still feeble, and +he took a drop or two more to steady them, after which it occurred to +him that certain new potatoes which he had had orders to dig were yet in +the ground. The wood was not chopped for the next day's use, and he +wondered what had become of a fork he had had in the morning and had +laid down somewhere. + +So he seated himself on some straw in the corner to think about it all, +and whilst he was thinking he fell fast asleep. + +By his own account many remarkable things had befallen him in the course +of his life, including that meeting with a Black Something to which +allusion has been made, but nothing so strange as what happened to him +that night. + +When he awoke in the morning and sat up on the straw, and looked around +him, the stable was freshly cleaned, the litter in the stalls was shaken +and turned, and near the door was an old barrel of newly dug potatoes, +and the fork stood by it. And when he ran to the wood house there lay +the wood neatly chopped and piled to take away. + +He kept his own counsel that day and took credit for the work, but when +on the morrow the farm-bailiff was at a loss to know who had thinned the +turnips that were left to do in the upper field, and Annie the lass +found the kitchen cloths she had left overnight to soak, rubbed through +and rinsed, and laid to dry, the cowherd told his tale to Thomasina, and +begged for a bowl of porridge and cream to set in the barn, as one might +set a mouse-trap baited with cheese. + +"For," said he, "the luck of Lingborough's come back, missis. _It's Lob +Lie-by-the-fire_" + + + +LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE. + + +"It's Lob Lie-by-the-fire!" + +So Thomasina whispered exultingly, and Annie the lass timidly. Thomasina +cautioned the cowherd to hold his tongue, and she said nothing to the +little ladies on the subject. She felt certain that they would tell the +parson, and he might not approve. The farm-bailiff knew of a farm on the +Scotch side of the Border where a brownie had been driven away by the +minister preaching his last Sunday's sermon over again at him, and as +Thomasina said, "There'd been little enough luck at Lingborough lately, +that they should wish to scare it away when it came." + +And yet the news leaked out gently, and was soon known all through the +neighborhood--as a secret. + +"The luck of Lingborough's come back. Lob's lying by the fire!" + +He could be heard at his work any night, and several people had seen +him, though this vexed Thomasina, who knew well that the good people do +not like to be watched at their labours. + +The cowherd had not been able to resist peeping down through chinks in +the floor of the loft above the barn, where he slept, and one night he +had seen Lob fetching straw for the cowhouse. "A great rough, black +fellow," said he, and he certainly grew bigger and rougher and blacker +every time the cowherd told the tale. + +The Lubber-fiend appeared next to a boy who was loitering at a late hour +somewhere near the little ladies' kitchen-garden, and whom he pursued +and pelted with mud till the lad nearly lost his wits with terror. (It +was the same boy who was put in the lock-up in the autumn for stealing +Farmer Mangel's Siberian crabs.) + +For this trick, however, the rough elf atoned by leaving three pecks of +newly-gathered fruit in the kitchen the following morning. Never had +there been such a preserving season at Lingborough within the memory of +Thomasina. + +The truth is, hobgoblins, from Puck to Will-o'-the-wisp, are apt to play +practical jokes and knock people about whom they meet after sunset. A +dozen tales of such were rife, and folks were more amused than amazed by +Lob Lie-by-the-fire's next prank. + +There was an aged pauper who lived on the charity of the little ladies, +and whom it was Miss Betty's practice to employ to do light weeding in +the fields for heavy wages. This venerable person was toddling to his +home in the gloaming with a barrow load of Miss Betty's new potatoes, +dexterously hidden by an upper sprinkling of groundsel and hemlock, when +the Lubber-fiend sprang out from behind an elder-bush, ran at the old +man with his black head, and knocked him, heels uppermost, into the +ditch. The wheelbarrow was afterwards found in Miss Betty's farmyard, +quite empty. + +And when the cowherd (who had his own opinion of the aged pauper, and it +was a very poor one) went that evening to drink Lob Lie-by-the-fire's +health from a bottle he kept in the harness room window, he was nearly +choked with the contents, which had turned into salt and water, as fairy +jewels turn to withered leaves. + +But luck had come to Lingborough. There had not been such crops for +twice seven years past. + +The lay-away hens' eggs were brought regularly to the kitchen. + +The ducklings were not eaten by rats. + +No fowls were stolen. + +The tub of pig-meal lasted three times as long as usual. + +The cart-wheels and gate-hinges were oiled by unseen fingers. + +The mushrooms in the croft gathered themselves and down on a dish in the +larder. + +It is by small savings that a farm thrives, and Miss Betty's farm +throve. + +Everybody worked with more alacrity. Annie the lass said the butter came +in a way that made it a pleasure to churn. + +The neighbours knew even more than those on the spot. They said--That +since Lob came back to Lingborough the hens laid eggs as large as +turkeys' eggs, and the turkeys' eggs were--oh, you wouldn't believe the +size! + +That the cows gave nothing but cream, and that Thomasina skimmed butter +off it as less lucky folk skim cream from milk. + +That her cheeses were as rich as butter. + +That she sold all she made, for Lob took the fairy butter from the old +trees in the avenue, and made it up into pats for Miss Betty's table. + +That if you bought Lingborough turnips, you might feed your cows on them +all the winter and the milk would be as sweet as new-mown hay. + +That horses foddered on Lingborough hay would have thrice the strength +of others, and that sheep who cropped Lingborough pastures would grow +three times as fat. + +That for as good a watchdog as it was, the sheep dog never barked at +Lob, a plain proof that he was more than human. + +That for all its good luck it was not safe to loiter near the place +after dark, if you wished to keep your senses. And if you took so much +as a fallen apple belonging to Miss Betty, you might look out for palsy +or St. Vitus' dance, or be carried off bodily to the underground folk. + +Finally, that it was well all the cows gave double, for that Lob +Lie-by-the-fire drank two gallons of the best cream every day, with +curds, porridge, and other dainties to match. But what did that matter, +when he had been overheard to swear that luck should not leave +Lingborough till Miss Betty owned half the country side? + + + +MISS BETTY IS SURPRISED. + + +Miss Betty and Miss Kitty having accepted a polite invitation from Mrs. +General Dunmaw, went down to tea with that lady one fine evening in this +eventful summer. + +Death had made a gap or two in the familiar circle during the last +fourteen years, but otherwise it was quite the same, except that the +lawyer was married and not quite so sarcastic, and that Mrs. Brown Jasey +had brought a young niece with her dressed in the latest fashion, which +looked quite as odd as new fashions are wont to do, and with a +_coiffure_ "enough to frighten the French away," as her aunt told her. + +It was while this young lady was getting more noise out of Mrs. Dunmaw's +red silk and rosewood piano than had been shaken out of it during the +last thirty years, that the lawyer brought his cup of coffee to Miss +Betty's side, and said, suavely, "I here wonderful accounts of +Lingborough, dear Miss Betty." + +"I am thankful to say, sir, that the farm is doing well this year. I am +very thankful, for the past few years have been unfavourable, and we had +begun to face the fact that it might be necessary to sell the old place. +And I will not deny, sir, that it would have gone far to break my heart, +to say nothing of my sister Kitty's." + +"Oh, we shouldn't have let it come to that," said the lawyer, "I could +have raised a loan--" + +"Sir," said Miss Betty with dignity, "if we have our own pride, I hope +it's an honest one. Lingborough will have passed out of our family when +it's kept up on borrowed money." + +"I _could_ live in lodgings," added Miss Betty, firmly, "little as I've +been accustomed to it, but _not in debt_." + +"Well, well, my dear madam, we needn't talk about it now. But I'm dying +of curiosity as to the mainstay of all this good luck." + +"The turnips--" began Miss Betty. + +"Bless my soul, Miss Betty!" cried the lawyer, "I'm not talking of +turnips. I'm talking of Lob Lie-by-the-fire, as all the country side is +for that matter." + +"The country people have plenty of tales of him," said Miss Betty, with +some pride in the family goblin. "He used to haunt the old barns, they +say, in my great-grandfather's time." + +"And now you've got him back again," said the lawyer. + +"Not that I know of," said Miss Betty. + +On which the lawyer poured into her astonished ear all the latest news +on the subject, and if it had lost nothing before reaching his house in +the town, it rather gained in marvels as he repeated it to Miss Betty. + +No wonder that the little lady was anxious to get home to question +Thomasina, and that somewhat before the usual hour she said,-- + +"Sister Kitty, if it's not too soon for the servant--" + +And the parson, threading his way to where Mrs. Dunmaw's china crape +shawl (dyed crimson) shone in the bow window, said, "The clergy should +keep respectable hours, madam; especially when they are as old as I am. +Will you allow me to thank you for a very pleasant evening, and to say +good night?" + + + +THE PARSON AND THE LUBBER-FIEND. + + +"Do you think there'd be any harm in leaving it alone, sister Betty?" +said Miss Kitty, tremulously. + +They had reached Lingborough, and the parson had come in with them, by +Miss Betty's request, and Thomasina had been duly examined. + +"Eh, Miss Betty, why should ye chase away good luck with the minister?" +cried she. + +"Sister Kitty! Thomasina!" said Miss Betty. "I would not accept good +luck from a doubtful quarter to save Lingborough. But if It can face +this excellent clergyman, the Being who haunted my great-grandfather's +farm is still welcome to the old barns, and you, Thomasina, need not +grudge It cream or curds." + +"You're quite right, sister Betty," said Miss Kitty. "You always are; +but oh dear, oh dear!"-- + +"Thomasina tells me," said Miss Betty, turning to the parson, "that on +chilly evenings It sometimes comes and lies by the kitchen fire after +they have gone to bed, and I can distinctly remember my grandmother +mentioning the same thing. Thomasina has of late left the kitchen door +on the latch for Its convenience, and as they had to sit up late for us, +she and Annie have taken their work into the still-room to leave the +kitchen free for Lob Lie-by-the-fire. They have not looked into the +kitchen this evening, as such beings do not like to be watched. But they +fancy that they heard It come in. I trust, sir, that neither in myself +nor my sister Kitty does timidity exceed a proper feminine sensibility, +where duty is concerned. If you will be good enough to precede us, we +will go to meet the old friend of my great-grandfather's fortunes, and +we leave it entirely to your valuable discretion to pursue what course +you think proper on the occasion." + +"Is this the door?" said the parson, cheerfully, after knocking his head +against black beams and just saving his legs down shallow and unexpected +steps on his way to the kitchen--beams so unfelt and steps so familiar +to the women that it had never struck them that the long passage was not +the most straightforward walk a man could take--"I think you said It +generally lies on the hearth?" + +The happy thought struck Thomasina that the parson might be frightened +out of his unlucky interference. + +"Aye, aye, sir," said she from behind. "We've heard him rolling by the +fire, and growling like thunder to himself. They say he's an awful size, +too, with the strength of four men, and a long tail, and eyes like coals +of fire." + +But Thomasina spoke in vain, for the parson opened the door, and as they +pressed in, the moonlight streaming through the latticed window showed +Lob lying by the fire. + +"There's his tail! Ay--k!" screeched Annie the lass, and away she went, +without drawing breath to the top garret, where she locked and bolted +herself in, and sat her bandbox flat, and screamed for help. + +But it was the plumy tail of the sheep dog, who was lying there with the +Lubber-fiend. And Lob was asleep, with his arms around the sheep dog's +neck, and the sheep dog's head lay on his breast, and his own head +touched the dog's. + +And it was a smaller head than the parson had been led to expect, and it +had thick black hair. + +As the parson bent over the hearth, Thomasina took Miss Kitty round the +waist, and Miss Betty clutched her black velvet bag till the steel beads +ran into her hands, and they were quite prepared for an explosion, and +sulphur, and blue lights, and thunder. + +And then the parson's deep round voice broke the silence, saying,-- + +"Is that you, lad? GOD bless you, John Broom. You're welcome home!" + + + +THE END + + +Some things--such as gossip--gain in the telling, but there are others +before which words fail, though each heart knows its own power of +sympathy. And such was the joy of the little ladies and of Thomasina at +John Broom's return. + +The sheep dog had had his satisfaction out long ago, and had kept it to +himself, but how Pretty Cocky crowed, and chuckled, and danced, and +bowed his crest, and covered his face with his amber wings, and kicked +his seed-pot over, and spilled his water-pot on to the Derbyshire marble +chess-table, and screamed till the room rang again, and went on +screaming, with Miss Kitty's pocket-handkerchief over his head to keep +him quiet, my poor pen can but imperfectly describe. + +The desire to atone for the past which had led John Broom to act the +part of one of those Good-Fellows who have, we must fear, finally +deserted us, will be easily understood. And to a nature of his type, the +earning of some self-respect, and of a character before others, was +perhaps a necessary prelude to future well-doing. + +He did do well. He became a good scholar, as farmers were then. He +spent as much of his passionate energies on the farm as the farm would +absorb, and he restrained the rest. It is not cockatoos only who have +sometimes to live and be happy in this unfinished life with one wing +clipped. + +In fine weather, when the perch was put into the garden, Miss Betty was +sometimes startled by stumbling on John Broom in the dusk, sitting on +his heels, the unfastened chain in his hand, with his black head +lovingly laid against Cock's white and yellow poll, talking in a low +voice, and apparently with the sympathy of his companion; and as Miss +Betty justly feared, of that "other side of the world," which they both +knew, and which both at times had cravings to revisit. + +Even after the sobering influences of middle age had touched him, and a +wife and children bound him with the quiet ties of home, he had (at long +intervals) his "restless times," when his good "misses" would bring out +a little store laid by in one of the children's socks, and would bid +him. "Be off, and get a breath of the sea-air," but on condition that +the sock went with him as his purse. John Broom always looked ashamed to +go, but he came back the better, and his wife was quite easy in his +absence with that confidence in her knowledge of the "master," which is +so mysterious to the unmarried, and which Miss Betty looked upon as +"want of feeling" to the end. She always dreaded that he would not +return, and a little ruse which she adopted of giving him money to make +bargains for foreign articles of _vertu_ with sailors, is responsible +for many of the choicest ornaments in the Lingborough parlour. + +"The sock'll bring him home," said Mrs. Broom, and home he came, and +never could say what he had been doing. Nor was the account given by +Thomasina's cousin, who was a tide-waiter down yonder, particularly +satisfying to the women's curiosity. He said that John Broom was always +about; that he went aboard of all the craft in the bay, and asked whence +they came and whither they were bound. That being once taunted to do it, +he went up the rigging of a big vessel like a cat, and came down it +looking like a fool. That as a rule, he gossipped and shared his tobacco +with sailors and fishermen, and brought out the sock much oftener than +was prudent for the benefit of the ragged boys who haunt the quay. + +He had two other weaknesses, which a faithful biographer must chronicle. + +A regiment on the march would draw him from the plough-tail itself, and +"With daddy to see the pretty soldiers" was held to excuse any of Mrs. +Broom's children from household duties. + +The other shall be described in the graphic language of that acute +observer the farm-bailiff. + +"If there cam' an Irish beggar, wi' a stripy cloot him and a bellows +under 's arm, and ca'd himsel' a Hielander, the lad wad gi'e him his +silly head off his shoulders." + +As to the farm-bailiff, perhaps no one felt more or said less than he +did on John Broom's return. But the tones of his voice had tender +associations for the boy's ears as he took off his speckled hat, and +after contemplating the inside for some moments, put it on again, and +said,-- + +"Aweel, lad, sae ye've cam' hame?" + +But he listened with quivering face when John Broom told the story of +M'Alister, and when it was ended he rose and went out, and "took the +pledge" against drink, and--kept it. + +Moved by similar enthusiasm, the cowherd took the pledge also, and if he +didn't keep it, he certainly drank less, chiefly owing to the vigilant +oversight of the farm-bailiff, who now exercised his natural severity +almost exclusively in the denunciation of all liquors whatsoever, from +the cowherd's whiskey to Thomasina's elder-flower wine. + +The plain cousin left his money to the little old ladies, and +Lingborough continued to flourish. + +Partly perhaps because of this, it is doubtful if John Broom was ever +looked upon by the rustics as quite "like other folk." + +The favourite version of his history is that he was Lob under the guise +of a child; that he was driven away by new clothes; that he returned +from unwillingness to see an old family go to ruin "which he had served +for hundreds of years;" that the parson preached his last Sunday's +sermon at him; and that, having stood that test, he took his place among +Christian people. + +Whether a name invented off-hand, however plain and sensible, does not +stick to a man as his father's does, is a question. But John Broom was +not often called by his. + +With Scotch caution, the farm-bailiff seldom exceeded the safe title of +"Man!" and the parson was apt to address him as "My dear boy" when he +had certainly outgrown the designation. + +Miss Betty called him John Broom, but the people called him by the name +he had earned. + +And long after his black hair lay white and thick on his head, like snow +on the old barn roof, and when his dark eyes were dim in an honoured old +age, the village children would point him out to each other, crying, +"There goes Lob Lie-by-the-fire, the Luck of Lingborough!" + +[Illustration] + + + + + +WILD JACK. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +A series of accidents had overtaken the Newbury mail from the hour that +it started in the fine dewy morning, till the sun went down; and as the +twilight deepened over the landscape it was still many miles from its +destination. + +The troubles began early in the day. One of the leaders cast a shoe, and +had to be shod at the first village through which they passed. Farther +on something went wrong with the harness, and later still a much more +serious impediment to their progress arose--some accident happened to a +wheel, so that the coach must needs go half-pace, in spite of the oaths +of old Joe, the driver, whose boast it was that he had never reached +Wancote later than midnight. + +But this evening old Joe's boasts were doomed to fall to the ground, for +the coach could only crawl along, and the night was closing in fast. + +The guard was engaged in a somewhat mysterious occupation, an occupation +which, though only partially visible from the interior of the coach, +caused a faint shriek to issue therefrom. + +"What is he doing? What is it?" cried a woman's voice. + +"Nothing, madam; be easy, I entreat," was the answer from within. "There +is nothing to alarm, but rather to reassure, in his actions--he prepares +his pistols and looks to their priming. Zounds! one must be ready for +all contingencies with ten miles of unfrequented road ahead of us." + +The mail continued on its way, becoming slower and slower, as an ominous +creaking of the injured wheel gave token that the pace must be reduced +to a walk. + +The curtain before the window was held back, and a gentleman from within +addressed the guard. + +"Will the wheel hold out, think you?" he said. + +"It is impossible to assure your reverence that it will, and the night +will be dark." + +The gentleman drew in his head with a little "Tut-tut" of consternation. + +There were four occupants of the coach--two ladies and two gentlemen. Of +the ladies one was young, perhaps nineteen, and one close upon forty. +The younger was the parson's daughter Elizabeth, otherwise Betty Ives. +Her father, Mr. Ives, was bringing her home from Newbury, where she had +spent the last six months with her aunt, Mrs. Primrose, seeing something +of the gay world in the county town. + +The father and daughter, who sat opposite to each other, bore a strong +resemblance to each other. In the girl's face the dark brows were more +arched, the large blue eyes more tender, the firm mouth more sweet, and +all tinted with the lilies and roses of a fresh country life, so +beautifully blended on the peach-like cheeks that, even without her rare +perfection of feature, the colouring alone would have made Betty +beautiful. + +Parson Ives had been very handsome in his youth, and though worn by +years (he was forty years older than his child), and by the grief of +bereavement, he was yet famous for his good looks. + +Betty wore a short dark green riding-habit and a broad felt hat. She was +as much at home on horseback as on foot, and seldom in the mornings wore +a less business-like costume. + +The other two occupants of the coach were to ordinary eyes less +interesting. Mistress Mary Jones was a faded woman, who had once been +pretty, a spinster, a great friend of Betty's, and one of her father's +parishioners. She was an excellent woman in her way, albeit somewhat +given to terrors both real and fanciful. + +Her opposite neighbor was a man past the prime of life, owner and +breeder of large herds of cattle near Wancote, a man who, after +attending the Newbury markets, often returned home by this very coach, +and was believed to carry large sums of money in the flap-pockets of his +many-caped riding-coat. + +Mr. Barnes had a fixed mask-like countenance, his bushy eyebrows almost +met in a wrinkle that told of thought and deep calculation. He was +clean-shaven, and his chin was swathed in a huge neckcloth of white +muslin; he wore his hat low on his brow. + +"I like not to be out so late on the high road," said he very suddenly, +so that both Mr. Ives and Mistress Mary Jones started, and Betty, whom +nothing ever startled, turned her great blue eyes inquiringly on him. + +"Why, sir?" she asked. + +"Why, my good young lady, because the Newbury sales are just over, and +it is well known that the stock reared on Belford home farm has sold +well" + +"Are the roads not safe then, sir?" asked Mr. Ives rather anxiously. + +"I do not quite say that, for it is many a long day since the coach was +attacked between Newbury and Wancote; but rumour has been busy." + +"Ha!" cried Betty, sitting upright eagerly. + +"It is said that Wild Jack Barnstaple has been heard of in the +neighbourhood." + +"Heaven help us!" shrieked Mary Jones. + +"Be calm, I entreat you, my dear madam, and have pity on my unfortunate +toes! Zounds! it is torture enough to be subject to periodical gout, +without such an infliction as the stamp of a lady's fashionable heel on +the tender place." + +"But you say Wild Jack is in the neighbourhood! Oh Heaven! what will +become of us!" + +Betty's blooming cheek had turned just a faint shade paler, but the +rosy colour came rushing back, her eyes flashed. + +Suddenly stooping forward she said in a low voice: + +"Mr. Barnes, you may confide in me. Do you carry much money?" + +He answered in a tone of assumed ease, "Paper to the value of nearly a +thousand pounds." + +"Then look you, Mr. Barnes," said Betty in her natural voice, "I have a +proposal to make to you. Give the valuables you have to us--to Miss Mary +Jones and to myself. Wild Jack, all say, is a gentleman--should he, by +any unfortunate chance, be on the road to-night, he will not rob women. +Your money will be safe." + +"No, no, no, no!" cried Mary. "Betty, how can you propose anything so +impossible, so unfeminine! Are not men our natural protectors?" and she +threw a languishing glance at the cattle-breeder. "Shall we usurp their +rights?" + +"It is quite true; it is impossible," said Barnes. + +"You are foolish to throw away the chance," said Betty calmly. + +"I cannot see why you should not accept her offer," said the parson +restlessly; he was accustomed to yield to his daughter's judgment in +everything. "Betty is a bold girl, and she is generally in the right." + +"Come, yield the point, Mr. Barnes," said Betty, with a light laugh, +holding out her hand for the pocket-book. + +"Remember I have no part or parcel in it," cried Mary, shrinking farther +and farther away. "I would not for the whole world! Why, Betty," she +whimpered, "they might even search you." + +"Wild Jack is a gentleman," answered the girl; then with a sudden flash +of scorn, "but even had I not such faith in his honourable dealing, I +should know how to take care of myself. Give me the papers, Mr. Barnes." + +Very unwillingly, as if he despised himself for so doing, Barnes gave +them into her hands. The notes were smoothed and laid flat, they +occupied the smallest space possible. + +Betty Ives placed the papers within the bosom of her tight-fitting +riding-habit, and leant back as if she had done with the subject. + +Mr. Ives looked with anxious eyes through the window. + +The mail was passing along a wide fair unsheltered road, on each side +spread away treeless tracts of country, flat and wide, over which the +fresh cold wind blew listlessly. To the left the horizon was bounded by +the wide expanse of the grassy Berkshire downs. They rose and fell, a +vast undulating plain, covered with short fine herbage. + +It was growing very dark; the parson drew in his head, and thanked +Heaven that the country was so fine and open, that he could even in the +gathering gloom see far behind and before, and could perceive no +suspicious object. + +"We are all right here," said Mr. Barnes, his voice becoming more and +more dismal. "But a mile farther on, and we come to a small wood--the +road dips down there suddenly, it is a first-rate place for an ambush." + +"Mercy! mercy!" cried Mary Jones in a voice half-strangled by the +anguish of her terror. + +"We have yet a mile of safety," said Betty kindly "--a whole mile, Mary; +and going at this pace, we need not prepare our terrors for another +hour." + +"Heaven grant that the moon may be up," cried Barnes. + +"Sir," said Betty slowly, "I imagine that you carry arms?" + +"I am not unarmed," he answered hastily, "I have pistols and a sword." + +"I should have them in readiness, as I myself intend to do," said Betty, +and she drew out a tiny silver-mounted pistol. "See, it is prepared for +use. My father is a clergyman and must eschew firearms; Mary Jones is a +woman--" + +"Aye, a true woman, a frail woman," whined the poor lady. + +"But," continued Betty, "the guard is armed, so are we; we have still a +mile to go. Ha!" her voice ended abruptly. There was a crashing sound, a +shot, a shout, a confused sense as if the whole coach were falling to +the ground. The door was torn open. Before Betty could even raise the +deadly little weapon she carried, it was seized from her hand--the whole +party were dragged out of the carriage--they found themselves surrounded +by armed men. There was a violent struggle, fighting and disorder, loud +oaths from the coachman, appalling shrieks from Mary Jones. Some one +opened a lantern and allowed its red glare to fall on the scared +prisoners and on the black masks of their captors. + +The man who was evidently the leader of the party was holding Betty's +two hands in one of his in a grasp which she imagined to be gentle until +she attempted to release them, when she discovered that she might as +easily have broken bands of steel. + +"Here, give me a rope, we must bind our prisoners," said this man +suddenly. "This fair lady had all but fired one shot too many for Wild +Jack to-night!" + +There was a laugh, and with dexterity, evidently gained from experience, +the prisoners were rapidly bound. + +"I am grieved to incommode you thus, madam," said the leader, bowing low +to Betty. "Our business is with that gentleman," with a slight motion of +his hand towards the hapless Mr. Barnes. Betty bowed slightly. The light +fell full on her tall figure, on her noble head slightly raised and +thrown back, the nostrils dilated, the colour glowing richly in the soft +cheek. Wild Jack, looking at her, felt a glow of enthusiasm which +betrayed itself in his voice. + +"You have nothing to fear, madam," he said. + +"I? I fear nothing," said the girl calmly--"Wild Jack is a gentleman." + +The highwayman made a rapid sign to his comrades, who proceeded to throw +themselves on to Samuel Barnes, and begin to search him from head to +foot. + +A sudden fear flashed into Betty's mind. How if Wild Jack were unable to +restrain his companions, infuriated as they would be by their failure in +discovering the expected treasure on the person of their victim? + +Her cheeks paled, for one moment she turned her eyes full on the masked +face of her captor. Masked as he was, her look thrilled him through and +through. + +"You are safe," he repeated hurriedly. + +Something in his voice seemed to give her confidence, for she stooped +forward and said in a low voice, "Mr. Barnstaple, I trust to your +honour,--the money is here." + +And with a grand movement she laid her bound hands on her breast. + +Wild Jack bowed low, but he said nothing, and in spite of the bold front +she bore, Betty's heart beat fast. + +The noise increased. Samuel Barnes, maddened with fright, struggled +against his assailants furiously, but he was overmatched, a violent blow +with the butt end of a pistol stunned him completely, and all +resistance was over. Undaunted by their want of success the coach was +then rifled, the mails ruthlessly thrown out into the road. + +One or two of the men, of whom there appeared to be five at least, now +proposed to search the women. + +There was a moment's pause, during which Wild Jack tightened his grasp +on Betty's arm. Had she shown one symptom of fear, it is possible that +his fierce profession would have triumphed over the infatuation of her +beauty, but the look she turned upon him was so full of confidence, such +absolute trust in his honour, that it prevailed. + +He swore that he made no war upon women, and ordered back his +disappointed followers, allowing them to divide the trumpery booty they +had secured, of watches, trinkets, and the parson's purse, which was not +empty. + +They stood back. Wild Jack spoke to them in a low tone, looking, as he +did so, several times up at the sky as if to see how the time went; then +advancing he opened the door of the coach, and unbinding the hands of +the two ladies, offered to hand them in. + +Betty demurred. "We have duties here first," she said, pointing to the +inanimate form of poor Samuel Barnes. + +"It is well then," said Wild Jack, just touching the prostrate man with +the toe of his boot. "We will leave you now, with many apologies, madam, +for our intrusion." + +The others were already in the saddle and almost out of sight. + +Wild Jack, who was about to mount, withdrew his foot from the stirrup +and approached Betty once more. + +"Go, go!" she said. "This poor man bleeds; ah, why do you not go?" + +"I am gone," he answered. "But first, fair lady, in consideration of the +booty I have resigned I demand a reward." + +"What can I give you?" + +He pointed to her hand, on one finger of which was a small gold ring in +the form of a serpent with tiny ruby eyes. + +"Give me that," he said somewhat imperiously. + +"You are welcome," she said haughtily, and she drew the ring from her +finger. "I would give a trinket of more value," she cried, stamping her +little foot, "to be freed from your company now!" + +The words stung him. + +"You will remember those words, madam," he said, "some day--when this +ring returns to your keeping." + +He shut the lantern, which during all this time had thrown its yellow +light on the strange scene, mounted his horse and disappeared. The horse +was snow white, and it passed by like a white gleam in the darkness. + +It was pitch dark now, and the horror of their situation was increased +by the moans which Mr. Barnes began to utter as consciousness slowly +returned. + +It was a relief to all when the familiar sound of flint and steel smote +the ear, and the coachman awkwardly, with his bound hands, attempted to +light the lamps of the coach. Betty's first business was to unfasten the +ropes which bound the men hand and foot, and by degrees they were able +to take in their exact position. + +One of the leaders had been shot dead, the traces had been cut, but the +frightened horses had not strayed out of reach. + +Mary Jones was in a dead faint, and, in the absence of all restoratives, +seemed likely to remain so. + +Mr. Barnes, his head carefully bound up by Betty and her father, was at +last able to rise to his feet and take his place in the carriage. + +The dawn was already breaking, and a white light stealing over the murky +sky, before the mail could once more get under weigh and move heavily +forwards. + +Far and wide the downs stretched, silent and deserted; a bitter wind +swept over them and stirred the mane of the dead horse, who lay a +ghastly spectacle, his head thrown back, in a pool of his own blood. +From afar, from whence nor eye nor tongue could tell, came a foul raven +croaking. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The village of Hendred, of which Mr. Ives was the parson, lay about two +miles beyond Wancote, in a low valley nestling under a great wave of the +downs. Behind the village a chalk cliff rose white and dazzling, and the +warm red brick of the houses, the gleaming chalk, the bright tender +green of the herbage, formed one of those sunny pictures of which +Berkshire is full. + +In the centre of the village rose the little church, with its square +grey tower, over which grew a magnificent creeper with crimson leaves +glowing with a wondrous richness of colour. + +A stone's throw back from the road, in a high-walled garden, stood the +parsonage. The garden was rich with orchard trees and wall fruit, and +boasted in particular one golden plum that was the parson's boast and +pride. He had imported rich soil from the valleys, and in each corner of +the garden gathered little hills of leaf-mould. Mr. Ives was a notable +gardener. + +Those who would see Betty Ives at her best should see her at home--at +least, so said young Mr. Robins, the rich yeoman's son, who sighed in +vain for her good graces. He was a domestic man, much given to +superintending himself, duties which were looked upon as women's +gear--"A womanish man," said the women. + +On the other hand young Thornton, eldest son of Squire Thornton of +Thornton Beeches, in the neighbourhood of Wancote, gave out that to see +Mistress Betty at her best, was to see her in the hunting-field, for she +rode like a bird, and was bright and ready as a pike-staff! There was a +confusion of metaphor, but words always failed the young fellow when he +spoke of the lady who had already three times refused to be his wife. + +Then Dr. Glebe, the good doctor of Wancote, in a grey bag-wig and +hunting-boots, would take a whole handful of snuff, while he swore that +Mistress Betty was only at her best by a sick-bed. + +The parson laughed, and exclaimed with a tear in his eye that such a +woman as his daughter was always at her best in whatever she put her +hand to do; and the old groom Isaac assented with a chuckle, vowing that +his young lady was good all round. + +The autumn was beginning, and the crimson creepers on church and wall +were at the height of their glow. Betty Ives was strolling in the +parsonage garden gathering plums from the wall. + +The garden-door was on the latch, it needed but to raise it, and +Mistress Mary Jones walked in. Betty went eagerly forward to meet her +with out-stretched hands. No welcome could be more cordial than that +which Betty Ives gave to her friends. + +"I am so glad to see you, Mary? and are you well? Have you lost your +headache?" + +Miss Mary sank into a garden-seat and sighed, still retaining the hand +of her friend. + +"I am better, sweet Bet," she said; "but my nerves will not recover the +shock for years! No, no! do not shake your head and smile; if you had +the crawlings up the back that I experience, and the creepings down the +spine, and the shaking of knees, the twittering of the lips, and +quivering of the eyelids--" + +"Enough, enough!" cried Betty. "Thank Heaven, I am not tormented thus! +My dear Mary, how can you survive such a multitude of ailments?" + +"I have survived worse!" she answered, shuddering. "I survived the shock +itself." + +"Were you very much frightened?" asked Betty in a tone of interest. + +"Frightened! I was terrified. I have not nerve like yours. The dark, the +shot! the dark faces, the loud voices, the ... ah!" + +Seeing Mary's chest beginning to heave, Betty thought it high time to +change the subject. "We will not recall it," she said hastily. "Let us +think on more agreeable topics. My father rode into Wancote this +morning, to stroll about the marketplace and hear the news." + +"And why did you not go?" + +"Because," answered Betty, "I have been making preserves the livelong +day. Up at six this morning, for Dame Martha told me that, owing to my +putting it off so long, the fruit was beginning to rot, so there was no +time to lose." + +"I leave preserving to my woman," said Mary. "The hanging over the fire +is ruin to the finest skin." + +"Yes, my face is scorched and heated," answered Betty, turning a cheek +like a peach to her friend. "But after all, to so weather-beaten a maid +as myself, up and out in all seasons, a scorched cheek, more or less, +signifies not; and Dame Martha works hard." + +"And had your father any news from Wancote?" + +"Yes, news indeed--Belton has been taken!" + +"Taken?" + +"Hired or purchased by a gentleman of the name of Johnstone, whose +arrival is expected hourly." + +"This is news indeed! None but a rich man could have paid the price +asked." + +"His horses have arrived," went on Betty. "Only four of them as yet, but +each one of the four of surpassing beauty. One of them, Mr. Barnes told +my father, looked worth a king's ransom." + +"May the owner be worthy of his cattle," said Mary Jones. "And were +there no coach-horses, no carriages? No symptoms of a lady to dispense +the hospitalities of Belton?" + +"Mr. Johnstone is said to be unmarried," answered Betty gravely. "I am +sorry for it, a new neighbour would have been an agreeable addition to +our society." + +There was a click of the garden-gate, then a smart rap, as if by the +knob of a hunting-whip. + +"Someone is at the gate," said Miss Mary with curiosity. + +"Yes," answered Betty, "and I must needs answer it myself, for the bell +is broken, as doubtless our visitor has discovered, and he may knock +till doomsday ere the sound reach the ears of Dame Martha or Isaac, both +of whom are engaged in quarrelling in the kitchen. So so! how impatient +it is!" + +For another succession of knocks fell on the panel. + +"I entreat you, do not open the door yourself, Betty," cried Mary in a +tone of alarm. "Who knows who may be there?" + +"Certainly not Wild Jack," answered Betty smiling, and disengaging +herself from her friend's arm she went forward and opened the gate. + +"Does Mr. Ives live here?" asked a loud, clear voice, which, however, +suddenly changed in tone when the opening door disclosed the radiant +vision of the parson's lovely daughter. + +A feathered hat was doffed, a gentleman sprang from his horse and, +bowing low, asked if he had the honour of addressing one of the family +of Mr. Ives. + +"His only daughter, sir," answered Betty courteously. "If you wish to +see my father, I will beg you to come in and wait, as he will be in +shortly," Mary Jones advanced, her eyes took in at a glance the whole +distinguished appearance of the visitor, from the fine cut of his suit +of claret-coloured cloth, to the well-shaped boot with shining spurs, +and she gave a little sign of approval. + +Betty summoned old Isaac and bade him take charge of the horse, and +then led the way into the garden. + +"We are primitive folk here," she said. "But I find most people prefer +our garden-seats to entering the house." + +Mary was somewhat scandalised, she thought these easy out-door seats a +breach of etiquette in themselves, but she could make no remonstrance +beyond a little tweak at her friend's sleeve. + +Betty sat down and, inviting her visitor to do likewise, she said: + +"In my character as mistress of the house, I would wish to introduce +you, sir, to my friend Mistress Mary Jones, of Elm Cottage close by, but +have not the honour of being acquainted actually with your name, albeit +I have conjectured." + +"My name is John Johnstone, madam," he replied. "I have but now become +the possessor of Belton, near Wancote." + +"Our new neighbour," cried Mary. + +"Yes, I claim that honour," continued Mr. Johnstone. + +"We are vastly pleased to make your acquaintance," said Mary, thinking +with some pride that she could boast to her friends of already knowing +the newcomer. + +Mr. Johnstone acknowledged the compliment courteously, but he never took +his eyes off his young hostess, who appeared in them a miracle of grace +and beauty. + +With the skill of a man of the world, he drew her into animated +conversation, gathering from her information respecting the country +round, the different meets of the hounds, the neighbours, the +tradespeople, the horses. Time slipped away almost unperceived, and +neither lady knew how it had sped, when Mr. Ives, mounted on his +handsome bay cob, rode up to the door. + +Mr. Ives beheld with some surprise his daughter and her friend in full +converse with a stranger. + +The scene was worthy of a Watteau's brush--the sun just sinking behind +the orchard trees gilding the edge of each leaf, shone on the dark red +of John Johnstone's dress, warmed the sombre hue of fair Betty's lincoln +green, and played on the blue and primrose of Mistress Mary's +flower-like costume. It was a fair picture, and no eye could rest on a +goodlier couple than the tall lithe young man, and the noble maiden. + +"It was courteous of him to pay us one of the first, nay, _the_ first of +his neighbourly visits," said the good parson, exchanging his tie-wig +for a comfortable flannel night-cap, when he was once more alone with +his daughter. + +"Next time he comes I will reward him with some of our golden plums," +said Betty gaily as she fixed her white teeth in the tender skin of one +that was lusciously ripe. + +Mistress Mary to her maid described the newcomer thus: + +"He is tall, Deborah, very tall; slight, but with shoulders of great +breadth, and a square neck--one would say that his strength was +herculean. His eyes are dark blue, his nose a trifle arched, brows thick +and square, a sweet mouth--a very sweet mouth--but wondrous stern all +the same. But his manners, Deborah, and his curling dark hair, just +slightly dashed with powder--his manners are perfect! his hair is +divine! Heigh-ho, Deborah!" + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +Up from the plains a steep road rose on the downs, a road so steep, so +dazzling white that it looked like a white thread hanging on a green +surface. + +Betty Ives rode slowly up the hill, leaning slightly forward to ease her +horse as she did so. Though November had set in, the sun was still +powerful, and both horse and rider were a little oppressed by its heat. + +Some very close observer might have seen a change in the girl's face--a +very slight change, something that deepened the expression of the lovely +eyes, something that played softly like the shadow of a great happiness +on the mobile lips. She was thinking, thinking deeply as she rode. + +Folks said that Betty Ives was very hard to win. Ruth Thornton, the +squire's buxom daughter, would have given years of her life for one of +the passionate appeals young Robins had made so often to Betty in vain. +Lady Rachel Tremame had almost broken her heart when Betty, at the +Newbury ball, had so attracted Sir Harry Clare that he had no eyes for +other than her. Yet amid her many adorers, fair Betty, with the +carelessness of inexperience, passed unpitying and fancy free. + +But now times were changed: fair Betty's heart was given away. + +Yet John Johnstone had not found his courtship easy, it was long before +he made any way. He wooed proudly, and she took his subjection as due to +herself, and was not grateful for that which she deemed her right. But +the young man loved her the better for this, for he was one of those who +value most that which is hardest to gain. + +Betty with her rein on her horse's neck was thinking, wondering how it +was that John Johnstone was always present to her mind, that her eyes +sought him in the hunting-field, that those evenings were dull and +lonely on which he did not come in for a chat with her father before +supper-time, and all the world fell flat, stale and unprofitable, during +various short absences of his, when he would disappear for three days +together and none knew whither he went. + +Betty's horse had mounted the white hill at last, and now scoured +swiftly away over the springy turf on the wide downs. + +For miles she passed no human habitation, then Betty reached her +destination. + +Low in a hollow dip of the green grass sea nestled a small cottage. No +tree or bush within miles, the unbroken winds tore round it, the snow +often banked up against it; but the owner, one of Mr. Ives' pensioners, +appeared to care little for wind or weather. + +As Betty rode up, she sent her clear ringing voice before her: + +"Rachel! Rachel Ray!" + +Then paused suddenly, for fastened by the bridle to a low post close to +the cottage door, she perceived a fine bay horse that she knew well. She +drew rein, swiftly debating within herself whether she should go on, or +draw back, then shaking back her proud little head she rode forward. + +Betty feared nothing on earth; should she be scared by the odd feeling +in her heart that made it beat so fast and loud? A thousand times no. + +Before she had reached the cottage, the door opened, and a small troop +of ragged children tumbled out to meet her, children with black elfin +locks, and eyes gleaming like live coals, showing wild gipsy blood. + +Betty leapt from her horse, and called the eldest boy to her side. + +"Here, Reuben," she said, "I will give you a silver penny if you hold +Conrad steadily, and like a good boy, while I visit your grandmother." +She opened the door with a slight knock and went in. An odd sight met +her eyes. + +By the table stood the vigorous figure of old Rachel Ray, handsome yet, +with the dark gipsy characteristics of her grandchildren--before her +the tall fine figure of John Johnstone in full hunting scarlet, just +stooping in the act of giving her a kiss. + +The old woman started, and pushed him aside when she saw Betty come in. +She advanced to meet her visitor, who stood during the space of a minute +without advancing, so great was her astonishment. + +"You are surprised to see an old woman kiss her nursling," cried old +Rachel. "But it would be odd if he did not, bless his brave heart!" + +"Not surprised at his kissing you, Dame Rachel," said Betty, a little +less steadily than usual. "But I did not know that you were acquainted, +I thought Mr. Johnstone was a stranger to this part of the world." + +The old woman turned her eyes on the young man, eyes brimming with +burning tears, and with a look of entreaty in them. + +John Johnstone gave a little impatient stamp of the foot. + +It seemed to Betty watching them, that thus he gave a mute answer to +some mute question or entreaty made. + +"Sit down, sit down, my pretty lady," said Rachel drawing forward and +dusting a chair. "You are welcome as flowers in May, or as the first +swallow that heralds the spring. Are you well, my bonnie dear? and the +good gentleman your father?" + +"We are all well, dame. I am ashamed not to have been to see you for so +long, but I am glad that you have had other visitors," and she glanced +at Mr. Johnstone. + +"We are old friends," he said with a smile of rare sweetness. "One of my +most faithful servants and friends was my foster-brother Harry Ray, +Rachel's eldest son." + +"Aye, aye, was!" cried the woman, her voice rising to a kind of wail." +We speak of Hal Ray in the past now." + +Johnstone bit his lip, and a bitter frown contracted his brow. + +"Alas, is he dead, dame?" asked Betty tenderly. + +"Aye, dear heart, dead, and his bones have no grave, and happen his +spirit no rest." + +"This is terrible," said Betty with a shiver. + +Mr. Johnstone moved restlessly to the window, and busied himself with +his sword-knot. + +"I have often told you, good mother," he said, and his voice had in it +an odd mixture of grief and irritation, "that the less we dwell on these +things the better. Mistress Betty," he went on hurriedly, "Harry Ray +when he left my service, joined his fortunes with Wild Jack Barnstaple. +He had ill-luck, poor lad, he was taken and ... and hanged." + +His mother uttered a shuddering cry. + +"And by the road he must hang," she cried, "till the earth and the wild +winds have done their worst, and never a one to scare the wild birds +from the flesh of my boy!" + +"Dear dame," said Betty earnestly, "the soul recks little of its earthly +tenement." + +"God rest his soul, he was a good fellow and brave," said Johnstone +earnestly. + +"I also have seen Wild Jack," said Betty, willing to turn the poor woman +from her troubles. + +"Seen him! seen Wild Jack?" cried she. + +"Aye, seen him and been his prisoner; and say who will to the contrary, +I have reason to maintain that he is a true gentleman." + +"Is it so?" said Mr. Johnstone, smiling. "A cut-throat, a robber, a +highwayman, a true gentleman?" + +Betty gave him an indignant glance. "I speak of him as I found him," she +said. "And we of the country have always known how to distinguish +between common malefactors and the gentlemen of the road." + +"So, so!" answered Johnstone, still smiling. "And yet both end too often +on Tyburn Hill." + +Betty turned pale and shivered. It seemed as if she gasped for breath; +she turned her large eyes on her lover and said, "Ah, these matters are +far too serious for so grim a jest." + +But her eyes were caught and arrested by the look which met them; so +long, so burning with passionate admiration and love, with a strange +expression of exaltation, almost gratitude. Betty's heart beat fast. He +had forced her to love him, and such maidens as Betty Ives when they +give love at last, give life itself. Dame Rachel glanced from one to +another, then she rose quickly, and from a dark corner of the room +produced a pack of cards. "Come, fair lady and noble gentleman," she +said, with a touch of the professional whine in her voice. "Will you +hear your fortunes? Cross the old gipsy's hand with silver, my pretty +dears, and you shall hear all the good things past, present, and future, +that may fall to your lot." + +"Will you try?" said John Johnstone, bending forward. + +The rosy colour rushed into Betty's cheek, the light shone in her eyes. + +"I will try," she said, half laughing. + +"Then all that is good we will believe, and all that is bad will cast to +the winds as false and untrue." + +"Nothing can be bad in the future of faces like yours, dear hearts," +said Rachel, rapidly shuffling the cards. + +Some minutes passed, the gipsy busily and with growing discomfiture +turning the cards, trying them in every way--the two were silent. + +Betty leant her head on her hand, shading her eyes from view, full of +shyness for the first time in her bold young life. John Johnstone gazed +on her with his soul in his eyes, and yet with a strange impatient +interest in the business that was going on. + +Presently Rachel flung all the cards down with violence. + +"I am losing the trick of the trade," she said, in a harsh, frightened +voice. "I am getting afraid of the cards, and when you are afraid of +them, they master you." + +"Tut, tut!" said John kindly. "Do not blame yourself, good mother, if +they show not all the gilded coaches and six, and the lovely bride and +gay bridegroom you would fain have promised us." + +"The combinations turn to evil--all evil. Pah! it is the old story. I +was afraid of the cards, and they have mastered me." + +"Was there no warning conveyed in these strange combinations, Dame?" +asked Johnstone eagerly. + +"I deal not in warnings," said Rachel hastily. + +"Did I deal in warnings, the reading of the cards might prove useful to +you both." + +"Come, come!" he said, "you speak in riddles. The warning. Is it the +same for this gentle lady as for my rough self?" + +"Aye, aye, for both--both." She bent down, and laid a dark hand on the +shoulder of each, and peering into one face after another, she muttered: + +"Beware of Wild Jack Barnstaple!" + +Both started. John Johnstone flushed angrily: he rose to his feet. + +"We have had enough of this fooling," he said. "The day is advancing, +madam," turning to Betty. "Will you vouchsafe me the extreme pleasure of +being your escort home?" + +As Betty was about to answer, she was arrested by the sound of singing +outside, in a voice so wild, loud, and sweet, it seemed the very +embodiment of the music of Nature. + +"Who is singing like that?" asked Betty. "How beautiful! and how +marvellously sad." + +"It is Nora Ray, only our Nora, dear heart. Her voice is sweet as the +lark, and she sings old songs she gathers in the villages round." + +"Hush, hush, listen!" cried Betty, and she stood with upraised hand +listening. + +The air was in the minor key, the voice of the singer thrilled to the +very nerves, every word came distinctly to their ears. + + "Aye, Margaret loved the fair gentleman, + Aye, well and well-a-day, + And the winter clouds gather wild and fast; + He loved, and he galloped away. + + Aye, call him! call him over the lea, + Thou sad forsaken lass, + Never more he'll come back to thee + Over the wild green grass. + + The swallows return from over the sea, + Aye, well and well-a-day; + But lover will never come back to thee + Who loves and gallops away. + + Aye, call him! call him over the sea, + The winter is coming fast; + He waved his hat, he bowed full low + And smiled as he galloped past. + + Aye, call him! call him over the lea, + Aye, well and well-a-day; + Lover will never come back to thee + Who loves and gallops away." + +A strange shiver came over Betty Ives, a thrill such as she had never +experienced before. She glanced at Dame Rachel. The old woman was +nervously fingering the cards, and muttering to herself. Then her +frightened eyes turned to her lover; he read some appeal in them. + +He held out his hand, and caught hers and pressed it for one short +second to his lips. + +The door burst open, and the girl who had been singing came in; her +black hair was all blown back, the great black eyes staring out of the +small dark face. She drew her scanty cloak round her and laughed a +shrill laugh. + +"Will you have your fortunes told, my good gentleman? my pretty lady?" +she cried. "Cross little Nora's palm with a silver sixpence then." + +"No, no, we have had enough of that. Come, dear madam, we must be +going," said Johnstone, and he conducted Betty to the place where +Reuben, faithful to his trust, held the rein of her horse. + +"Do not be so long without coming to see me again, dear heart," cried +Rachel Ray, standing outside her door. + +"No, no, I will come soon," answered Betty. Johnstone placed her in the +saddle. + +"A good gallop over the downs will bring back the colour to your cheek," +he said softly. "You are so white and cold." + +"There is something ill-omened in all here," said Betty with a slight +shiver. + +"Here, Nora," cried Johnstone, flinging her a piece of gold. "This is to +make up for the loss of that silver sixpence." + +The girl laughed loud and shrilly. "Ah! ah!" she cried after them. "The +good gentleman! the brave fellow! For this I would follow you! aye! +follow you, my lad, from Belton to Tyburn Hill!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +"It is then true, my Betty? And I am to wish you joy?" cried Mary Jones, +with both hands outstretched. + +"It is true," answered Betty, her lips parted in a smile of sunshiny +happiness. "Congratulate me, Mary; yes, wish me joy, for there is no +happier woman to-day between the Northern and Southern seas." + +"I am glad to see you so happy, dear child!" cried Mary affectionately, +but there was something pinched and starved in her voice. Ah, pity for +those who possess the capacity for love and yet must go hungry to their +dying day! + +This odd want is none the less bitter that it meets with scant sympathy +in this hard world. In the breast of many an unsought woman lies a +wealth of wasted treasure, treasure which no one has cared to seek, and +yet what a treasure it might have been! + +Mary Jones's heart had grown somewhat starved, but it was the heart of a +loving woman still, and when the bright sunshine of her young friend's +happiness shed its light on her soul, it awakened an echo of old dead +days, and swelled it with sympathy. + +"Sit down, sweet one," she said, drawing Betty down on the sofa beside +her. "Tell me all about it. When did he ask you to be his wife?" + +"This morning, Mary, only this morning; but it seems as if years had +passed since then." + +"And what says Mr. Ives? Does he welcome the stranger who takes from him +his only child?" + +"Not far, Mary--but two miles away--and my father is always to live with +me, if he so will it, so says Mr. Johnstone." + +"But is he pleased?" asked Mary, with a little persistence. + +"Yes, he is well pleased; he already loves him as a son. Mary, perhaps +the thing that most readily won my heart was his reverence and tender +courtesy to my father." + +"I can believe it, Betty. His manners are perfect. I was only making +that same remark to Deborah this morning. Yes, I knew only one other +whose manners could compare with your John Johnstone's, Betty--only +one." + +Mary Jones sighed deeply and looked down. Betty gently pressed her hand. + +Hitherto she had always laughed at her friend's tender recollections; +now, it seemed to her that her eyes were opened to her former cruelty. + +But Mistress Mary was too much interested to waste too much time even on +such reflections. + +"You must tell me all, dear," she said. "What is his family? Has he +parents living, brothers and sisters? Is his fortune assured?" + +"Ah, there is some little difficulty there," answered Betty, her face +falling a little. "He has no parents, no friends, no kindred; he is all +alone in the wide world. And as for his fortune, that is assured, but it +is somehow mysteriously bound up in trusts--I know not what--he has no +papers to show my father, he asks for perfect confidence." + +Mistress Mary was a prudent woman. She pursed up her lips and uttered a +little sound expressive of discontent. + +"Dear Betty," she said, "it is doubtless a very good thing to be in love +with a stranger romantically, but still--" + +"He is no stranger," said Betty quickly. + +"No, no, not to be called a stranger," cried Mary, laughing--"an old and +valued friend of two months' standing." + +"The time is short," said Betty thoughtfully. "But a whole lifetime +seems to have passed in that space! My father," she cried, as Mr. Ives +entered the room, "here is Mistress Mary Jones." + +"Come to offer my warmest good wishes," said the lady, "and also all the +assistance in my power when the important day approaches." + +"I shall indeed be glad and grateful for your help," said Betty +affectionately. + +Mr. Ives persuaded Mary to remain for supper. The candles were brought +in, and the room looked bright and cheery. + +"Stay with me and cheer my loneliness," said the parson cheerily. "The +young folk will stroll in the garden till supper be ready. I am too old +for dewy twilight walks, egad." + +Was it a new idea that flashed into Mary's mind that caused her to +start? She glanced at Mr. Ives' comely person, at his glossy cassock, +his smartly-buckled shoes, at the neat tie-wig which surmounted a face +which she hastily pronounced as handsome as it ever had been. + +With a sweep of her fan Mistress Mary renounced her waning youth. + +"Stay with you!" she cried, "that will I! and you and I from the window +will superintend our dear young ones. Alas!" she said, with a +languishing look, "how lonely the house will seem when you are bereft of +your daughter." + +Mr. Ives sighed deeply. + +Outside in the gloaming, Betty Ives and her young lover walked slowly +backwards and forwards under the orchard trees. + +"No father, no mother, no sisters!" she said, looking up into his face. +"No one to love, no one to love you!" + +"I do not know whether I am to be pitied," he answered with a light +laugh. "My life has been one of strange vicissitudes. No, no, sweet Bet; +I have often thanked God that no one shared my life." + +"But you will never do so again," she said earnestly. + +"Sweetheart!" he answered. "Until you have once drunk of the cup of +happiness you know not what it is; but once tasted, you can ill spare it +thenceforth." + +"Ah, some day you will tell me about this life of yours--will you not?" + +"Some day, my heart, when you and I are alone together in the fair woods +of Belton--when you are my precious wife, and when days have passed on, +and our full trust and confidence each in the other is proved and +strengthened by time. But not now, beloved, not now." + +"Have you known griefs, sorrows?" + +"A few." + +"Happiness?" + +"Yes, and triumphs often." + +Betty bent down her head thoughtfully; fain would she have swept away +the veil of mystery which surrounded her betrothed, but she would take +no step to do so--no confidence was precious save that which was given +unasked. + +The twilight gathered softly. Presently Betty turned round, and placed +her two clasped hands on his arm, her noble head proudly raised, her +large eyes seeking his. + +"Look you," she said, "there is something I would wish to say to you. +You and I are to be man and wife--and I have accepted you--I know +nothing of you, John--I know not whence you come, or from among what +kinsfolk; I have taken all on trust. I love you, John, so I fear not. +They say that perfect love casteth out fear. There can be no dark +secret in your life, no deed or deeds that you shame to disclose to me. +I take you with infinite faith. So tell me what you will, dear, or as +much as you will. My heart will give you gratitude for the confidence +you give to me, and, John, my love shall cover your silence." + +With a sudden impulse John Johnstone was down on his knees, he pressed +her hands to his lips with a passion akin to worship. + +"My life, my love!" he cried--"my whole life shall be devoted to +rewarding your trust in me. Oh, would to God I were more worthy of you!" + +Within the house Mistress Mary and Mr. Ives were very comfortable: they +played a game of patience together (in which the former was a great +proficient), they chatted, they waxed confidential, and not till Dame +Martha summoned them to sup, did they perceive the lapse of time. Mr. +Ives called from the window, and the betrothed pair came in, their eyes +shining and dazzled by the bright light. + +Matters went on happily thus for many days--it seemed that the course of +true love was to run very smooth--when one evening a little incident +occurred that startled all. + +The little party of four were dining together, as they generally did. + +Mr. Ives was in a merry mood: he poured out a glass of good red wine, +wine that was not often brought forth from the depth of his cellar; he +bade John Johnstone fill up his glass, and as each gentleman raised it +brimming to his lips, pledged "His sacred Majesty, good King George." + +With a sharp rattle John Johnstone's glass crashed untasted on the +table, and the red wine splashed like blood on the white napery. + +The parson looked at him, and the colour forsook his cheek. + +Mistress Mary glanced tremulously from one to another, and half rose in +consternation. + +The colour flushed high in Betty Ives' cheek. "Was this then the +mystery?" + +The absent king held all her sympathies. + +Mr. Ives moved back his chair from the table, and said somewhat +unsteadily: + +"Good sir, I am a man of peace. I love order and a strong government. +Can I hazard my daughter by--" + +Now, strangely enough, Mary Jones came to the rescue. + +"Sirs," she said, "allow me to make a proposition; it is this, that not +one of us breathe a word elsewhere of what has happened tonight. For +heaven's sake say nothing, keep all dark, and on this understanding," +she stooped forward and daintily raised her own glass, "I also pledge +his Majesty over the sea." + +But Mr. Ives did not recover his spirits that night: presentiments of +evil haunted him, misgivings that he had not done wisely by his darling. +When the small hours of the morning struck he still lay awake, tossing +restlessly to and fro. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +The days passed on, and now all the world lay under a pall of white +snow. Under their dazzling mantle gleamed the dark prickly leaves of the +holly-trees with abundance of scarlet berries. Here and there a little +robin-redbreast hopped to and fro, chiefly gathering round the latticed +windows of the parsonage, where morning and evening Betty fed hundreds +of feathered pensioners. + +Sportsmen cursed the hard weather, the idle horses restlessly moved in +their stalls, and the hounds dreamed dreams to pass away the long hours. + +Betty was never idle. She made it her pride that when she left home as a +bride all should be found in order in her father's home. Mistress Mary +took much interest in it herself, and joined her in mending and marking +and sorting fine household linen that had need of much care. + +Betty's own clothes were in course of manufacture, not many but rich, as +should become the Lady of Belton; above all, her wedding-gown of +dove-coloured and silver brocade, all trimmed with strings and strings +of orient pearls which John Johnstone had brought her one day. + +He gave her many jewels but she loved the pearls best, for they were his +first gift, and destined, he said, for that day of days that was to make +her his own forever. + +Almost every day as the time passed on, he brought her a new gift. Once +it was a pretty little dog, another day a ring of large rubies. + +"My Betty herself is a ruby," he said, when he placed this on her hand. +"A brave stone rich in colour, strong, unchanging, and the most precious +of gems." + +Then there was nothing for it, but that she and her father should come +to Belton to look over Betty's future home, suggest improvements, and +choose among Mr. Johnstone's many fine horses one to be trained for his +bride's special use. She was a bold fearless rider, looking beautiful on +horseback, and she had scorned his proposal to buy her a gentle lady's +horse, expressing her wish to be allowed to ride his hunters. With one +or two exceptions John offered her the choice. + +It was a brilliant frosty day on which the invitation was accepted. Mr. +Ives laughingly included Mary Jones in the little party, asserting that +two and two would be a fairer division of company. + +Mary bridled and blushed and threw a tender glance at him from behind +her fan, and the parson thought to himself that after all he was not old +yet. + +In every life there is perhaps one day that stands out from the others +as the happiest day--one day in which the cup of joy seems full to the +brim; it is not generally a day of powerful emotions, but of unbroken +peace, sunshine, love, sweetness and the glory of life. + +Such a day had dawned for fair Betty Ives. It was not so unbroken for +her betrothed: now and then a look of care overcast his brow, and now +and then his hands clenched themselves with a slight nervous movement. +All through the day he paid her a courtship so tender, so deferential, +so loving, it might have been a votary addressing his saint, a courtier +waiting on his queen; and as the hour advanced, and the time of +departure drew near, his attentions became yet more tender, more +wistful. + +They visited the horses and the dogs, gave bread to the shy young +gazelle that John was endeavouring to tame, to offer to his bride. Then +he suddenly drew her aside, and while Mr. Ives and Mary Jones strolled +onwards to the garden, he took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the +door of a loose box which he had passed by hitherto. + +"Here lives my best treasure, sweetheart," he said. "You must travel +far, and look wide, ere you meet with his match." + +Betty looked in, and her eyes fell on a magnificent white horse. It +would have needed an experienced eye fully to appreciate the strength +and symmetry of its proportions; to Betty he looked beautiful, and words +failed to describe her admiration. + +"Strange that I have never chanced to see you ride him," she said. "I +recognised at once the brown mare and the two chestnuts, and the bay +with a white star, but this one I have never seen." + +"No, I never hunt Seagull," he answered thoughtfully. "I owe him my life +not once, but over and over again." + +"Seagull!" exclaimed Betty. "Is not that the name of Wild Jack's famous +white horse?" + +"Yes, he was named after him. I bethought myself that my Seagull was as +noble an animal as Wild Jack's." + +"I am sure that he has not his equal in the wide world!" cried Betty. + +John Johnstone turned suddenly to her and said: "Do you still keep up +your interest in that poor sinner Wild Jack, sweet Bet? or has it died +away in your gentle breast?" + +"I shall never forget our first, and (heaven grant) our last interview," +she answered with a smile. "How he justified my trust in him!" + +"Poor Jack," said John Johnstone thoughtfully. "I knew Jack well once; +you were right to have faith in him. He has done good service to the +Cause. Look you, dear, he never took purse or papers on the king's +highway, but in the king's name who is over the seas; he never injured +woman or shot an unnecessary shot--keep your sympathy with Jack. And +now," he said, throwing back his head with an odd look of defiance and +pride--"now there is a reward of five hundred pounds offered for Wild +Jack's body living or dead. They place a high price on the head of one, +whom, to his honour, they dub traitor as well as highwayman!" + +"Five hundred pounds," said Betty. "Alas! the reward is tempting." + +"He has escaped so often from their very midst, has more than once been +prisoner, has often baffled his swiftest pursuers. Next time Wild Jack +is taken, his shrift will be short, I warrant." + +The tears rose to Betty's eyes. + +"God grant him a safe escape to France," she said earnestly. + +"It is a good and a charitable wish, sweetheart," said John somewhat +gloomily. "But men who have lived as Wild Jack has lived, dread, exile +as much as death." + +"Surely," said Betty, "that depends upon whether he is utterly +friendless, or has any who love him." + +"Wild Jack is not utterly friendless," he answered with a grave sweet +smile. + +"And this also is one of the mysteries," said Betty gaily. "Do not +forget your promise, that some day you will tell me all the past history +of your life, and also, above all, the story of your acquaintance with +the most famous gentleman of the road." + +"Aye, some day," he said, closing the door of Seagull's home, and +placing the key in his pocket. + +As they turned away he said suddenly: "Say nothing about my treasure in +there, dear Bet, I beg of you, neither to your father nor to Mistress +Mary." + +Betty looked up at him somewhat surprised. + +"Oh, it is for a trifling reason," he said--"a mere wager." + +So the matter faded from her mind. + +The elders of the little party now summoned them--the evening was +closing, it was time to be going home. + +They were all to ride, Mary on a pillion behind Mr. Ives. + +While the horses were being saddled, Mr. Johnstone prayed them to come +in, and they entered once more the large drawing-room, and gathered +round a cheerfully blazing fire. + +It was a stately room, with handsome furniture, all arranged with stiff +propriety, needing the trifling signs of a woman's presence to give +grace and life to its appearance. + +"How different it will look when my lady reigns here," said John +Johnstone softly. He led her away to one of the windows, and pointed out +to her the beauties of the fair English landscape, and there unseen he +held her hand in both his, and once pressed it to his lips. Tea came in, +in cups of delicate old china, and home-made cakes and fresh butter. + +"We must have a dairy fit for your superintendence, sweet Bet," said +John Johnstone. "See how pale is this butter, how thin this cream +compared to what you offer me at the parsonage." + +The horses came round at last, Mr. Johnstone's bay mare with them; he +would certainly accompany them home. + +Indeed it seemed as if this evening he could not tear himself away, he +lingered on and on, and it grew quite dark, and the moon rose over the +snow, and the stars shone out one by one. + +Supper was over, Mistress Mary long since gone home. It was nine +o'clock--Mr. Johnstone must go. Mr. Ives sat quiet in his deep chair, +the warmth and the comfort entered into his soul, and he slept. + +"Come with me to the door, sweet Bet," said John lingeringly. + +"Yes, even farther than that," she said, and she caught up her fur +cloak, threw it round her, and followed him out to the garden gate. The +crisp snow crackled pleasantly under foot. + +Old Isaac, who held the bay mare, left them when he had given the bridle +into her master's hand. + +"They will be wishing to kiss, mayhap," he muttered to himself, "and +I'll not stand in their way, God bless them!" + +John Johnstone mounted. He looked up to the sky and said, "It is later +than I thought. I have a long ride before me to-night, sweetheart. I +have business near Newbury. I had meant to go home and change the bay +mare for my faithful Seagull, but it is too late." + +"When shall you be back?" asked Betty, who was used now to his sudden +departures. + +"To-morrow--to-morrow at latest, and my first halt shall be here." + +"Are you armed?" + +He gave a laugh, and pointed to his saddle, well garnished with pistols. + +"They are loaded," he said. "For it might fall out that I should meet +with Wild Jack." + +"Heaven forbid!" said Betty with a shiver. + +"You are cold, sweetheart, you must go in. We must part. Oh! it is +bitter to say farewell." + +"Only till to-morrow, John! Only till to-morrow!" + +"Only till to-morrow!" he echoed. + +Then he bent down, put his hand under her chin and raised her sweet +face--the moon shone on it, on the large eyes lovingly turned to his, on +the wondering tender look, in which joy and pain seemed strangely +mingled. + +Their lips met, one long wild kiss--for the first time she heard his +passionate words, "My own, my beloved!" Then he drew up his reins. John +gave one glance at the moon, and noted how she mounted heaven's +arch--then he looked back no more, but set spurs to the bay mare's +flanks, and galloped away. + +Betty went home; she lay down to rest with a smile on her beautiful +face. The happiest day must end when night falls. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +When evening fell the next day, Betty lingered long at the gate. + +"He could not get his business done in time," she said to herself. "He +will not come to-day." + +But the next day passed also, and the next, and still John Johnstone had +not come home. + +On the fourth day Mr. Ives rode into Wancote to hear the news, and +promised his daughter that he would go over to Belton, and find out from +the servants whether they had had any news of their master, and when +they expected him to return. + +Mary Jones came over to the parsonage--it was an important day, for +Betty was to try on her wedding-gown, finished the night before. + +She looked very beautiful in it, the soft colour flushing on her cheek, +her sweet eyes shining. When the little ceremony was over, Betty put her +arm round the waist of her friend, and led her away out of earshot of +busy Dame Martha, and the smart dressmakers. + +"Dear Mary!" she said, "my great wish now is to see you don just such a +dress as this wedding-gown of mine." + +"Oh la! Betty, bethink you of my age," cried Mary, but tears of genuine +emotion rose to her eyes. + +"Yet would I fain see you my father's wife," said Betty. She put her +hands on her shoulders, and looked down from her greater height into her +face. + +"Say yes, Mary, say yes," she said. + +"I must wait till the right person asks me that question," answered +Mary, half sobbing, half laughing; but Betty persisted: + +"Say yes, Mary dear!" + +"Well then yes, if so it must be," answered Mary. "You are a good girl, +Betty," and she kissed her warmly, and hurried away to the glass to +rearrange her elaborate curls of hair. + +Mr. Ives came home full of excitement: he had heard great news in +Wancote, the whole town was ringing with it. + +"What do you think has happened?" he cried as he came into the room. + +"Has John come home?" asked Betty eagerly. + +"No, child, and the servants say that they never expect him until he +appears, he is often away like this for a few days. The news is quite +otherwise--Wild Jack has been taken." + +"Ah!" cried the women in a breath, and Betty turned white as a sheet. + +"What will they do with him!" asked Mary. + +"He was taken on the king's highway, some twenty miles from here on the +Newbury Road, on the cross roads where the steep way comes down from the +downs. It seems that an important paper had fallen into the possession +of some individual here, convicting many well-known gentlemen about +Wancote of loyalty to him that is over the sea, and Sir Harry Clare was +to carry the paper to Newbury to-night. I warrant some not very distant +friends of ours were shaking in their shoes." + +"They rode four together and all well-armed; but Wild Jack was too much +for them--he and two others attacked the party; he seized the paper +himself, after a short encounter with young Clare, whose horse he shot +dead. That accomplished, all made off. The paper was lost. Some say Wild +Jack burnt it as he rode, some that he swallowed it, some that he tore +and scattered it to the four winds of heaven. Then, when in full flight, +his horse stumbled and fell, and the four gentlemen came up with him. +Entangled as he was by the fallen horse, he fought and kept all at bay +with his marvellous fencing powers till his men were far out of sight. +Then he broke his sword across his knee, saying that never should his +trusty weapon fall into the hands of the king's enemies. He was badly +wounded." + +"Well?" cried Mary breathlessly. Betty sat down, she felt cold and +faint. + +"Well, they took him that night to the nearest village, bound hand and +foot. At first they hardly knew the value of their captive, for he was +not riding his famous horse Seagull; had he been mounted as usual, small +chance would they have had of capturing Wild Jack. There was a hasty +assembly of magistrates, such as could be induced to come. I warrant +some would have died sooner than join in what followed. They caused a +gallows to be erected forty feet high on the king's high road, and there +they hanged Wild Jack." + +"God rest his soul," said Betty. "John will be sorry indeed, as sorry as +I am." + +"Yes, John always has a certain sympathy with the gentlemen of the +road," said Mr. Ives. "But after all, order must be kept, the roads must +be made safe. I know the government will be sorely displeased that the +list of suspected gentlemen has been saved, I mean lost." + +It was too late, and all were too much excited by what had passed for +Betty to broach the subject of marriage to her father that night, but +she promised herself to do so early on the following morning. + +It was very cold, and Betty could not sleep; in vain she turned from +side to side, in vain she drank water and paced her room, and tried all +the devices known to the sleepless--all was fruitless; her pillow seemed +to her on fire, and incessantly in her imagination she heard the +galloping of horses so vividly, that she rose several times and went to +the window; but the night was clear, and the moon bright, and all over +the country lay one sheet of untrodden snow. + +She lay down once more, and about three o'clock was roused suddenly by a +light tap, as of something which hit her window. + +She went to it hastily, and as she did so, another light pebble hit the +panes. She opened the casement and looked out. Below in the garden in +the moonlight, which was almost as light as day, she saw standing a +slight woman's figure. + +The figure held up a warning hand to be silent and come down. + +Betty was bold and fearless, she put on her clothes hastily, and went +down. She went into the garden at once, and looked cautiously round. +There was no one to be seen at first. + +She waited in some amazement, when suddenly she felt a light touch on +her shoulder, and looking round, saw standing beside her Nora Ray, the +young gipsy girl, looking more wild and elf-like than usual. + +"Hist!" said the strange child. "I have brought you a token from one +whom you know so well. His day is over," she cried with a wild grin, +showing all her white teeth. "The ravens are feasting on Wild Jack's +tender flesh to-night. See here is the token; he gave it to me at the +foot of the gallows with his own hand." + +With a sob Betty took it from the girl's brown hand--her own little +serpent-ring that he had taken from her that night that seemed so long +ago. + +"It shall never again leave my finger," she said. "God rest his soul." + +"You will cross the poor gipsy's hand with silver, pretty lady," cried +Nora. "He never failed to do so to poor Nora Ray, not he!" + +Betty quickly went into the house, gave her money, and let her out of +the gate--the wild creature had come in over the wall--then she went +slowly up to her room. + +She leant out of the open window, her brow burning in spite of the cold. + +Suddenly came on her ear the wild sound of Nora's singing, with its +strange pathos like the sighing of the wind, or the cry of storm-tossed +sea-birds. + +Betty clasped her hands, and sank on her knees, the sound made her +shudder from head to foot. She stopped her ears with trembling fingers, +but yet every word fell on them distinctly and would not be shut out. + + "Aye, call him, call him over the lea, + Aye, well and well-a-day; + Lover will never come back to thee + Who loves and gallops away." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +"How pale you are this morning, my child," said Mr. Ives to his +daughter. + +"It is nothing. I have had a feverish night; the story of the fate of my +poor friend haunted me," she answered. She could not eat, the cold had +chilled her blood, and now and then she shivered painfully. + +Betty sought her opportunity in spite of her bodily discomforts, and +fondly caressing her father's hands she knelt down by his chair. + +"Father," she said. "Dear father, you know that very soon I am going to +leave you, to be married to my own true love. Our wedding-day is fixed, +but I dare say he will not be back much before then. Do you think he +will? Oh no, probably not." + +"Why, child, to be sure he will! He will be back in a few days at the +outside. Why, silly child, you will make a poor wife if you fret always +when your husband is from home." + +"But I do not fret. I am perfectly satisfied. Listen, dear father: when +I am married and gone away with my dear love, you will look round you +and see only my empty place, no hand to hold yours, no voice to welcome +you, no music to cheer you, no child to love you." + +"Betty," cried Mr. Ives with a sob, "why do you show me so dismal a +picture? It is bad enough already." + +"I have a good reason, dear father," she said. "You see I am going so +soon. I should leave you with so much lighter a heart were Mary here to +take my place. She is kind and good, and true, and would love you +dearly." + +Mr. Ives laughed a little. + +"Mistress Mary is somewhat old to replace my daughter," he said. + +"Then the more suited to be your wife." + +Mr. Ives rose to his feet, and paced up and down the room. Suddenly he +stopped, and catching his daughter's hands, looked her full in the face. + +"Would she have me, my Bet?" he said. "I may not be too old to wed, but +I am vastly too old to woo." + +"She will have you, father," answered Betty. "And you will be quite +happy when I am gone." + +So all was settled, and the elderly pair pledged to each other. The +banns were asked in church that their marriage might take place at once +when John Johnstone should take his bride away. + +Days passed on, days lengthened into weeks, the wedding-day drew near, +and the bridegroom came not. + +All Betty's high courage came back, the frost melted away, and the +country was open again, and once more she rode to hounds. Her colour was +high, her lips feverishly scarlet, her eyes large and brilliant. She +rode with the best, and came home with the brush at her pommel. + +"Why do they look at me so strangely, father?" she asked. "Old Squire +Thornton, when he welcomed my return to the hunt, held my hand a whole +minute in his, and it was as if he were about to speak, for he swallowed +once or twice and then turned away. And Doctor Glebe would not speak to +me at all, and his face was set as a mask, though I saw that he was +watching me strangely all the time. Have I changed? Am I not the same +Betty I used to be?" + +"The same, only a little thinner, my darling," her father answered, and +his eyes filled with tears. + +He too had grown curiously sad of late, and followed his daughter with +wistful eyes. + +"Father," she said one day, "to-morrow you know is our wedding-day. John +will come home, he must return to-night. I know that he will. I shall +wait up till the clock strikes twelve, but if he does not come (and of +course no one can tell how long business may detain him, can they?), one +thing, dear father: will you take Mary to church, even though I should +not be there, and marry her? She might wear my wedding-gown. To please +me, father, to please me?" + +"Anything, anything to please you, my own child," said Mr. Ives in a +choked voice. + +All day Betty wandered in the garden; they watched her wistfully, her +head was raised, always listening--listening to every sound. + +The hours passed, evening came, the night fell. Betty had thrown wide +the casement. Her father and Mary Jones, crouching over the fire, had no +heart to speak to her, or warn her that the night was cold. + +A wild stormy wind swayed the branches of the apple-trees, surging and +roaring as it rushed over the downs; the candles flickered and burned +low, and from them dropped those strange waxen off-shoots that old women +call winding-sheets. + +At last the church-bell struck twelve, slowly, awfully. + +Betty was listening still, her head raised, her finger on her lip. + +"Hush!" she said, with a strange smile. "Do you hear the white horse's +hoofs?" + +They listened. Distinctly on the ear came the sound of a horse +galloping, coming nearer and nearer, passing the door, on and on without +pause, the sound of the hoofs growing faint and fainter till lost in the +far distance. + +Betty held out her arms. "Mary!" she said. "Mary!" Her voice was a +strange harsh whisper, out of which all tone had passed. "Mary, he +gallops away." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +After the lapse of another three days, it was determined that there +should be no further delay of the marriage, and one morning without pomp +or parade of any kind, Mr. Ives took his bride into Wancote, and they +returned home man and wife. + +The only wedding-guest was the parson's old friend Dr. Glebe, and he +returned with them to the parsonage because he had a few serious words +that he wished to say there. + +He took Mr. Ives aside, and said abruptly, "Are you mad, Ives? Do you +wish to lose that peerless daughter of yours? I warn you that you will +do so, if you are not more watchful." + +"I would give my life for hers," answered her father sorrowfully. "And +so would Mary, who loves her dearly, but alas! what can we do? We cannot +bring back John Johnstone." + +"You must send her away at once. She must have change of air and scene. +At once, mark you, without an hour's unnecessary delay." + +"You think it will do her good?" + +"I think it the one chance of escaping fatal mischief. See, I have a +plan to propose. Why not send her to Newbury to her aunt? She is a +sensible woman, and the house is full of children--they will rouse her." + +"I will take her myself," cried Mr. Ives. + +"Nay, nay, that would defeat my object. I want absolute change for her, +change of thought, scene, companions." + +"But how manage it, if I may not go myself?" + +"Squire Thornton rides to Newbury tomorrow with Sir Harry Clare, and he +will willingly be her protector." + +"They ride?" + +"Yes, it will do Betty good to ride, and old Isaac can follow with a +valise full of clothes." + +"Tomorrow did you say?" + +"Tomorrow at daybreak." + +"It shall be done. God grant that it may do her good." + +The following morning, with many a tear and many a blessing Mr. Ives and +his wife started Betty on her way. + +She made no resistance, passively assented to all they wished. When she +was once more in the saddle, her spirits rose feverishly again. + +Sir Harry Clare, riding by her side, felt the old fascination stealing +over him again, the fascination that had well nigh broken Lady Rachel's +heart at Newbury last year. Squire Thornton saw her bright color, and +heard the old lively talk as of old, and thought how that time cures all +things, and that perhaps in the days to come, his son might have a +chance at last. + +About half way on their journey the little party was joined by two +gentlemen who reached the highway by a cross-road; they lived far from +the Wancote neighbourhood. The one Sir James Templemore, the other Mr. +Mat Harding. + +Squire Thornton was glad to meet with friends so rarely encountered; +they had secrets together mayhap. They saluted each other cordially, +their greeting of Sir Harry Clare was more cold. + +It was a gloomy windy day, and after the midday halt to bait their +horses, the weather grew worse, a cold violent wind blew in their faces, +now and then a driving shower of rain. + +"Are you tired, Mistress Betty?" asked the squire. + +"No, no, I enjoy the free fresh air, it gives me new life." + +"That is well," he said, riding on well pleased. + +The two cavaliers who attended Betty on each side were the new arrivals, +both of whom appeared much struck by her exceeding beauty. + +Now it seemed almost as if they entered into a cloud, so dark it became, +so blinded were they by wind and a fresh storm of cold fine rain. The +horses grew subdued, they whinnied and held down their tails tightly. It +was very cold. + +They moved into a short trot, but pulled up soon, breathless. + +The rain ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and now Betty became aware +of some tall dark object looming in front of her, only as yet half +visible. The wind howled past, and distinctly she heard a sort of +clanking noise, as of chains or the rattling of something hard clanking +together. + +"Let us ride on, let us ride fast." cried Squire Thornton in his loud +hearty voice. As he spoke there was a whirr of loud wings, and a dark +cloud of foul birds rose into the air from off that dark thing. + +Betty put out her hand and laid it on Sir James Templemore's arm. + +"What is it?" she said in a ghastly whisper. + +"Ah, a sad sight indeed," said he sadly. "There hangs as noble a +gentleman as ever drew sword for the king, God bless him." + +"Who is it?" she asked again; the whisper came hissing forth. + +"Who? God rest his soul, he had many names. He was Wild Jack Barnstaple, +alias John Johnstone of Belton, alias Daredevil Jack of the North." + +"For the sake of all that is sacred, hold your tongue!" shouted the +squire, who had caught the last words. + +He was too late. With a wild hoarse cry that none who heard it ever +forgot, Betty flung wide her arms, and fell back on her saddle. The +terrified horse galloped furiously forward, throwing her from side to +side, then violently to the ground at the foot of the gallows. + +In horror the gentlemen surrounded her, and raised her inanimate form +between them. + +But it was long and very late before they could get her home. + +After long hours her body awoke to life, but her brain was gone. +Heartbroken, mind gone, in very sooth mad, what remained for sweet Betty +now. + +Travellers passing by would point to the parsonage wall, and +sorrowfully tell her story. Some more curious than the rest would +perhaps stop to look through the gate. + +A strange sight met their eyes. + +As beautiful as ever, with a strange fearful beauty, stood Betty, her +hands hanging clasped before her, and she sang to herself softly, +dreamily: + + "Call him, call him over the lea, + Aye, well and well-a-day; + Lover will never come back to thee + Who loves and gallops away." + +Then she put her hands to her mouth as men do who wish that their voices +should carry far, and called over and over again slowly, "John +Johnstone! John Johnstone!"--the last syllable rising loud on a long +high note. + +Then she would hold up her finger, and bend her head listening, +listening, listening, till she heard the sound of the galloping hoofs +come nearer and nearer, passing and fading away. + +Those who watched with her in the dark evenings in the walled garden +swore that they also heard the sound, and their hair bristled with cold +fear. + + + + + +VIRGINIA. + + + + + +PART I. + + +"He is a very strange mixture." + +"I really do not think you ought to ask him to the house. An atheist, a +man of disreputable life, a----." + +"Come, come, my dear, don't give him such a character, before Virginia." + +This fragment of dialogue takes place over a cheery breakfast table in a +house not very far from Park Lane. + +The first speaker is a pleasant-looking man of between fifty and sixty, +and his interlocutor is a rather prim lady, who appears older, but is, +in reality, his junior by two years. They are Mr. Hamilton Hayward and +his sister, Miss Susan. + +The party has a third member--the Virginia alluded to by Mr. Hayward. +She is tall, handsome, bright-looking; evidently she possesses +character, but with it the grace and charm of manner which prevent a +woman of character from falling into that disagreeable being, a +strong-minded woman. + +"What are Mr. Vansittart's good points?" she says, smiling at her +uncle. + +"He has the kindest heart in the world," Mr. Hayward replies, warmly, +"and he would never do a shabby thing. One of the few men who really +practice not letting their left hand know the good their right does. He +certainly is a looseish fish; but he does not parade his irregularities +before the world--the world need not know anything about them if it does +not insist on prying into his affairs. The greatest grudge women have +against him is that he is mortally opposed to marriage, and carries on a +crusade against it as though he were St. George, and matrimony the +Dragon. He says if you want to make two people hate each other who would +otherwise be disposed to love--" + +"Hush! my dear Hamilton," cries Miss Susan, horrified. "Pray spare us a +repetition of Mr. Vansittart's iniquitous opinions." + +"I suppose," laughs Virginia, "that women don't insist on marrying him +by force, do they?" + +"A great many would be very glad to have him," rejoins Mr. Hamilton, "he +is a tremendously taking fellow." + +"And have you _really_ asked him to dinner?" interposes Miss Susan. + +"I have, indeed, my dear, and I had a good deal of difficulty in +persuading him to come. He persisted that he went so little into +society--into _ladies_' society." + +Miss Susan gave a little snort. + +"He has no right to go into it at all with the views he holds; and, +pray, whom is he to take in to dinner?" + +"Mrs. Ashton, I thought," answers Mr. Hamilton. "I am afraid he would be +bored with an unmarried lady." + +"When I was young," says Miss Susan, bridling, "married women were as +modest and particular in their conversation as unmarried ones." + +"Ah!" observes her brother dryly. + +"Uncle," cries Virginia, "let him take me. If he is original, I shall be +sure to like him; and as I don't intend to marry, he need not be afraid +of my having designs on him. I shall give him a hint whilst he is eating +his soup that I have made a vow to _coiffer Ste. Catherine_." + +"Virginia!" remonstrates Miss Susan; "and you know Sir Harry Hotspur is +to take you." + +"No, no," cries Virginia, "he bores me to distraction. Besides," +laughing, "he 'goes for married women.' Let him have Mrs. Ashton, and +give me Mr. Vansittart." + +Miss Susan has one virtue, which is, that she is never quite so shocked +as she pretends to be. Moreover, Virginia always gets her way with both +uncle and aunt. So when the evening of the dinner party arrives, Mr. +Hayward brings Mr. Vansittart up to his niece and introduces him. Whilst +he is uttering a few of those _banalites_ which must inevitably be the +precursors of even the most interesting conversation between two +strangers, Virginia is taking an inventory of him. He is tall, rather +dark than fair; his features are well cut, and he has particularly +expressive eyes, the color of which it takes her some time to decide +about. At the same moment he is saying to himself: "What sort of woman +is this, and what on earth shall I talk to her about? I hope to heaven +she isn't a girl of the period. She doesn't look like it--still less +like a prude. How I hate a society dinner! I suppose I shall be bored to +death, as usual." + +True to her promise, Virginia apprises him, whilst he yet is +assimilating his soup, of her vow of celibacy. He turns to look at her, +being just a shade surprised at receiving such a confidence so early in +their acquaintance, and then he sees the archest smile curving the +corners of her mouth, and meets a glance from a pair of brown eyes that +he now perceives to be beautiful. + +Mr. Vansittart has a quick intelligence--he understands in an instant +the object of her remark. His eyes light up with a sudden gleam, and he +murmurs quietly, "Thanks so much for putting me at my ease." + +From that moment they are perfectly at home with each other, and fall to +animated talk. He does not air his theories about marriage, nor is +religion discussed between them, but there are plenty of other topics, +and they become aware of a dozen feelings and sympathies in common. +Virginia is as bright and witty as she is modest and pure-minded; there +is nothing in the world that Mr. Vansittart detests so much as a coarse +or immodest _lady_. So charmed is he with Virginia, that he remains +close to her side the whole evening, to the surprise of every one else. +No one ever saw him devote himself to a girl before. He stays until the +very last. As he walks away from the door, after lighting his cigar, he +reflects to himself: "If any earthly power could induce me to marry, it +would be a girl like that. But," resolutely, "nothing could." As +Virginia wends her way upstairs to bed, she says to herself with a heavy +sigh, "Why should he abuse marriage? How happy he might make some +woman!" + +Virginia is the daughter of a clergyman. Father and mother are both +dead. She has a brother in the army, and a sister married to a country +rector. Her uncle, Mr. Hayward, has adopted her. She is clever and +accomplished. She has both passion and imagination. Some of her ideas +are original; she hates common-placeness, but she is also imbued with +the attribute possessed by every charming woman, the love of +approbation. This prevents her doing or saying anything _outre_ or +unconventional; this makes her careful of her appearance and fond of +fair apparel; this makes the evidence of admiration from the other sex +exceedingly agreeable to her; this causes her to adopt a manner towards +them that induces jealous women to call her a coquette. She has had +several offers of marriage, but she entertains peculiar ideas about the +strength of passion and the sympathy of thought a man and woman ought +to feel for each other before they decide to spend a life-time together. +She does not think a man who has a good income, and who is simply not +repulsive or abhorrent to her, a sufficient inducement. + +The days wear on. Virginia does not forget Mr. Vansittart any more than +he forgets her, but he weighs more on her heart than she does on his, +for, happy man! he is perpetually occupied, being a barrister with a +considerable practice, whilst she is an idle woman as the well-to-do of +her sex mostly are. If she goes to balls or dances, she is always +contrasting every man, with whom she talks or dances, with him; if she +works at her embroidery, her thoughts are intent on him; if she reads, a +hero of her own ousts the hero of the novel from her brain; if she +sings, her voice is moved to strong pathos; her eyes become drowned by +that strange passion which consumes her. Days and weeks pass by; and she +does not catch a glimpse of him; does not even hear his name. She sees +it frequently in the _Times_. One Sunday afternoon, she and her uncle +strolling in the Park meet him. He lifts his hat, and is about to pass, +when something that her eyes have communicated to his heart, stops him +suddenly. He turns and joins them. It is a delicious summer afternoon: +they take chairs under the big trees which shade this cool green spot. +Presently a crony joins Mr. Hayward--soon the elder pair are deep in the +_cause celebre_ of the day. Virginia and Mr. Vansittart have forgotten +that other people exist in the world--the topics of their conversation +are ordinary enough, but it is not from them that a subtle delight +steals through their veins. What they heed is the language of each +other's eyes. His say--"You fulfil my idea of perfect womanhood. I could +love you with all my heart, with all my soul, with all my strength. I +respect you with my purest feelings; I love you with my strongest +passions; I would to God I could shake off my doubts about marriage. But +I _know_ that if I married you, inexorable Destiny would no longer let +us love one another." + +And her eyes reiterate one little sentence, "You are my lord, my master, +and I am your slave." + +It was one of the very strongest cases of love at first sight. Such +cases are more common, however, than people affect to think. + +"Come home and dine with us," says Mr. Hayward, as a distant clock +strikes seven. + +"I'm afraid I have not time to dress," replies Philip Vansittart; "that +is if you dine at half past seven, as I have heard you say you do." + +"Never mind about dress," answers Mr. Hayward. "I won't dress either." + +He has no designs on his guest, but he is a good-natured gentleman, and +he sees that these two are attracted toward each other. + +Miss Susan is at church. If her brother will dine at his usual hour on +Sunday, she cannot help it, but she will not countenance him by her +presence. + +Philip Vansittart thinks he has never spent such a divinely happy +evening as this. Virginia sings to him; her voice thrills to his very +soul. Mr. Hamilton is asleep in the next room. As for Virginia, when she +is alone, she first smiles a happy, triumphant smile, because she knows +he loves her, and then she bursts into a passion of tears and sobs until +her whole frame is convulsed. If his mind is really set against +marriage, what will become of her! She feels as though life without him +must be one long night of despair. + +Philip Vansittart paces his room until the small hours, thinking of this +charming, lovable creature, who inspires stronger, deeper sensations in +him than he has ever felt before. He tells himself, without vanity or +self-deception, that what he feels for her, with that difference which +governs the loves of men and women, she feels for him--heart has gone +out to heart, nay, they are twain halves of a perfect heart. It is but +for him to stretch out his hand to her, and she will come. Aye! but how +can he stretch out his hand? In the society in which they both move +there is but one way in which she can be his--the way sanctioned by +society, blessed by the church. Society and the church will bless and +smile upon any union: the decrepit old man with the blooming child; the +drunkard and adulterer with the pure young girl; the avaricious youth +with the doting old woman. Marriage purifies, sanctifies, hallows +sensuality, greed, any, every base motive. To love as God made you free +to love, unfettered, and with a true heart, is a crime; to live +together full of hatred, loathing, and revolt, is to perform a sacred +duty once you have tied yourself up in church. This was Vansittart's +theory. Marriage to him was only another word for satiety, weariness, +restraint, tyranny. He had never seen what he called a happy marriage, +though he had observed many which the world crowned with that adjective, +and he had sworn a thousand oaths that he would never subject himself to +that miserable awakening which inevitably follows the temporary sleep of +mind and reason, and the short dream of passion which makes a man bind +himself with shackles. + +Philip paced his room for hours, fighting the hardest battle he had ever +fought. It was the first time he had ever been tempted to marry--tempted +beyond endurance. And, at last, ashen pale, in the wan morning light, +and with set teeth, he took his final oath and resolve. He would save +himself years of wretchedness by a month's anguish; he would not go near +her, nor see her again. He was not entirely selfish; he did not forget +that she might, nay, would suffer, but he said, with a sigh, "It will be +best for her as for me." + + * * * * * + +A month passed by: two months. Virginia grew pale, listless, +_distraite_; her step was languid, her eye haggard. She did not know how +to endure her life; she suffered torments day and night from an +agonising desire to hear the voice, to meet the eyes again which had +given light to her soul and in whose absence she felt it must needs +perish of want. It was plain enough to her why he avoided her. He had +seen that she loved him; he would not encourage false hopes in her +breast. Had she not been warned, ere ever she met him, that he abjured +marriage? She remembered, with a breaking heart, her own first playful +words to him. + +Mr. Hayward saw the change in Virginia, but he put it down entirely to +the effects of a London season--to late hours and the want of fresh air. +Never mind! the end was near at hand, and then they would go and fill +their lungs with mountain air and their eyes with fair scenes, and the +roses would come back to her cheeks and lips, and the light to her eyes. +He never for an instant connected his niece's pallor with Philip +Vansittart. He would have ridiculed the idea of people being twice in +each other's company, and breaking their hearts with longing afterwards. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Hayward, his sister, and Virginia, were dining at a Swiss _table +d'hote_. Exactly opposite were two empty places. The fish had been +served, and two gentlemen came in and took them. One was Mr. Philip +Vansittart. At sight of him the crimson blood rushed to Virginia's +cheeks, then ebbed away, leaving her deathly pale. For a moment she +thought she must swoon or die from the intensity of her feelings. Philip +was scarcely less moved, though, being a man, he was better able to +control his agitation. When he had time to look more narrowly at +Virginia, he saw a mighty change in her. His heart smote him; and +yet--had he not suffered? Great heaven! had his been a bed of roses? Had +he not agonised after her? + +Dinner over, the party went off into the garden. A mutual unspoken +desire made Vansittart and Virginia steal off together to a secluded +spot. Twilight was creeping on--the last glow of a rosy sunset was +fading away; the strains of a delicious waltz were borne towards them. +Vansittart felt his passion mastering him. He made a herculean effort +over himself. He would speak. He would tell her the truth. After that +she would forget him. They were sitting under a tree that screened them +off from the rest of the garden. He could see well enough that she was +trembling with nervousness; that delight, fear, expectation were blended +in the beautiful eyes she turned towards him; and, lest suddenly he +should yield to that mad longing to catch her to his heart, he began to +speak hurriedly--abruptly. + +But Virginia scarcely hears him. Her lips are burning to ask him that +one question, and, not heeding what he is saying, she turns and in a +tremulous voice that vibrates to his very soul, she says: + +"Why have you kept away from us all this time?" + +Why? And Vansittart catches his breath. Then the gyves of his strong +will give way as the withes fell from Samson. + +"I will tell you," he says. "I love you so horribly, that it is pain +and anguish to me to be with you, for then I feel that when I leave you +I am ready to die of longing and misery." + +"Well?" she utters in a very low voice, bending her eyes on the ground. +It is only one little word, but it speaks such volumes! "Why should you +leave me?" it says. "Is it not my case, too? What need you more than +speak!" + +"You have heard," he goes on, not daring to look at her, "that I have +forsworn marriage. Marriage," passionately, "kills love, and I would +rather, ten times over, suffer what I have suffered--and God knows that +is not a little!--than a day should come when, having known such divine +happiness as I _should_ know were you mine, we should grow cold and +weary; when our passions should turn to indifference, to disappointment +and heart-burnings, and end, perhaps, in our cherishing feelings of +vindictive spite and bitterness against each other, and in my thinking +every woman pleasanter and fairer than you, end in your believing me to +be the greatest brute under heaven!" + +"Oh!" utters Virginia, as she raises her eyes to his face with a look of +pained wonder. + +"I have seen it a thousand times," he continues vehemently. "I have +known men passionately, madly in love with women, ready to count 'the +world well lost,' to sacrifice all the future only to call that idol of +the moment theirs. I have seen them marry. I have watched the weariness +that comes from security even more than from satiety. I have seen the +links that were forged in roses become gyves of iron--tenderness and +courtesy give place to rudeness and contempt. I never saw but two people +perfectly happy, and they," lowering his voice, "were not married. I +have sworn a thousand times never to court wretchedness for myself and a +woman I loved by loading her and myself with chains. My idea has been +this. Some day I may meet with a being who, under natural circumstances, +she keeping her freedom and leaving me mine, I might love with all my +heart and be faithful to until the day of my death. I would give her all +I possessed. I would devote myself to making her happy; if she had to +sacrifice anything for my sake, I would atone to her for it by my +unwearying love. But," his voice mastered by emotion, "how dare I say +such words to you? In the sphere in which you live they would be +considered a dastardly insult--one must not dare to move one step from +the beaten track of custom. The world would scoff at the idea that my +love for you is more sacred and reverent than that of a man who, +inspired by a momentary passion for a woman and desiring her, obtains +his end by a simple and speedy means, without reflection as to the +possible misery of both in the future. And yet," his lips quivering, his +face growing deathly white, "I believe I could love you more dearly, +love you longer than husband ever loved wife." + +Virginia sits rooted to the spot, a deadly anguish strangling her +heart. Then, whilst the divine strains of music still flow on, she feels +herself drawn to his heart; his lips meet hers in one long kiss that +steals her very soul away from her. He is gone--the music has +ceased--the night grows chill--she shivers. "The world well lost," she +mutters to herself, and then, with listless steps, and strange, +affrighted eyes, she drags herself up stairs to her room. + + + + +PART II. + + +In a charming house, surrounded by an acre of ground, turned into a +small paradise, a house not more than two miles from Hyde Park Corner, +live Philip Vansittart and Virginia Hayward. The neighbourhood knows +them as Mr. and Mrs. Vansittart, and has not the very remotest +conception that in so perfectly ordered an establishment, there is +anything which they would designate as "odd." If anything could arouse +suspicion in the breasts of the servants who wait upon them, and the +tradespeople who serve them it would be the extraordinary tenderness +subsisting between them; the excessive courtesy and consideration of Mr. +Vansittart for Mrs. Vansittart, and the entire absence of that +familiarity commonly seen between affectionate husbands and wives, which +almost invariably engenders subsequent contempt. + +The house is furnished with exquisite taste. Mr. Vansittart is +continually bringing home artistic treasures to add to its +embellishment. Mrs. Vansittart has a carriage and a fine pair of horses. +She seldom, however, drives into town except to the play, or to dine. A +great many gentlemen of distinction and rank come to the house, who +treat Mrs. Vansittart like a queen, and a few ladies; clever, literary +ladies, ladies holding peculiar views--very rarely the consorts of +distinguished and well-born men. + +Is Philip happy? Is Virginia happy? To this I can only reply by another +question. Is any one Happy? They love each other with unfailing +tenderness--they are all the world to each other--the thought of +separation would be death to them. And yet the heart of either is gnawed +by a secret worm. In the midst of his busy life, Philip can never forget +that he has sacrificed the woman whom he adores from the very bottom of +his soul, and the horrible suspicion will stab him, that he has +sacrificed her needlessly. They are living as husband and wife, and yet +no feeling of weariness, of satiety, comes near them--each day draws +them nearer together; makes them find fresh points in each other to love +and admire. Were she his wife, occupying her proper sphere in society, +sought after, courted, admired, he with no feeling of self-reproach, she +with no consciousness (which she must feel though she never betrays) of +cruelty and selfishness on his part; might they not be even happier? He +forgets to tell himself that they are happy because no tie binds +them--nay, he says secretly in his heart that that tie is the only thing +wanting to make their felicity perfect. Now, it is too late. The world +knows the truth--marriage can never whitewash Virginia in society's +eyes--no future can condone the crime of the past. He has settled every +farthing he has in the world upon her--no mean fortune--he loads her +with gifts--he is perpetually thinking of her pleasure and amusement, +and yet, for ever, the load of his debt to her weighs down his soul. + +And Virginia? Paul is all in all to her; he is her heart, her soul, her +conscience, and yet he cannot shield her from the fate which he has +brought upon her. What must inevitably be the sufferings of a proud and +pure-minded woman, who knows herself to be an object of scorn to her +sex? How would a man, naturally honorable and high-minded, feel, if, in +some fatal moment, he had been tempted to commit a forgery, or take an +unfair advantage at cards, and was afterwards shunned by every man +friend; thrust out of every club, banned utterly from the society of his +fellows, except those with whom it would revolt him to associate? This +is the only case that can parallel that of a woman who has lost the +world for a man's sake; and men who have a difficulty in realizing how +great is the sacrifice they compel or accept from a woman, would do well +to consider this. + +Virginia suffered many a bitter pang when she showed herself in public +with Philip. She quivered under the open stare, or the look askance of +members of her sex; if she showed a brave front, it was that of the +Spartan boy! Philip was particularly fond of the opera and the play; he +would not have gone without her; so she accompanied him, and made no +demur. Of course every relation and friend she had in the world shunned +her as though she were a leper, which indeed, morally, she was in their +eyes. She loved society; no woman was more calculated to shine in it, +and from this she was cut off. True, they constantly entertained +brilliant and clever men, whose conversation and company were very +agreeable to her; but, however much a woman may like, may even prefer +the society of men, it is a bitter thought to her that she cannot +command that of her own sex. And, though men treated her with even a +greater and more delicate courtesy than they would perhaps have shown +their own women, Virginia was none the less keenly conscious of the +moral ban under which she lay. + +She was the daughter of a clergyman, she had been religiously brought +up, and she writhed under the terrible consciousness that her life was a +sin against her God. At first she went to church, but everything she +heard there sent the iron deeper into her soul; if there were comforting +promises to repentant Magdalens, there was nothing but wrath and +threatening for those who continued in their sin. By-and-by she left off +going to church. Philip was a sceptic, most of his friends were the +same. Virginia listened to their talk, and, in time, her faith began to +waver; she liked to think they were right, and that the Bible was a +string of fables; it lessened her sense of criminality and remorse, but +it cut her off forever from the only consolation a woman can know, when +her hour of trial comes. If man could supply the place of God and +Saviour now, whither should she fly when he was torn from her or grew +weary of her? + +She was glad that she had no children--could she live to be shamed by +them, scorned by them? And yet--how sweet it would have been to feel +clinging arms about her neck; to hear little voices lisp the sweetest +word on earth to a mother's ear, if only she might have been as other +mothers--as other wives! Never, never once had she breathed or hinted a +wish that Philip should marry her; she had a superstitious dread that +once the chain was forged his love for her would cease--marriage could +not now reinstate her in the world's sight--she had ceased to remember +that her life was a crime. She had heard it said so often that marriage +was simply an institution founded upon expediency; that all systems +having been tried, the one that worked best was the union of a man to +one wife, that she herself began to doubt its being a heaven-ordained +institution, and the only state tolerated by Divine Providence. But if +she ceased to feel herself actually a guilty and sinning woman, she was +none the less sensitive to the world's scorn; to the bitterness of +holding a position that society refused to tolerate or to recognize. + +But, after all, she knew happiness which is denied to nine-tenths of +women, nay, to ninety-nine out of a hundred. She enjoyed the passionate, +unfailing devotion of the man whom she adored--no harsh word ever +crossed his lips to her--she was his first care and thought--no party of +pleasure ever tempted him from her side--nothing but the claim of +business could induce him to spend an evening away from her. And so the +years passed on. It is an unalterable law of nature that passion must +succumb before habit, but it may be succeeded by a calm content, a happy +trustful confidence, that wears better, and is perhaps in the long run +more satisfactory. + +Twelve years elapsed, and during that time Virginia enjoyed unbroken +health. Then, one winter, she caught a severe cold, which settled on her +lungs; her life was despaired of. No woman was ever a more tender, more +devoted nurse than Philip. But this illness left her extremely delicate; +she could no longer brave all weathers as formerly, nor be Philip's +constant companion in his walks and drives. She was forbidden to go out +at night, and they had been so in the habit of going to the play, +especially in the winter months. At first he insisted on remaining at +home with her, but she was too unselfish to allow him to sacrifice +himself. There was many an evening when she was unable to leave her +room, and when talking would bring on severe paroxysms of coughing. She +succeeded in prevailing upon him to visit the theatre without her, and +sometimes even to dine with a friend. After a time he got into the +habit of going about alone, and, although he was even more tender and +considerate than before, she felt an agonising consciousness that he +could, after all, do without her, which he had sworn ten thousand times +he never could. She began to have sleepless nights and passionate fits +of crying. Nemesis was coming upon her with gigantic strides. Philip did +not suspect that she was unhappy; he thought her illness affected her +spirits. A great change had come over her, which he deplored. She no +longer was the bright, amusing companion of yore. + +Two more years went by. Virginia was almost a confirmed invalid--she +could only get out in fine summer weather--then her spirits rallied, and +she was something of her old self again. Philip often spent his evenings +away from home now; it become a habit; he did not suspect that Virginia +suffered from his absence, but thought that it was really her wish, +dear, unselfish soul that she was, that he should go out and be amused. +And she, fearful of making him fancy that he felt a chain where none +existed, was careful never to show him by word or look that she suffered +from his absence. She tormented herself with the thought that he might +meet any day with a young and beautiful woman who would inspire again in +his breast the feeling that he had once known for her. And _she_ +remembered that she was free, even if he forgot it. Poor soul! she +recognised bitterly enough now, that the only safety for a woman is in +that bond which a man may so lightly affect to set at naught: in a +contract like hers and Philip's, the man has all to gain, the woman all +to lose. + +It was growing dusk one November afternoon, when the door of Virginia's +drawing-room was thrown open, and Lord Harford announced. A slight blush +suffused her cheek as she rose to receive him, and she appeared slightly +embarrassed. Virginia was still beautiful, though no longer very young; +she had an extremely fragile and delicate appearance, which is +attractive to some men, notably to those who, like Lord Harford, are +big, strong and robust. + +"You are not angry with me for coming, are you?" he asks almost +diffidently, as soon as the door has closed on the servant. + +"No," she answers gently. Times are changed with her since the last +occasion in which she and he stood face to face in this very room. Then +she _was_ angry, but then she was in the full flush of health and +beauty, and he was her would-be lover. There had been nothing to wound +or humiliate her in his love-making; he had come loyally to offer her +his hand and all that belonged to him, which of wealth and honor was no +mean portion. But she had been deeply stung by a man daring to remember +that she was free, and there was only one husband and lover in the world +for her. Now that, as it seemed to her, beauty and love were so far +removed from her, it was almost a pleasure to remember that she had been +beloved. + +"I have passed your door a hundred times," he says, "and never been +able to summon up courage enough to ask for you." + +"But to-day you were braver," she utters, looking at him with something +of the old smile and manner. + +"I thought perhaps you had a good many dull hours now Vansittart is so +much away." + +"How do you know that he is much away?" asks Virginia, feeling vaguely +hurt at his words and tone. + +"Because I so often meet him out." + +"Where do you meet him?" + +"Oh, at different places. Chiefly at Mrs. Devereux's." + +Lord Harford looks full in Virginia's face, and she, who is so quick, +cannot fail to see that his eyes and tone are intended to convey some +meaning. + +"Mrs. Devereux?" she says, inquiringly. "You mean his cousin." + +"Yes." + +After this there is a pause. It is as though he wanted her to question +him; as though she were fighting against the desire to know his meaning. +She conquers herself by an effort. + +"I have been very ill since you saw me last. You find me much altered, +do you not?" + +"You look delicate," he answers, "but in my eyes," lowering his voice, +"you are as beautiful as ever." + +She half-smiles, half-sighs. + +"It is very kind of you to say that," she utters, "but I cannot deceive +myself. I am an old woman now; if ever I had any good looks they are +gone." + +"They are _not_!" cries Lord Harford staunchly. "What I say is gospel +truth. I think your delicacy becomes you. I hate your great buxom, +dairymaid women." + +Virginia smiles at his earnestness. + +"Ah, if you had been mine," he goes on, "I should never have wanted to +look at another woman, young or old." + +Still that strange meaning in his tone. A chill terror creeps to +Virginia's heart--she can no longer restrain herself. + +"What do you mean?" she says, fixing her eyes on him. "You are hinting +at something--you want to convey something to my mind. If you are a +man--if you pretend to be my friend, speak out honestly." + +He rises, and takes one or two turns in the room, then stops abruptly in +front of her. + +"Will you believe me, I wonder?" he asks, "or will you think me a mean +hound who only seeks his own interest?" + +"Interest?" echoes Virginia bitterly, "what interest can it be to you?" + +"This much," he answers, a red flush mounting to his brow, "that I am as +anxious this moment to make you my wife as I was four years ago." + +Virginia makes an impatient movement with her hand. + +"Vansittart is in love with Mrs. Devereux's eldest girl, Connie. She is +a pretty little kitten of a thing, but a mere child--a doll. I go there +rather often--they are old friends of mine. Whenever I go, he is always +there." + +For a moment Virginia feels as though she were dying; then, by an +extraordinary effort, she recovers herself. + +"I would rather have my tongue cut out than tell you," Lord Harford +continues, half-ashamed, "only that I want you to know where your refuge +is if he breaks your heart. Oh!" imploringly, "why will you not care for +me who am ready to devote my life to you? Marry me, and let us go abroad +and win health for you and happiness for me!" + +His voice is broken with emotion--he takes one of her hands in his. She +is leaning back in her chair, very white--she is hardly conscious of his +action--all the hot blood in his veins cannot warm her chill white +fingers. + +"Do you think," she says at last, very slowly, "that if--if he were rid +of me, he would marry her? Does she care for him?" + +"I don't think about it. Yes, it is very strange; but, child as she is, +he has perfectly infatuated her." + +There is another long pause, during which he eagerly scans her face. +Suddenly her eyes light up, and she returns his glance. + +"Are you _really_ willing to marry me?" she says. + +"Why do you ask?" he returns, simply. "Are my eyes not honest?" + +Virginia smiles. "If you mean it," she says, "go now, and write me the +same words to-night or to-morrow." + +So, as she bids him, he goes. + + * * * * * + +Lord Harford had set down nothing in malice. What he told Virginia is +absolutely true. Philip Vansittart is in love with a gay, pretty child, +whose winsome tricks have coiled her round his heart. He has never +spoken one word of love to her, for he feels and knows himself as much +bound to Virginia as though the marriage-tie he once so utterly abhorred +linked them. He no longer, strange to say, thinks and speaks so evilly +of marriage. Were he free, would he not joyfully chain himself with all +the bonds that church and society can impose to this sweet young life +which would make him young again? He has no thought or desire to blast +this girl-life as he had done Virginia's. Perish the thought! When these +ideas come to him, he hates and loathes himself; he makes superhuman +efforts to drive them away--but the limpid blue eyes come and look at +him over his briefs; the childish voice rings in his ears in the night +watches! He grows pale and haggard. At last he makes a mighty resolve. + +"Virginia," he says, two nights after Lord Harford's visit to her, "let +us be married!" + +He takes her hand kindly, but his eyes do not meet hers, and the tender +inflection of yore is missing from his voice. + +Virginia betrays no surprise. Poor soul! She understands too well. + +"Why?" she says quietly. "I think we are very well as we are." + +"No," he returns hastily, "we are not! My views have changed on the +subject--changed entirely. Marriage is the best thing. It decides your +fate. To live as we do is neither one thing nor the other." + +"You forget," she says, in a tone so calm as to be almost unnatural. +"This state has great advantages. There is no tie between us. If either +of us tired of the other, there is nothing to hinder our parting, +to-morrow--to-night even." He looks at her, speechless with amazement. +Her eyes do not flinch from his. "If," she continues, with that terrible +calmness,--"if you wanted to marry Miss Constance Devereux; if I wished +to marry--let us say, Lord Harford--there is nothing to prevent it +except," slowly, "the unwritten law of a faithful heart." + +Philip Vansittart leans his face between his hands. He cannot find a +word to say. He is smitten with remorse, for he knows well enough that +she is faithful. But why that allusion to Lord Harford? + +"What do you mean about Harford?" he asks presently. + +"He wants me to marry him," replied Virginia quietly. "He asked me four +years ago; he asked me again the day before yesterday." + +She draws a letter from her pocket, and scans Philip's face as he reads +it. When he has finished, he looks at her. She understands his glance +but too well. There is an only half-suppressed eagerness--a +half-suppressed hope in it. + +"What shall I do?" she says, so quietly that it deceives him. + +"There is no better fellow living than Harford," he says cordially. "If +you thought you could be happy with him; if--" + +He stops abruptly. There is a look of such terrible agony in Virginia's +face that he starts up and takes her hand. + +"No, no," he cries. "Let it be as I said. Let us marry each other. It is +the only thing to be done." + +Virginia's ears, sharpened by suffering, catch the dreary tone of the +concluding words. + + * * * * * + +Next morning, when Philip, according to custom, went to Virginia's room, +he found her asleep. From that sleep she never woke. One more of those +unfortunate cases of an overdose of chloral. The deceased lady had +suffered much from sleeplessness, and always kept the fatal drug by her +bedside. + +The church gave its blessing, and society smiled when that heretic and +sceptic Mr. Vansittart led his charming girl-bride to the altar a few +months later. It was whispered that there had been an--entanglement, but +that was all hushed up now, and he had become a respectable member of +society. + + + + + +MR. JOSIAH SMITH'S BALLOON JOURNEY. + + +It would be an injustice to Josiah to suppose that he limited his quest +in the field of knowledge to that particular portion indicated by his +honoured association with a distinguished society. He was proud in his +modest way, if the paradox be permitted, when he produced his card, on +which was engraved "Josiah Smith, F.R.S.A." Also it was known amongst +his friends that casual references to his great work on "Underground +England" were not displeasing to him. But, as he was wont to say, "The +surest way of finding either mental or bodily recreation is to seek it +in fresh fields of labour." + +Thus it came to pass one evening in the spring of this year that Josiah, +having shut himself in all day with the determination to make up for +lost time, found he had, with the aid of cold tea and wet bandages, +added as much as half a page to his great work. Feeling the need of a +little change of thought and association, he had availed himself of an +invitation kindly sent to him to join the meeting of an aeronautic +society. Josiah had listened with profound attention to the various +speeches made, and had thought, really, when he had a little more time +he would devote it to the fascinating science of aeronautics. + +Amongst the guests of the society, and indeed the hero of the evening, +was Captain Mulberry, the famous guardsman who devoted much natural +talent and a considerable portion of his life to the endeavour either to +kill or hopelessly maim himself. Evil fortune had kept his sword +stainless, as far as regular warfare went, but there was generally a +little fighting going on somewhere, and, the captain's leave of absence +coinciding, he from time to time managed to sniff the exhilarating smell +of powder, and knew the music of bullet and shell. These things were +surrounded with difficulties. It obviously would not do for a man +bearing Her Majesty's commission to lend his sword to one or other +belligerents in a conflict between nations at peace with England. In a +country like Spain, for example, things naturally run a little +irregularly and the captain being on the spot may have occasionally +lapsed into battle. + +But these were mere episodes. Having tried most things, he had taken to +ballooning, as offering the largest amount of risk in the least possible +space of time. He had been up in all kinds of balloons in all possible +circumstances, and had come down in various ways. He had just now +achieved a great feat, making a voyage from the Grampian Hills to the +Orkney Islands. The society desiring to do him honour had invited him to +this meeting, and Josiah had heard him describe his perilous voyage. + +"A mere nothing," he said; "perhaps a little difficult going, but +nothing at all coming back. The difficulty in going out was to drop on +the Orkneys. The place is so small that when you are up in the air it +looks as if you might as well try to drop on a pin's point. But after +all, it was a nothing--a mere nothing, gentlemen, I assure you. Any one +of you could have done the same." + +Every one in the room was delighted, not less with the captain's +gallantry than with his modesty. Many moving stories of his escapes were +retailed. Josiah listened with enthralled attention to an adventure +which, it seems, the captain had had in Spain, and which Josiah's +companion (a bald-headed gentleman with spectacles) narrated with great +effect. Mulberry in one of the marches of the Carlists, to whom he had +attached himself, was surprised and taken prisoner by the enemy. They +locked him in the kitchen of a farmhouse near, mentioning incidentally +that in the morning they would shoot him. They took away his sword and +pistols; and would have taken his umbrella, but the captain pleaded hard +for its society, declaring that from early boyhood he had never been +able to sleep without an umbrella under his pillow. The Spaniards had +heard much of the eccentricity of Englishmen, and not being inclined to +refuse the request of a doomed man, they left him the umbrella. + +The next morning, when they came to take him out for shooting purposes, +lo! the captain and the umbrella were both gone. There was a good deal +of soot about the place, and regarding this and other signs of hasty +flight the truth flashed upon the Spaniards. There had been a fire in +the grate. The captain had opened the umbrella inside the chimney, +waited till it had been inflated with the warm air, and then, hanging on +the handle, had been drawn up clear to the top and descending in a +neighbouring field, had shut up his umbrella and walked off. + +"Dear me!" said Josiah; "how very interesting. I suppose the chimneys +are wide in Spain?" + +"Very wide indeed," said the bald-headed gentleman in spectacles. + +Josiah regarded the captain with fresh interest after the recital of +this remarkable ascent, and it was not diminished by further tales he +heard. One related to his reception by an Illustrious Personage. After +his journey to Orkney the I.P. had sent for him immediately on his +return to town. The captain had put on his uniform and gone cheerfully. +He had heard so much of his feat that he began to think there really was +something creditable in it, and fancied the Illustrious Personage might +be going to bestow upon him some recognition of the service he had done +in blazoning abroad the pluck of the British soldier. On the contrary, +he found the Illustrious Person almost speechless with wrath, and +stuffed with oaths like plums in a Christmas pudding. + +"What--what was the meaning of this flying by night, sir?" he cried +turning a flaming visage upon the contrite captain. "You'll be going +round with a circus next, riding five horses at a time, or walking round +to show your muscle. I hope I shall hear no more of this sort of thing. +Such goings-on bring disgrace upon the army and discredit upon its +officers. Stop at home, sir, and get into what mischief you like. Go and +idle your time at playing cards or worse; but don't be playing these +pranks any more. Did you ever see _me_ in a balloon, sir? Did you ever +hear of _me_ skimming around the world in search of adventure?" + +The Illustrious Personage drew himself up to full height, and swelled +visibly before the eyes of the captain, as he angrily put these +questions, garnished with many ejaculations. He knew that our army swore +terribly in Flanders, and was nothing if not a soldier. + +"Your Royal Highness cannot blame us if we sometimes go out of our way +to get into danger," said the captain, saluting. "Your Royal Highness +has much to answer for by inflaming us with the memory of Inkermann. How +can we sit still or lounge about in our peaceful homes, when we think of +you on that day?" + +"Tut, tut!" said the Illustrious Personage, spluttering down like a +fire on which a bucket of water had been flung, "that was a different +thing. But come and dine with me to-night: only, drive up in a hansom, +don't arrive in a balloon." + +And the Illustrious Personage, what with enjoyment of the joke, and what +with muscular effort to suppress his laughter, nearly brought about a +vacancy in the highest rank of the army. + +All this was doubtless as true as the story about the exit from the +Spanish farmhouse. But it pleased the company, and was only one of a +dozen stories they told about the captain, who was chiefly longing to be +out where he could smoke a cigar. + +When the meeting came to an end, Josiah walked along Pall Mall +meditating on things, and on the comparative obscurity of the work he +had assigned to himself. Whilst others were soaring in high places, he +was burrowing underground. Both were in search of knowledge. Both +desired to benefit their fellow-men. But of the two Josiah felt that the +aeronauts had the advantage of the undergrounders. It was too late for +him to think of striking out a new path; but he thought that if he had +to begin life again he would soar. + +Whilst pondering on these matters, he was startled by a heavy hand laid +upon his shoulder, and heard a cheery voice exclaim: + +"Got a match in your pocket, old man?" + +He looked up, and there, somewhere on a level with the lantern in the +neighbouring lamp-post, was the genial face of Captain Mulberry. + +"No," said Josiah, "I'm sorry I have not." + +"Don't smoke, eh? You don't look the kind of old boy to have any +pleasant vices. I saw you in the Balloon Society's rooms just now, and +rather took a fancy to you." + +"You are very kind," Josiah said, blushing up to where in earlier and +happier days the roots of his hair had been. "I am sure I feel it a +great honour." + +"If you don't mind me saying so, I think you're the innocentest-looking +old boy I have seen in a day's ride. I like innocence, particularly when +combined with middle age. It is the rarest thing in the world. I hope +you'll come and dine with me some night at my club." + +"I shall like it very much indeed," said Josiah, "We are close at my +rooms--just here in King Street I live--and if you would step in, you +might light your cigar." + +"Thanks, I will. You won't mind me making up to you in this way; but +'pon my honour, I took such a liking to your face, seeing it among that +mass of humbug where we were just now, that I was going to speak to you +then, only I could not get near you." + +Josiah was in a tremor of delight, which presently subsided into a soft +glow of contentment, as the captain, stretching himself out over as much +of the couch as he could find in the little room, not only lit his +cigar, but praised Josiah's claret and told him a good deal more of his +balloon adventures than he had communicated to the eminent society in +whose rooms they had met. + +"By the way," he said, "I am going to make a balloon excursion +to-morrow. I didn't mention it to the society because these fellows gab +so. There'd be a great crowd round, and I'd only have been hampered. +When you mean work, the less you say about it beforehand the better. +That is what I have always found. Ever up in a balloon?" + +"No," said Josiah, "but I should very much like to go." + +He had drunk a whole tumbler of claret in honour of his distinguished +company, and, being accustomed to more moderate measure, had begun to +think going up in a balloon was after all a mere ordinary performance. + +"What do you ride?" asked the captain, looking him up and down, as if +either about to measure him for a suit of clothes, or considering where +he could most advantageously plant a blow from his ox-hoof-like fist. + +"A pony--at least, I used to ride a pony when I was at home: but that is +a long time ago, and I have not ridden much since." + +"I mean, what do you weigh," said the captain, laughing. + +"A little over ten stone." + +"Is it possible! why, I pull the scales at seventeen stun. I'd give +something to be your weight. Think of the ballast you might take up with +you!" + +"Is that an important thing?" Josiah asked, his old instinct of gaining +knowledge manifesting itself. + +"It's simply everything. That's how I managed to get over to the +Orkneys. These fellows that go up in balloons which they fit up like +first-floor rooms, and take everything with them except a feather bed, +don't know anything about it. They go fumbling around with a few pounds +of ballast, and when they get into a wrong current there they stick. +Now, between you and me, Mr. Smith, I don't mind telling you my secret +of successful ballooning. Take as much ballast as you can carry, and +when you get stuck in a calm or carried off by a wrong current, out goes +your ballast, up you shoot, get into another current, and there you are. +Ten stun!" he murmured, gazing wistfully upon the spare figure of his +host. "There ought to be a good deal done with that. Tell you what, old +chappie, you shall come with me to-morrow." + +Josiah had been a few moments ago possessed with a burning desire to go +up in a balloon, but at these words the fire went out and he felt a cold +chill steal over his body. Still, he would like to go; but not +to-morrow. If it were next month or next week it would be different. But +to-morrow was so sudden. + +"I rather fancy I have an engagement to-morrow," he said, producing his +pocket diary and anxiously gazing on it in the month of December. + +"Nonsense!" said the captain, laying his large hand on Josiah's +shoulder, conveying to him an impression that if he pleased he could +take him up, put him in his coat-tail pocket, walk off, and think no +more about him till he landed him in a balloon. "You've no engagement, +and if you had you couldn't find it by holding your book upside down. +You come along with me. There's not the slightest danger, and it's not +every man who has crossed the Channel in a balloon." + +"The Channel!" cried Josiah feebly. He had thought of some little +excursion. Perhaps in the fields ten or twenty miles off. "I don't think +I would like to start with the Channel. Suppose we begin somewhere else, +and try the Channel later on. It will be better--if anything happened, +you know--to have the water warm." + +"Nonsense," said the captain cheerily; "we shall never be nearer the +water than 2,000 feet. We'll dine in Paris to-morrow night, and I'll +take you to the Closerie after dinner. It will do them good to see you +there. Now that's settled, and you'd better go to bed straight off. +We'll have to be up early in the morning to catch the mail train for +Dover. I've got my balloon there all ready, and we'll start about noon." + +This was perfectly horrible. Josiah felt as if it was a hideous +nightmare, and he had a dim hope that presently he would wake up. But +there was the burly form of the captain before him, with his third cigar +sticking in the side of his mouth, and a pleased smile upon his face in +anticipation of this new adventure. + +Those who have learned something of the character of Josiah by reading +earlier chapters of his history, will not need to be told how this +ended. If he had been in company of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, +when they started on their progress through the fiery furnace, and if +they had insisted upon his accompanying them, he would have smiled +feebly, and gone--that is, if he could not by some means or other slink +away out of sight. Now, if he could have gone out of the door on some +pretence and run off, down King Street, he would have borne the +subsequent shame and humiliation. But he knew that the captain would +have been up with him in five strides. So he determined to make the best +of it, drank another tumbler of claret, and became almost hysterically +eager for the morning. + +"I'll see you don't oversleep yourself," were the last words of the +captain as he went off. "I'll look you up and take you down to Victoria +in my hansom. You needn't bring any luggage, you know. A clean shirt and +a tooth-brush will see you through." + +Thus faded Josiah's last and secret hope, one he had cherished even +whilst he drank his claret and talked boldly of aerial navigation. He +might, he had thought, peradventure oversleep himself and miss the +train, and all would be well. But the captain would call for him, and +there was plainly no escape. However, he had made his will, and +"Underground England" was in such an advanced stage that it might be +published as "a fragment," and would be sufficient to carry his name +down to remotest posterity. Whether it were sweeter thus to vex public +desire, to give so much and no more, or to satiate the public with the +full accomplishment, was a nice question. Josiah was inclined to think +that, other things being equal, he would just as soon live to finish his +work. But he had no choice, and after all, the voyage might end happily. +Captain Mulberry was an experienced aeronaut. He had never failed, and +why should failure be probable now? + +Josiah made up his mind upon this point, that if they got safely across +in the balloon he would come back by the ordinary boat express. Having +once shown his possession of a daring spirit, he would be at liberty to +declare his preference for a more prosaic mode of locomotion. + +How he got down to Dover he did not know. It all seemed a dream. He had +a dim recollection of the captain thundering at his door at six o'clock +in the morning. He remembered lighting his Etna, making his cup of +coffee, and thinking as he drank it it might be his last. Then they must +have caught the train. In fact, he remembered the sound of the rushing +carriage, the darkness of the tunnel, the glories of the dawning day, +and felt around him the bright fresh sunlit air that made all nature +glad. + +They drove out to the balloon, which was down by the gas-works, and was +now in process of inflation. Josiah looked upon the monster, swerving +first to the right, then to the left, and threatening every moment to +break its bonds and go off on its own account. If it only would, what a +happy conclusion of this painful adventure! But he could see there was +no such danger. The captain was as cheerful as a lark, and looked with +kindling eye upon what Josiah regarded as his coffin. + +Still, it was no use complaining. A man must die some time; and though +there is much to be said against the process being hurried on by +unnecessary attempts to cross the Channel in a balloon when there are +well-appointed packet-boats, it was no use arguing the matter. + +There settled upon Josiah a certain mood of quiet despair. What must be +must, and it was better to avoid a scene and imitate as closely as +possible the cheerful indifference of the captain. + +"Now, old man, in you tumble," said the captain. "Sit down in the bottom +of the car, and keep quiet till we get past this stack of chimneys. If +we run into them it's all over; but I reckon I'll take you clear." + +This was a cheerful thing to start with. Josiah had pictured all kinds +of horrors, ending with the certainty of dropping into the sea. That +they should begin with a stack of chimneys was an unexpected +aggravation. Still, it might be better to get it over at once. At least, +he would fall on land, and the fragments picked up would receive +Christian burial. + +He got in and sat in the bottom of the car. It was, he noticed, +something like one of the coracles of which he had made mention in the +preface to "Underground England." There was something good in that. The +Romans made long journeys In the coracle. If the worst came to the +worst, they might float. + +Even in the anguish of his mind, he couldn't help wondering when Captain +Mulberry would finish coming in. He had never before noticed how tall he +was, till he found the necessity of getting out of the way of his legs +as he crept between the ropes into the car. + +"Let go all!" cried the captain, and Josiah felt his last hour had come. +He held his breath and stuck to his hat, being under the impression that +the whole affair would shoot up into the air like a rocket. He expected +to be deafened by the noise of whizzing through the air, and to be half +suffocated with the rush of wind. Looking over to get a last look at the +nature of the soil on which he would presently fall, Josiah beheld a +strange sight. As far as he knew, the balloon was motionless, while the +earth was dropping rapidly from under them as if the laws of gravitation +were irrevocably broken and the world was falling through space. + +"Done it!" he heard the captain cry in a voice that sounded curiously +remote. + +"Done what?" said Josiah, anxiously looking up. + +"Why, the chimney-stack. Just cleared it by half a foot. I didn't like +to say much about it, but it was a pretty near touch-and-go affair. +That's the worst of filling a balloon. You must do it near a gasworks, +and there's sure to be a stack of chimneys at hand." + +It seemed but a moment since Josiah had heard the captain call out "Let +go all," and there they were in space a thousand feet above the level of +the land, sailing calmly along in bright warm sunlight, and with no more +motion perceptible than if they were still sitting in the room in King +Street--that cherished apartment which Josiah felt his eye would never +light on more. + +"This won't do," said the captain sternly; "we've got in the wrong +current, and instead of going out to sea we are going inland. In half an +hour we'll be at Canterbury." + +"I have heard Canterbury's a very nice old town," said Josiah. "It +wouldn't be a bad place to stop at; and if the wind's contrary to-day, +it might be right to-morrow." + +The captain said nothing, and Josiah, looking up to see what effect his +suggestion might have, noticed for the first time that on a face usually +smiling there were possibilities of a fixed hard look which it evidently +didn't beseem him to trifle with. + +The balloon slowly rose till the aneroid marked a height of 1,500 feet +and still the current drove it steadily north-west. Looking southward, +Josiah beheld a sight which, if it were the last he was ever to look +upon, was at least a glorious glimpse of earth, and sky, and sea. There +lay the Channel gleaming in the sun, a broad belt of silver. Beyond it, +like a cloud, was France. Dover had vanished even to the crest of the +castle on the hill. But Josiah knew where it was by the mist that lay +over it and shone white in the rays of the sun. Save for this patch of +mist, which seemed to drift with the voyagers far below the car, there +was nothing to obscure the range of vision. Josiah could not at any time +make out forms of people. The white highways that ran like threads among +the fields, and the tiny openings in the towns and villages which he +guessed were streets, seemed to belong to a dead world, for nowhere was +there trace of living person. The strange stillness that brooded over +the earth was made more uncanny by cries that occasionally seemed to +float in the air around them, behind, before, to the right or to the +left, but never exactly beneath the car. They could hear people calling, +and the captain said that they were running after the balloon and +cheering. But Josiah could distinguish no moving thing. Yes; once he saw +some pheasants running across a field below and pointed them out to the +captain. The captain laughed, a strange resonant laugh it seemed in this +upper stillness, and said they were "a lot of chestnut horses capering +about in the field." A flock of sheep in another field huddled together, +looked like a heap of limestone chippings. As for the fields, stretched +out in illimitable extent, far as the eye could reach, they seemed to +form a gigantic carpet, with patterns chiefly diamond-shaped, and in +colour shaded from bright emerald to russet brown. + +"This won't do," the captain said again, and seizing a bag of ballast +he emptied it. The balloon swiftly rose, and the aneroid marked 2,500 +feet. The villages seemed mere spots, the pattern of the carpet grew +blurred. Nothing was distinguishable--nor horse, nor sheep, nor any +living thing. + +"Hurrah!" cried the captain, "we're off now." + +Nearer and nearer came the belt of silver which seemed to girdle +continent and island. They were close to Dover, and could make out the +town. Josiah, knowing well the irregular plan on which the streets are +laid out, was struck by the manner in which, as looked down upon from +this height, they formed themselves into beautifully defined curves, +straight lines, and other highly respectable geometrical shapes. They +saw the castle and the pier with what seemed to be ants crawling on it. +A little patch of colour, that to Josiah looked like a ball of scarlet +worsted, was, the captain said, a sentry on duty. + +"There's Shakespeare's Cliff," said the captain. "The Earl of Gloucester +should be with us now:-- + + How fearful + And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low! + The crows and choughs that wing the midway air + Show scarce so gross as beetles; half-way down + Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade! + Methinks he seems no bigger than his head: + The fishermen that walk upon the beach + Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark, + Diminish'd to her cock; her cock, a buoy + Almost too small for sight." + +"I'll look no more," said Josiah, who also knew his Shakespeare. + + "Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight + Topple down headlong." + +It was passing strange and at first dreadful, this intense silence and +this strangeness of the familiar earth. But after a while everything +like terror passed away from Josiah's mind. He began to feel the +fascination of the thing. His spirits rose as he breathed the delicious +air, and when the captain said, "We are over the water now," and Josiah +looking down discerned the sea gleaming below, he could have clapped his +hands for joy. + +"This is splendid," said the captain. "We'll be across in half an hour. +We'll catch the train for Paris, and you shall dance at the Closerie +to-night." + +Josiah didn't dance, and didn't know what the Closerie might be. But he +was not without susceptibility to the allurement of a quiet dinner in +Paris, and began to feel the exhilaration of having accomplished a +perilous feat, to which he would certainly drag in some reference in his +great work. It would be difficult, as he was as far as possible remote +from Underground England. But it might be worked in some antithetical +sentence. + +After they had sailed for the space of ten minutes the captain, who had +been throwing out bits of paper which they left far behind, suddenly +said a bad word. + +"We are becalmed," he continued, and truly the bits of paper flung out +floated idly round the balloon. "We must get out of this." + +He cast out the ballast, bag after bag, and higher still they soared. +Nevertheless, whenever they flung out the bits of paper, they floated +here and there, some dropping back into the car. + +"There goes our last bag of ballast," said the captain, "and may luck go +with it. We are lost men unless it takes us into another current, which +let us hope won't be coming from the East and carry us out into the +Atlantic." + +Up again they mounted, how many feet Josiah didn't know, but he was +sensible of a sudden iciness in the atmosphere, a tingling of the blood +at his finger ends, and a strong disposition to bleed at the nose. The +captain threw out some more bits of paper. Still they circled round and +round, dropping into the car or falling to the distant earth now utterly +out of sight. They had passed through the cloud, and had above them a +chilly sun and an intensely blue sky. Below them were the clouds, on one +of which was clearly caught the shadow of the balloon. Josiah, when he +moved his head, could see an answering motion on the cloud, and +recognised the reflection of the captain's figure, sitting stern and +erect, with his teeth set and a look of angry determination on his brow. + +This frightened Josiah a great deal more than the captain's words. He +felt that they were lost in space, and that the end must speedily come. +This terrible look on the captain's face made him sick at heart. + +"Mr. Smith," said the captain, speaking scarcely above a whisper, but +his voice sounded as if he were shouting from the housetops, "you told +me you were _not_ a married man." + +"Yes," said Josiah, "I have never been married." + +"That is so, or I should not have asked you to come with me. And you +have not many relations?" + +"No," said Josiah, "there are not many that would miss me." + +"Very well," said the captain; "I have; but your life is as valuable as +mine, and I would hold you at no disadvantage. The fact is, we are +becalmed, and there is no prospect of any wind reaching us here till +night, when we shan't know which way we are drifting, and may as well +give up all hope. There is wind overhead, I know, and it is going +straight for France. If we could get up another thousand feet or so, we +should catch the current and be over land in ten minutes. But all the +ballast has gone, and there is only one thing to be done." + +"What's that?" asked Josiah faintly. + +"One of us must go overboard," said the captain. + +Josiah felt his heart sink within him. + +"I am not sure that it would be much use my going over," the captain +continued, discussing the matter as quietly as if he were arranging what +they should have for dinner. "I'm such a thundering weight, you'd shoot +up till you bumped your head against Jupiter; and besides, you would not +know what to do with the balloon if I was gone. Still, I think we should +have equal chances. Now, I'll give you the first chance. You get hold of +me and try to push me over. If I go, you will find the balloon shoot up; +but don't be frightened: you'll be all right in a bit, and can let out a +few feet of gas. If you can't get me over--well, I must try to get _you_ +over. Hold on a bit till I light a cigar." + +In the calm still air the captain struck a light, bending low in the car +to avoid contact of flame and gas, bit the end of a cigar, and lit it. +Josiah, shaking with terror, could see in the shadow of the balloon on +the cloud the smoke curling up from the cigar and lazily spreading +itself out. + +"Now, old chappie," said the captain, "I'm ready. Heave hard, and over I +go." + +What was the use of disputing with a man like this? Josiah never had +been inclined to fight with men of strong will. He was certain he could +not move the captain, but he was able to try, and try he did. He got one +foot over the car, the captain encouraging him and cheerfully smoking. + +"Very well done, old man. A few more tugs, and over we go. I'll just +have time to finish my cigar before I get to the bottom." + +Josiah tugged and tugged till he felt the warm blood rushing through his +veins and his breath came short But though he might move one of the +captain's colossal legs, which seemed to his disordered fancy to be the +size of the Monument, he could do no more. The captain sat passive, +encouraging him by every kindly phrase he could think of. But it was of +no use, and after ten minutes' violent struggling Josiah threw himself +back in the car. + +"Very sorry, old man," said the captain, with a tone of unmistakable +sincerity. "Thought once you'd have done it; but I've got a little out +of training lately and run up half a stun. Now I must see what I can do +with you." + +First of all he tore off some slips of paper and threw them out. Josiah +looked at them with hungry eyes. Round and round they spun, falling back +into the car or dropping to the world beyond the clouds. There was no +hope of movement for the balloon. + +"Well, Mr. Smith, it's your turn now. I must see what I can do. It's not +nice for either of us, but it would be no nicer to stay here and be +starved to death or blown out to sea. You won't feel anything after the +first rush. Good-bye. I am sorry there will be no opportunity of my +communicating with you as to the result of this interesting experiment. +I don't suppose," the captain added, his love of scientific research +increasing his unfeigned regret for the inconvenience Josiah was about +to suffer, "that ever before ten stun was dropped out of a car in a +lump. I reckon I'll get as high as most people have been. Now, if you've +any message, just hand it over. If I can do anything for you in King +Street or anywhere else, you may depend upon me." + +"No," said Josiah, gulping down a rising sob; "if you will only say I +went off bravely and didn't flinch, that will be all. Perhaps you might +write a few lines by way of preface to 'Underground England,' pointing +out that I died in the interests of science." + +"Certainly, my dear fellow, it shall be done," said the captain, with +quite a glow of honest energy. "If you'd like a little monument or +anything of that sort, I'll see it's run up. Now, over you go. Time's +getting on, and I don't want to miss the Paris train. Give us a shake of +your paw, then shut your eyes, for I fancy I shan't have much difficulty +with you. Heave your watch over or take it with you!" + +"If you wouldn't mind accepting it," said Josiah, pulling out his fine +old turnip-shaped time-piece, "as a memento of our friendship--which, +though brief, has I trust been sincere--it would give me great +pleasure." + +"Certainly," said the captain, weighing it in his hand critically, and +thinking to himself that it might serve as ballast in a last emergency. +"I'll hang it over my bed, and will think of you whenever it ticks. +Nothing more to say?" + +"No," said Josiah; "only, please to drop me feet first." + +The captain took him in his arms as if he were a child, held him for a +moment over the side of the car, and with a cheery farewell dropped him. + +Josiah felt his hat go, and could see the balloon shoot up with +tremendous rapidity, though, as he reckoned, the rate of velocity would +need to be divided by about half, as he was simultaneously descending +rapidly. He felt the rush of air, and shrank from the moment, coming +nearer and nearer, when he should strike the earth. He seemed an +unconscionably long time falling. Still, through the clouds he went, +and, it seemed to him at the end of five minutes, began to get glimpses +of the earth. Down he went like a shot. The rushing noise in his ears +grew more intolerable. There was a swift upgrowth of the hedgerows, a +sudden vision of cows and horses, and of people running across fields. +Then a heavy bump, and Josiah, opening his eyes, found himself lying on +the floor in the room in King Street. + +On the table were an empty claret bottle and two tumblers. The room was +full of the smoke, now growing stale, of cigars. Josiah was shivering +with cold, and the room was dark save from what light flickered in from +the lamp down the street. He struck a light, and there in its accustomed +place on the mantelpiece was his watch, the hands pointing to three +o'clock. Dazed and shivering he crept into bed, where he thought the +matter over, and amid much that was bewildering groped his way to the +conclusion that Captain Mulberry really had come into his room, had +spent an hour with him, smoked cigars, drunk claret, and then gone off. +He remembered standing at the head of the stairs shaking hands with him, +and promising to dine with him at his club one day in the following +week. Then he had gone back and lain on the couch, where, overcome with +the unaccustomed tumbler of claret and dazed with the tobacco smoke, he +had fallen asleep, dreamed, and rolled off on to the floor. + +HENRY W. LUCY. + + + + + +NUMBER 7639. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +A poor garret on the sixth floor of one of the poorest houses in the +poorest quarters of Paris, does not give much opportunity for a detailed +description. There is little to be said about the furniture, which in +this case consisted of a rickety old table, a wooden stool, and a small +charcoal stove, all of the commonest kind, but all clean, and the room +was not quite without adornment. The window, to be sure, was in the +roof, but pinned to the wall were a few newspaper prints in strong +blacks and whites, and--most remarkable of all--there was an alcove for +the bed, which was carefully shut off from the room by a gaily +variegated chintz. In spite of its poverty and bareness, there was +nothing squalid or unwholesome about the place. + +The house itself was a tall narrow slip. People of different callings, +and different degrees of respectability, lived in it; on the whole it +had not a bad character. The landlord was an immensely fat man, called +Plon--a name which, irresistibly converted into Plon-Plon, seemed to +give an aristocratic air to the house--and he lived and made shoes in a +small room at the foot of the lowest flight of stairs, so that he acted +as his own _concierge_, and boasted that no one came in or out without +his knowledge. Probably some of his lodgers contrived to elude his +vigilance, but he was as obstinate in his belief as an old Norman has a +right to be, and was a kind-hearted old fellow in the main, though with +the reputation of a _grognard_, and a ridiculous fear of being +discovered in a good action. Perhaps with this fear, the more credit was +due to him for occasionally running the risk, as when he saw young +Monnier, the artist, coming down the stairs one evening with a look in +his eyes, which Plon told himself gave him an immediate shuddering +back-sensation, as of cold water and marble slabs. Plon did something +for him, perhaps knocked off the rent, but he implored Monnier to show +his gratitude by saying nothing, and he never gave him more of a +greeting than the sidelong twist he vouchsafed to the other lodgers. For +the rest, his benevolence depended in a great measure upon his temper, +and he prided himself upon being very terrible at times. + +With five floors we have nothing to do, and need waste no time over +them. The inmates mostly went out early and came in late, but the house +kept better hours than its neighbours, for the simple reason that those +who arrived after a certain time found themselves shut into the street +for the night. They might hammer and appeal in the strongest language +of their vocabulary, but Plon snored unmoved, and nothing short of a +fire in the house would have turned him out of his bed. Gradually this +became so well understood, that his lodgers accommodated themselves to +it as to any other of the inexorable laws of fate. + +On the sixth and highest floor the crowded house resolved itself into +comparative quiet. Besides the garret of which we have spoken, there +were two other rooms, but for some years past these had been used merely +as store-rooms for furniture. No one knew to whom the furniture +belonged, some curious speculators avowing that Plon had a child--a +girl--at school in Normandy, and had collected it as part of her dowry; +others that some mysterious tie of gratitude bound him to the owner. +Whoever was right or wrong, the rooms remained closed and unlet. + +The garret itself was inhabited by a young widow, whose story was +sufficiently sad. She was the daughter of a farmer in the north of +France, and married to a glazier, Jean Didier by name, with whom she had +come to Paris in search of work. If there had been no war, and, above +all, no Commune, things might have gone well with the young couple, but, +unhappily, one followed the other, and there was an end of peace. Jean +was no fool, but he was too certain that he was extremely wise not to +make mistakes, and he possessed enough of the French nature to be easily +influenced by the brag and fine promises which filled the air at that +time. It is always satisfactory to reflect on changes which assure us +the highest step of a ladder, which ordinarily takes a life-time for a +step. Jean talked a great deal about it, not only to Marie, who would +have been safe, but to others who agreed with him more thoroughly, and +were dangerous. Nevertheless, when the Commune, in March, 1871, broke +into actual life, and Jean began to see what it all meant, he was +terrified by the outburst and held back. Things which look seductive in +theory, have a way of losing their gloss when they appear as hard +realities, with accompaniments which do not belong to the ideals; and +the rabble rout of half-drunk citizens who marched, shouting, through +the streets of the 19th _arrondissement_, frightened Marie out of her +senses. She clung to Jean, and implored him not to join them on pain of +breaking her heart. To do him justice, common sense, perhaps aided by a +desire to keep out of the way of rifle-balls, was proving stronger than +bombast; and, to do him justice again, he was desirous to keep others +than himself from danger. + +It was this which brought about the catastrophe. May came, and with it +the conquering troops from Versailles poured into the city. It was +sufficiently clear what the end would be; Jean, who never distrusted his +own reasoning powers, insisted, in spite of his wife's prayers and +Plon's expostulations, in going out into the streets, and trying to +dissuade some of his comrades from fighting. He promised to return +immediately, but he did not come, Marie became almost frenzied with +terror. She would have rushed out to seek him, but that she knew not +where to turn, and if he came, wanting help, and she was not there to +give it, matters might go hardly with him. The din of battle drew +nearer, shells were falling, bullets were whizzing, it seemed hardly +possible that any one could escape, and yet, men went by shouting and +singing, mad with either drink or excitement. Plon, after entreating +Madame Didier to come farther into shelter, shut himself into his little +room with a white face, and was seen no more. Everything seemed to grow +more horrid as the night drew on. + +At about ten o'clock, Plon, hearing voices in the passage, peeped out. +There still stood Madame Didier, wan as a ghost, but with the restless +excitement gone. A man was speaking to her, an elderly, grimy, +frightened-looking man, with a bald head. He was telling a story in a +dull, hopeless kind of way, as if at such a time no one story was +particularly distinguished from another, and pity had to wait for +quieter seasons. + +"He was shot in the next street; Jean says he never wished to go with +them, but they forced him along. After that he got into a doorway, where +he might have hidden himself, but Fort saw him, and denounced him. Fort +might have left him alone, as it was he your husband was trying to +persuade, but at such a time men look after their own skins. They +dragged him out and set him up with some others against a wall, and +that was the end of him, and of a good many others." + +His listener flung up her hands with a gesture of wild despair, and +turned her face to the wall, speechless. The man, who was by trade a +_trieur_ or chief _chiffonnier_, seeing Plon's head appear, +turned round and addressed himself to him. + +"Fort is a traitor, he has denounced others. They will be here presently +searching for arms. It is short work I can tell you." + +"And my--my _locataire_ is shot!" murmured Plon, panic-struck. But the +man whose mission was ended, turned round without another word and went +out into the lurid darkness. + +The landlord made a trembling effort to stagger across the passage, and +to pluck at Marie's gown. When he spoke, his voice quavered with fright. + +"Come, come, Madame Didier, go upstairs, and--and--cry there like a good +woman. Here it isn't safe. Besides, if they know who you are, I might be +compromised. Poor Jean! Heavens!--" + +For a volley of rifle shot poured down the street, a rush of feet +followed; and Plon fled precipitously to his den, double-bolted his +door, and rolled his mattress round him for protection. Marie Didier +slowly turned her head, and, as if recognising the wisdom of his advice, +felt her way along the wall and groped up the dark staircase. No one had +lit the small oil lamp on the _premier_, but light from burning houses +flashed in at windows; a child had been killed by the fragment of a +shell, and the mother was loudly wailing; some were peering out of +their doorways; they stared at Marie, who crept up like a ghost. In this +rookery the young couple had kept themselves apart, and had no friends. +But it was instinctively known that something had happened to Jean, and +only one woman was bold enough to question the wife. She answered +steadily in a strange strained voice: + +"They are searching the houses. We shall have them soon." + +It was, however, an hour before a party of soldiers made a rough +visitation. They dragged Plon out of his mattress, and made him climb +the stairs, panting and protesting. When they reached the top garret, +Marie was sitting in the darkness, with her arms on the poor table; she +did not move as they entered. + +"Bring in the lantern!" shouted the sergeant. "Now, good woman, who have +you got hiding here?" + +She turned a white face upon him, speechless. Plon, who was recovering +his pomposity, pressed forward, and laid a hand on the soldier's arm. + +"Don't worry her, sergeant," he said, "her husband has just been shot." + +"Serve him right," said the man brutally. "Are there more of the brood +about?" + +"Not a soul. They lived here alone, these two." + +"Well, we'll see." + +"No cupboards here," said a soldier, whose face was bleeding from a +bayonet scratch. + +"There's a trap door, though," said the sergeant, holding the lantern +up to the ceiling. He glanced sharply at Marie, but she remained +immovable. "Humph," he grumbled, "if he is shot he is out of the way. +Now, friend Porpoise, the other rooms if you please." + +They searched these thoroughly with no better success. But when they had +satisfied themselves and were out again, the sergeant, whose suspicions +seemed to have been aroused, flung open the door of the Didiers' garret, +and turned the lantern full upon Marie once more. She had not moved hand +or foot. + +"What is that blood?" said the sergeant, pointing to a trail of red +drops on the floor. + +For answer she silently rolled back her sleeve, and unbandaging her arm, +showed a deep cut, from which the blood still oozed. + +"Good. She has no one," said the man, withdrawing the light. + +This, as all the world knows, was in 1871. Four years afterwards, at the +time my story begins, Marie Didier still occupied that attic. She lived +by taking in needlework, and it was sometimes a wonder to the few who +knew her, that working so hard as she did, she should remain so poor. +The furniture of her attic I have described, the sole addition she had +made to it was the gay chintz which curtained off the alcove with the +bed. She was always ready to do a kindness, but made no acquaintances, +and the only persons who ever climbed to her attic were Plon, who made +occasional weighty visitations, often discoursed upon his prowess at the +time of the Commune; and an idiot girl called Perine, whom Marie one day +found crying in the street; she had no father or mother, and the old +rag-picker she lived with beat her. Once or twice Marie gave her food, +and the poor creature attached herself to her like a dog, followed her +upstairs and lay across her door. After a while Madame Didier admitted +her into her room at times, and let her share her poor meals, and sleep +on a heap of sacking outside the door. Perine, in such prosperity, was +as happy as a queen. It is true that Plon at first objected, but Marie +could persuade him into anything, and he only grumbled. + +On one winter day, Marie was stooping over the stove stirring something +in an earthen pipkin; Perine, seated on the wooden stool, leaned forward +and watched her operations with excessive interest. Perhaps for want of +an intelligent companion, Madame Didier was in the habit of +soliloquising aloud, and at this moment she was saying cheerfully: + +"Not much, to be sure, but something! I should have liked a carrot or +two, but in these hard times that would have been extravagant. And, +after all, there is some credit in making good soup out of nothing at +all. If one could run here and there in the market--'A pound of your +best veal, monsieur'--'A bunch of those fine turnips, and a stick of +celery, madame'--well, truth obliges me to admit that it is possible +the soup would have a finer flavour, but there would not be the +satisfaction of seeing it grow out of a few onions a crust of bread, and +a pinch of salt. And that is a satisfaction which I am favoured with +tolerably often. Well, Perine, my child, it interests you--this +occupation--does it not? Do you think you will ever learn to make soup?" + +The girl nodded many times. + +"Perine eat it," she said. + +"Listen to her!" Marie exclaimed, patting her cheek approvingly. "And +that any one should say she has no sense! She knows as well as any of +us, that the great thing in soup is to eat it with an appetite, and so +she puts together two and two--" + +She was interrupted by the girl. + +"Four!" she said abruptly. + +Madame Didier, instead of showing astonishment, began to laugh. + +"There she is with her numbers again! How strange it is that she should +never forget a number or make a mistake in a sum! In taking away or +adding together one can't puzzle her. I don't mean that I can't," she +continued, apparently addressing no one in particular, "because I am a +poor ignorant woman; but wiser people than I. Now, Perine, you shall +have your lesson. See here, I shall stand near my bed, and you over +there with your face to the wall. Do you understand?" + +The girl nodded, and stumbling along towards the place indicated, +contrived on her way to knock down and break into atoms a white dish. + +"Oh, the unfortunate child!" cried Marie, darting forward. "Another! and +it was my last! How many more things will you destroy!" + +At this reproach the guilt-stricken Perine covered her face and howled +aloud, and Madame Didier's momentary anger passed. + +"There, don't cry!" she said, "crying does no good, and it was an +accident. You'll be more careful another time, won't you? Try to move +gently, and look where you go, or some day you will hurt yourself. At +present let me see you stand well against the wall, so! I put on the +soup--and we are ready." + +As she said these words she went back to the alcove. And then a strange +thing happened. For from behind the gaily-figured chintz, there issued a +strange hoarse whisper, which caused so little astonishment to Madame +Didier, that she merely echoed the words aloud. Apparently this was +Perine's lesson. + +"Seven six nine, and eight five four," repeated Madame Didier. + +The answer from the girl came instantaneously: + +"Sixteen hundred and twenty-three." + +Her teacher paused for a moment, perhaps to allow the whisperer time for +objection, if there were one to make, but as nothing came she said +cheerfully: + +"Good! Now let me think of another." + +"Nine ought three, and fifteen nine seven," prompted the hidden voice. + +"Ah, here is a fine one! Nine ought--" she hesitated, "fifteen--" + +The voice corrected her impatiently: "Nine ought three, and fifteen nine +seven." + +In the same whisper she answered "Hush!" warningly, before repeating the +figures aloud and correctly. The girl, on her part, returned rapidly and +indifferently: + +"Twenty-five hundred." + +"She seems a different creature when she is doing it!" Marie exclaimed +admiringly. "Now one more, and then I must run down and see in what sort +of a temper Monsieur Plon finds himself. If it is good, he will lend me +his journal. At any rate, I shall only be gone a moment. _Allons!_ +Something difficult, something to take away, shall it be?" + +As before the whisper responded: + +"From thirteen thousand nine hundred and fifty-nine, take eight thousand +five hundred and four." + +Madame Didier began in a puzzled voice, "From eight thousand five +hundred and four, take thirteen--" but, seeing Perine shake her head, +caught herself up. "No, no, not that, of course not that!" + +"The other way, stupid woman!" said the whisper. + +Slowly she started again, "From thirteen thousand," and, interprompted +by the mysterious voice, arrived at the end of her sum, "nine hundred +and--fifty--nine--take--eight--thousand--five hundred--and--four." + +Quick as thought came the answer: + +"Five thousand four hundred and fifty-five." + +"All those fives! You are really a wonder, Perine!" said Marie happily. +"I never could do anything like that, decidedly I am only fit to make +soup. Well, every one to his trade--we can't dine upon figures. If we +could you would provide us with plenty, eh, my child? But now I have +something for you to do while I am away. Here is the stool; I am going +to put it before the fire, so, and you shall sit upon it and watch the +pot for me. Don't move, and don't look behind you, and then, by-and-by, +you shall have a basin of the soup. If only I had something to put into +it, something good, for bread and onions are not too fattening. However, +there is plenty to be thankful for. Remember, Perine, you must not take +your eyes off the soup." + +The girl, who seemed to have the faculty of obedience, sat down where +she was directed, and fastened her stolid gaze upon the pot. For a time +there was absolute silence in the garret, a ray of cold winter sunshine, +cold but bright (for this was Paris), streamed in through the little +window in the roof, and fell on Perine's slouching figure and coarse +hair. Less than five minutes, however, had passed, when the chintz +curtains of the alcove shook, parted, and from between them looked out +a pale and haggard man's face. + +It will be guessed that this third inhabitant of the sixth floor attic +was no other than Jean Didier, whose name had been entered in the +_bureau_ of police--when they tried to get some imperfect statistics of +missing men--as "Jean Didier, glazier; fought with the insurgents, +wounded at the barricade of the Rue Soleil d'Or, May 28th, 1871; +denounced as Communist by Andre Fort; executed on the spot." +Nevertheless, for once the police were wrong. Jean was not shot, though +it was true he was shot at. Fear, or loss of blood, or an instinctive +effort at self-preservation, caused him to reel and fall just a second +before a couple of bullets which should have found a home in his body, +spent themselves in the blood-stained wall over his head. The tide of +slaughter ebbed away, leaving ghastly heaps of dead men. From one of +these a shadow by-and-by detached itself, and drifted homewards, to the +spot where Marie was waiting in terrible anguish. + +Her courage came back with the need for it; it took very little to add +to the disguise which fire and a wound had brought upon him; the people +in the house were at that moment much occupied with dragging down the +papers they had pasted over their windows. He crawled upstairs, and when +she had hastily bound up his wound, and given him some food, he managed +to get out on the roof through the trap-door. There he spent three days, +coming down at night, till she was able to put up her new chintz +curtains, and here in the garret he had remained ever since, sometimes +fairly patient, sometimes finding his lot insupportable, and railing at +fate, at Marie, and at Providence. He had had a few narrow escapes, but +his wife was as cunning as a fox when he was concerned, and fortune had +favoured him. + +Perine's presence had a double aspect. The loneliness of the position +was so difficult for a man of his temperament to support, that he +welcomed it at times as a distraction, and these exercises of the +strange ingenuity of brain which she possessed, at the cost, as it +seemed, of all other intelligences, would very often interest and amuse +him. On the other hand she was quite as valuable as a grievance. If he +had no other fault to find with his wife, he could always blame her for +suffering the idiot girl to hang about the place, and the relief of this +was enormous. On the present occasion he contemplated her broad back +with displeasure. + +"Wretched creature! There she sits, and will sit till Marie comes back; +I wonder what she thinks would happen to her if she were to look round? +Lucky for me if she pictures some terrible fate. What sort of confused +nonsense is running through her head now? Soup and Marie take a +prominent place, I wager. So precious hard up does one become in this +rat's hole, that I make her my problem as she makes the soup hers, poor +wretch! Yet, my excellent friend, Jean Didier, I would counsel you to +keep your compassion for yourself, for, believe me, you want it at least +as much. As much? Rather, a hundred times more! For she--she knows +nothing of the blessings she has missed, while I--Heavens, I know too +well! To be cooped up here, to see no one but Marie and this idiot; to +be aware that at any moment any thing, the merest trifle, might betray +me to death, or at least transportation to New California,--was ever man +so unhappy in this world!" + +Jean, who had a turn for the melodramatic, tugged despairingly with both +hands at his hair, Perine, meanwhile, intent upon the soup, bent forward +and stirred it. + +"Soup for mother and Perine," she muttered. + +"What red hands she has!" continued Jean with a grimace, "and I hate to +hear her call Marie, mother. But it's just Marie all over. She never +could see a poor wretch, were it only a hunted rat, but she must take it +up, and give herself all the trouble in the world, when she might have +left it alone. She was just the same as a little girl, I see her now, in +her little round cap and woollen frock, scattering food for the +frozen-out birds in the hard winters. Such a pretty, rosy-faced little +thing as she was, and they all so fond of her! I recollect taking her to +school in my wooden sledge, and she--What's the girl about now? +Why--what dog has bitten her! She has taken my tobacco from the +shelf--she--not--! Yes, by heaven, she has poured it all into the soup!" + +"Perine heard mother say she wanted something to make the soup good," +laughed the girl, nodding her head, and quite unconscious that behind +her the enraged Jean was violently shaking his fist. + +"Horror! To see tobacco, dinner, everything ruined by that creature +without being able to say a word! It is simply atrocious of Marie to go +away, leave her to do all this mischief, and then expect me to put up +with it! My pipe, my one comfort! Ah-h-h-h! if only I could box her ears +and stop her from grinning away as if she had done a clever thing!" + +It was at this moment that Marie returned, carrying in her arms a +cabbage. At the door, seeing the angry and distracted gesture of her +husband, she paused in consternation. + +"But what then? Has anything gone wrong? The soup--Perine, you +unfortunate child, have you touched the soup?" + +The girl pointed with triumph to where the tobacco had been. + +"Good stuff, mother," she said, nodding. + +"The tobacco! You have it put in!--Oh, my poor friend, no wonder you are +angry!" said Madame Didier in an undertone. + +"Out with her!" cried her husband in a fierce whisper. + +"Perine, Perine, and I have warned you so often to touch nothing without +leave! Now you have spoilt the soup, and we can have no dinner." + +There was this inconvenience in the quick remorse which seized the girl +when Marie reproved her, however gently, that she broke at once into +sobs, which were as clumsy and unmanageable as her hands and feet. Jean +disliked them intensely, and he now made frantic signs to his wife that +she was to be sent away. "But she is as hungry as we are," pleaded +Marie, "and see, M. Plon has given me a cabbage, I can manage +something." + +He was, however, inexorable; and his wife, always afraid of his +committing some imprudence, though on the whole Jean might be trusted to +take care of himself, said sorrowfully: + +"Perine, my poor child, you must go; there is no dinner for you today. +Don't cry, don't cry; you meant no harm--you did not know, and Heaven is +witness how sorely we sometimes suffer for that!" + +Between her sobs the girl jerked out piteously: + +"Perine come back?" + +Marie looked imploringly at her husband, but he shook his head. + +"Not tonight, not to-night, my child. As you go out beg for a bit of +bread from M. Plon, he is in a splendid temper, and will not refuse it. +There make haste, go!" + +She took her by the shoulders and pushed her towards the door, but when +she left her outside, kissed her. + + + + +PART II. + + +Perine had no sooner gone than Jean came out and flung himself angrily +on a chair. + +"I shall stand this no longer. I give you notice of my determination, +Marie. You have her here, I believe, solely to torment me. Figure to +yourself having to stand by helpless, and see the creature put an end to +both one's dinner and one's pipe! She is not to come here any more, +those are my orders. Do you hear?" + +"Yes, I hear," said Marie quietly, "but I beg of you to change your +mind. We are badly off, I allow, yet somehow or other we can always rub +along, and this poor child is in worse plight than we are." + +"Worse? Nonsense. No one can be worse off than I am. Denounced, +executed, for I assure you I felt that bullet go through my brain, saved +just by the hair of my head--" + +"Such a mercy!" breathed the wife. + +"A mercy, yes--but you who can go and come and amuse yourself, never +think what this life must be to me, cooped up like a rat in his hole. +There are times when I believe I should do better to give myself up." + +"For the sake of Heaven, Jean--!" + +"At any rate," said Jean, descending from his heights, "I will not have +that _imbecile_ here. You understand?" + +Marie looked at him indulgently. "Yes, my friend, I understand." + +"I'll lay a wager you never got that journal from old Plon-Plon?" + +"He had not finished with it." + +"Of course not. Then I shall go to sleep, for there is nothing else for +me to do." + +He flung a handkerchief over his eyes as he spoke, put his feet on +Perine's stool, and his elbow on the table. Marie moved quietly about, +set the saucepan again on the stove, and taking some needlework from a +box, sat down near her husband, stitching rapidly. Every now and then +she glanced at him, and her mind was tenderly busy over his concerns all +the while, so that tears would have stood in her eyes if they had not +had other work to do. + +"How sad the poor fellow looks!" she thought. "I'm glad he's asleep, +after that unfortunate affair with the pipe. When I remember how hard it +is to get tobacco for him, for I am dreadfully afraid that some one will +suspect me when I ask for it, I must own that Perine is an unlucky +child. But as for her not coming again, he doesn't mean that, no, +no--he's so kind hearted that he would be the last to keep her away; +besides, I know very well that while he grumbles he feels an interest in +hearing her do those wonderful sums. Anything is better for him than +seeing no one but stupid me from year's end to year's end--my poor Jean! +Three years! I declare it quite hurts me to go out and about, though to +be sure I must. But it seems so selfish." + +There is no knowing to what depths of accusing wickedness Madame +Didier's meditations would have led her, but that presently she heard a +heavy creaking step upon the stairs; and flew to awake her husband and +to hustle him into his refuge. M. Plon's visits were rare, and she +discouraged them with all her might, yet when he arrived panting and +puffing at the door, she was standing by the stove working, with a +little coquettish air of greeting about her. + +"You don't mean to say that you have brought the journal yourself, M. +Plon! Now that is kind of you, but it is disarranging yourself too much +to climb up those steep stairs, when I could have fetched it with +pleasure." + +"Ugh, ugh, they are steep, there's no denying it," said Plon, sinking +into the rickety chair. "But what would you have? Up here on the sixth, +you can't expect all the luxuries of the first or second." + +"Heavens, no!" + +"You should cultivate a contented frame of mind. Madame Didier, and +beware of grumbling." + +"Was I grumbling?" + +"You were complaining--complaining of the stairs, and it is a pernicious +habit. Don't encourage it." + +"But, indeed--" Marie was beginning with a smile, when he interrupted +her with a majestic wave of his hand. + +"_Halte la_! Now you are contradicting, and that is another bad habit, +particularly for a woman. But nobody knows when they are well off in +these days. I often say to my friends: 'There is Madame Didier, she +lives in that nice airy attic of ours; she has no one to think of but +herself, no cares, no responsibilities; she ought to be as happy as a +bird.' Look at me, I entreat you; what a contrast! At everybody's beck +and call, cooped up in a draughty little den, making shoes with a +thousand interruptions. I ask you what sort of a life is that for a man +of my stamp? If you were to try it for a week, you'd find out whether +you were not a lucky woman! But, there, as I said before, nobody ever +knows when they are well off--not even widows. I say all this because I +take a real interest in you." + +"I know you do, M. Plon, if only for the sake of my poor husband," said +Marie demurely. To say the truth she was often in a state of +uncomfortable doubt as to whether M. Plon's interest might not be going +to take a warmer form, in which case it might be more difficult than +ever for Jean to forget that he was no longer in the land of the living. + +"But I must say I don't think you are the best of managers," said M. +Plon with a magisterial sweep of his hand which took in all the poor +surroundings. "With your earnings you might do better than you do, +Madame Didier. One mouth to feed, one person to dress--" + +"There is Perine," faltered poor Marie. + +"Yes, there is Perine, and it is true those imbeciles have appetites +like wolves. Still--well, well, you must not suppose that I am blaming +you; on the contrary, it might surprise you to hear--" + +M. Plon was edging his chair a little nearer to Madame Didier, and she +thought it was time to interrupt his explanation, so she said briskly: + +"Ah, by the way, what news is there to-day in _Le Petit Journal?_" + +"There is the great robbery." + +"The great robbery! Where?" + +"In the Rue Vivienne. The paper is full of it--jewellery, diamonds, +plate, treasures of all kinds carried off, chest and all, that's the +wonderful part of it, for a chest is not a thing to hide in your +pocket." + +"And have they no clue?" asked Marie, much interested. + +"Not yet, but there must have been a cart or a cab, or some vehicle in +the affair. It is clear enough that this belongs to the _haute pegre_, +none of your common burglars would have attempted such a daring stroke; +and I would lay a wager, too, that they're not so far off from here, if +they're in Paris, that is. I shall keep a sharp look-out, for the reward +is fabulous." + +"Really!" said Madame Didier with a sigh. + +"One would suppose you wanted it yourself," said Plon angrily. "Now what +possible good could it do to you? It is extraordinary that people--women +especially--can't be contented, but must always be wishing for what they +haven't got." + +"I was only thinking," Marie answered apologetically. + +"Then don't think. Women should leave that to others," Having delivered +which sententious maxim, M. Plon rose with some difficulty from his +chair, and gazed round the room. It was a habit of his, but it always +frightened Marie, and it frightened her yet more when he turned towards +the recess and stood contemplating the curtains. "You keep those so +tightly drawn one would--Eh! what's the matter!" + +For Madame Didier, stooping over the stove, had uttered a sharp feminine +shriek. + +"I have burnt my finger?" she exclaimed, wringing her hand. + +"That comes of thinking. Does it hurt?" + +"Hurt! Of course it does." + +"Let me see," he said coming over. + +But Marie hastily bound a bit of rag round her hand. + +"The great thing is to exclude the air," she said quickly. "Then you +mean to be on the lookout for these grand robbers, M. Plon?" + +"Yes, instead of idling away my time up here," he said, rolling towards +the door. "But you women dearly love a little gossip, don't you? And +though you are not the best of managers, Madame Didier, no one can say +you don't work with industry. So keep a good heart. You shall hear if I +get the reward." + +As the sound of his heavy footsteps creaked down the stairs, Jean came +out and flung himself on the chair which M. Plon had occupied. + +"Now that that old idiot has taken himself off, let's see what he was +talking about." + +"Is it true about the robbery?" asked Marie, leaning over his shoulder. + +"So it seems." + +"And the reward?" + +"Twelve thousand francs." + +"Twelve thousand francs!" repeated his wife in amazement. "Oh, you must +be mistaken!" + +"There are the figures at any rate, see for yourself." + +"Yes, I see. I suppose it must be so, as it is in the paper; +but--but--if we could only have a little part of it!" + +"Ah, if!" said Jean with a shrug. "But how will you manage? Stand about +the corners of the Streets and ask every _escarpe_ that passes?" + +"I could almost do that," his wife answered stoutly, "when I reflect +that with money we might have an advocate, and you might be free. My +store grows so slowly, Jean!" + +Jean dashed the paper to the ground, and thrust his hands through his +hair. + +"Don't talk of it, if you wouldn't madden me!" he exclaimed. +"Might--might--I am sick of mights! Cooped up here I can do nothing, but +if I had only common luck I might get the end of a clue as well as any +other poor devil. I tell you, Marie, I have half a mind to give myself +up, and end everything." + +She clung to him, pale as death. + +"No, no!" + +"You'd get on better without me." + +"No, no!" + +Jean's tragic air vanished in a rush of real emotion. He put his wife +from him and looked at her sorrowfully. + +"Poor soul!" he said slowly. "And you really mean that I haven't tired +you out yet with all my moods and cross words? No? Then, decidedly, we +must rub on a little longer still." + +She embraced him with all the gratitude a woman feels when her good +offices are accepted. + +"To-morrow," she said cheerfully, "to-morrow will bring you some +tobacco." + +"To-morrow will also, I imagine, bring Perine," he replied, with a +laugh, and when he laughed it was possible to see what a handsome young +fellow the haggard man had been. "Well, I am not sure that Perine isn't +preferable to old Plon-Plon. When I hear him prosing away to you on the +duty of being contented, it's all I can do not to knock him down. You a +bad manager, indeed!" + +"Do not talk of anything so imprudent." + +"He would roll like a ball," said Jean longingly. + +"Jean!" + +"Bah, you need not fear. To do things sometimes in imagination is the +only way of keeping my muscles in exercise. Oh, if I could only get a +little fresh air, or drop in at the _brasserie_ and hear what is doing!" + +"See, here," said Marie, true to her mission of comforter, "to-night we +shall have a luxury, for this work must be finished and carried home +to-morrow morning, and so I shall allow myself a candle. Sometimes I am +afraid that I want more light than in old days, but I daresay that is a +foolish fancy. The cabbage will be ready in a few minutes; meanwhile, +tell me what more news you have got there in the paper. M. Plon has a +great respect for my scholarship, but he is afraid I waste my time over +his journals--aha, M. Plon, you little know that I have got my reader!" + +"Plon is an ass," said Jean gruffly, for he did not like any one to find +a flaw in the wife whom he often scolded himself. + +"Perhaps," said Marie happily. "But now, find me something horribly +delightful to-night, something to make me shudder." + +"Capture of a wolf in Auvergne." + +"Of a wolf! Is it possible!" demanded Madame Didier, much interested. +"And how many people did he eat?" + +"Only one." + +"Only one! What a stupid wolf! Go on, my friend." + +"Suicide of a husband." + +"Not that, I do not like anything so sad," she said in a changed voice. +"And where was his wife all the time, that she could not prevent it, I +should like to know? No, let me hear a little more about this robbery, +and then we will have our dinner." + + + + +PART III. + + +The hours passed, the light faded in the little garret where Marie's +busy fingers toiled day after day to add to the little hoard so slowly +accumulating, and Marie's cheerful heart brought out greater treasures +of unselfish devotion, if her husband had only known it. Perhaps he did +know it--in a fashion. Through the night, when it came, she thought +often uneasily of Perine out in the heart of the great wicked city. But +Perine had a haunt or two of her own, and Marie said prayers for her, +and slept, hoping the girl would be safe. + +She got up early the next morning while Jean was yet asleep, and cheered +herself as she looked at her scanty supply of poor coffee with the +thought that she would be paid for her work in the course of the day. +Meanwhile the breakfast would not be a very rich affair, and she was +pondering whether she could be so extravagant as to run to a _cremerie_ +near at hand for two _sous_-worth of milk, when an unexpected sound +filled her with dismay. It was Perine's shuffling steps upon the stairs, +and she was by no means sure how Jean would receive such an early +visitor. Moreover, she did not care that he should be disturbed, and she +went hastily to the door to moderate the noise of the girl's awkward +entry. For a wonder no word or look of hers could do this. Perine, who +generally was obedient to her smallest sign, was in a state of +uncontrollable excitement; she fled to Marie's arms, buried her rough +head there, sobbed her loudest, and presently, in the thick of +incoherent lamentations, pulled down her dress, and showed a heavy +bruise on her shoulder. Then she sobbed again, and implored Madame +Didier not to let them beat her. + +"Come, come, come!" said Marie reassuringly, "tell me a little more +about this, and don't be a baby, Perine. Remember that you are a big +girl. No one will come here to beat you; if they did, good M. Plon would +not let them come up the stairs. Tell me who did it?" + +She sat down on the stool as she spoke, and let the poor clumsy creature +rest on her knee. + +"The man, the bad man!" howled Perine. + +"That I hear; but what were you doing to make any one so cruel?" + +"Perine only looking at pretty bright figures, mother; so pretty with +the light on them. 7639." + +"What is she talking about?" said Madame Didier, puzzled, "7639?" + +"Yes, yes," said the girl eagerly, and then she broke off again into her +lamentations, which lasted until Marie had bathed her hurt, and soothed +her by degrees. But when she proposed to take her to the _cremerie_, +Perine began to wail again, and it was evident that something had so +terrified her, that it would be cruelty to force her out into the +streets. Every now and then she let drop another word or two on the +subject of her fright; her poor disconnected brain seemed unable to +grasp anything as a whole; something would float across it and be lost. +Marie had grown apt at gathering together these cobweb strands, and +disentangling them, but now even her ingenuity was at fault, and the +number was the only point which stood out clearly from wavering words +about a man and a box. She gathered at last that somewhere or other this +number with the light shining on it had attracted Perine's attention, +that she went to look, and that a man pushed her away with a blow, and +with threats which had been strong enough to send her terrified from the +spot. Evidently she scarcely felt secure in her present quarters, and +piteously implored Marie not to suffer him to come. Marie soothed her, +and hoped that Jean's compassion might be as strong as her own. Had she +not been taken up with Perine, she would have more quickly caught the +impatient scratching like a mouse in the wainscot, with which he +summoned her. + +He made signs that he must speak, and with some difficulty she got +Perine into the landing, thrusting into her hands the bread which would +have been her own portion. Then she locked her door and went back to +Jean, who was eagerly waiting. + +"Marie, I have a thought," he began. "What do you make out of all she +says?" + +"Next to nothing," said his wife, shrugging her shoulders. + +"No?" said Jean, feverishly and a little contemptuously. "Suppose I +suggested that she saw the figures on the lamp of a cab, what then?" + +"What then?" repeated she, puzzled. + +"And a box, and a man angry with her for looking. What then?" + +"Oh, I don't understand!" said Marie, shaking her head. + +"Heavens, that any one should be so dense! Have you forgotten the +robbery?" + +"In the Rue Vivienne--oh, do you mean--do you think it possible! Jean, +how clever you are! I wonder whether--shall I run to the place and see?" + +"To the place, and even if they were still there, get yourself knocked +on the head!" + +"I should not mind," cried Marie eagerly. "I should mind nothing with +such a hope before me." + +"No, my good Marie," Jean returned grandly; "you have excellent +intentions, but it is well you have some one to guide you. The first +thing is to find a _commissaire_ of police." + +The name seemed terrible; she turned pale, but he hurried on, losing +himself again in his excitement, and with all his haggard features +working: + +"Yes, yes, I know what you will say, but do you not understand that if +this is what I believe, anything will be forgiven to the man who can put +the _sergent de ville_ on the track?" + +"_If!_ At any rate I will do what you bid me," the young wife said, +trembling. "There is a _bureau_ not so far away. Only promise me you +will be prudent, for I must leave Perine here, though I will lock the +door. Remember, M. Plon has his own keys." + +Nor would she relax one of her precautions in spite of his heated +impatience. But she had spoken truly, for after the daily fear of years, +the personal danger of encountering the robbers assuredly seemed nothing +in comparison with having to do with the police. She told Perine where +she was to sit, and tried to extract more coherent details, but only as +to the figures was Perine clear. These she repeated again and again, +while more than once Jean's sharp whisper reached his wife's ears. "Make +haste, make haste!" and she signed caution in return. + +When she had gone there was for some time absolute silence in the +garret, Jean having flung himself on his bed, and given himself up to a +wild delirium of hope. By-and-by this took the form of restlessness. He +tossed and tumbled on his bed, and, his ear full of sounds which +expectation and imagination brought there, sometimes started up, keen to +listen, and the next moment pressed his fingers into his ears, to try to +shut out these delusive sounds. Then he became almost as reckless as to +Perine; what did her seeing him matter when so soon he would be a free +man? Once or twice the bed creaked and groaned under his tossings, so +that he imagined she would surely look round. But no, the girl was blind +and deaf to everything but Marie's orders, she sat squarely on the +wooden stool with her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands, +every now and then uttering a disjointed sob, until fatigue and tears +brought about their natural consequence, and it became evident that she +was asleep. + +Jean got up and shook himself and looked out at her, his head in a +whirl. He began to think that Marie was long absent, and to lay the +blame on the back which was always ready to bear his burdens. + +"She will not know where to go, she will stand gossipping with any fool +who asks her a question, and in this time I would wager a piece of +twenty _sous_ the police or some other busy-body will have got on the +track. What more likely? And there's an end to our luck. Why did I let +her waste all these moments? Why didn't I go myself? Women always muddle +things. There would have been a scene, beyond doubt. '_Hola!_--thunder +and lightning, who may this be?'" Jean planted himself in an attitude, +and struck his chest violently. "Then I should have drawn myself up, +always with dignity--thus--'This, gentlemen, is none other than Jean +Didier!'--'Who? What!'--'Jean Didier, at your service, gentlemen, +falsely denounced as Communist, executed and reported dead, but, as you +see alive, and able to render an important service to an ungrateful +country.'--That sounds sublime! I flatter myself it would have produced +an impression. Why didn't I go? Women, with all their good intentions, +haven't an idea of the value of a stroke like that! It requires genius. +And I foresee my excellent Marie will muddle the whole affair, very +likely allow them to pick her brains and cajole the number out of her, +then one of these _messieurs_ will slip off and secure the reward." +Excitement got a strong hold upon Jean as this idea presented itself, +and his castles toppled over. "That's it, that's how it will go! And I +deserve it for having left such a delicate affair in the hands of a +woman. I could have managed it to a turn, and here I have let her go +off, and the whole thing will slip through her fingers. I could beat +myself with vexation." + +In effect, he stamped his foot with such violence that Perine jumped up +and, looking round, saw him vanishing behind the curtains. She shrieked +with terror, "The man! Oh, it's the man!" + +White as death, Jean rushed out and tried to calm her. + +"Hush, child, hush! it's only me!" + +But Perine was past all control, she screamed for "Mother!" for "M. +Plon!" until it seemed to Jean that not only the house but the whole +neighbourhood would presently be on him. He tried coaxing, he tried +menace, but Perine shrieked the more. + +"Will you hold your tongue!" he cried, with a wild thought of strangling +her. "I'm a friend, I'm not the man; I won't touch you. Perine, Perine, +don't cry out so, look at me!" + +At this appeal she hid her eyes with her hands. + +"The man! the man! Mother! Help!" Nevertheless, though it seemed to poor +Jean that the very streets must tingle with her cries, it is possible, +for the upper-stories of the house had early risers for their dwellers, +that the deaf old woman left on the fifth floor might have heard +nothing; but unfortunately M. Plon had taken it into his head to make a +visitation to those uninhabited rooms of his in which some one had +housed his furniture, and at this moment was on his way. He knew that +Madame Didier was out, and Perine's screams seemed to point to fire or +something equally disastrous. The door was locked, but he had all his +keys about him, and soon succeeded in opening it, when Perine in a +transport of terror rushed at him, and flung herself into his arms with +a force which might have knocked over a less ponderous rescuer, and +effectually blocked the door at which Jean glanced longingly. + +"_Hola!_" cried the astonished landlord. "_Que diable!_ A man in +Madame Didier's room! What's the meaning of all this? Police!" + +Jean advanced with a threatening gesture, and the valiant Plon quickly +retreated. For one wild moment his lodger contemplated the chances which +lay in knocking him down, and taking refuge in flight, but he reflected +that if the house were alarmed he would not get off, and if not, it +might be possible to enlist M. Plon on his side. He therefore went +quietly back into the room, saying, "Do not fear, M. Plon.... I give +you my word, I am not going to fight." + +"You had better not," said the other blusteringly. "You had better not!" + +"Oh, as to that ..." said Jean with anger. + +M. Plon retreated a second time before this demonstration, and again +lifted his voice for the police. + +"They'll be here fast enough, no doubt," said Jean quietly, though there +was a bitter feeling of downfall in his heart. "Meanwhile, perhaps it +might be as well for me to tell you who I am." + +"Who you are?" repeated M. Plon indignantly. "It's easy enough to see +that, my fine fellow, though what you could expect to steal here is not +so clear. You've got the air of a gallows bird, and it's well this poor +child has me--the brave Plon--to protect her." + +"Come, come, M. Plon--listen to reason. I'm the husband of Madame +Didier." + +"The husband of Madame Didier? What, when she hasn't got one!" cried the +other, now fairly enraged. + +"Nevertheless, you might remember Jean Didier--if only you would," said +Jean imploringly, for he began to think there was yet a chance for him +if he could conciliate his landlord, and he made a few steps towards him +holding out his hands. But Perine screamed and Plon waved him +energetically back. Finding his prisoner cowed he launched some strong +invectives at him. + +"You're a thief and a cut-throat, that's what you are!" he said, +shivering. "Keep off, keep off! You could no more stand in Jean Didier's +shoes than you could in mine, for he was a decent, peaceable young +fellow, and more than that, he was shot. So you've got hold of the wrong +story here, Monsieur Blacklegs, and one that won't serve you much in the +_violon_." + +"It's true, I give you my word," said Jean. + +"They did their best to shoot me, but I was only wounded. Marie got me +up here, and here I have been ever since." + +"Was there ever such a cool hand!" cried Plon wrathfully. "And you +absolutely think to persuade me of this when not a soul comes in and out +of this house without my knowing. A pretty tale!" + +Jean muttered "Blockhead!" under his breath. Aloud he said, "But--M. +Plon--am I not here now?" + +"No, you are not!" Plon retorted,--"or if you are, you shall soon be out +of it again. Police! Help, help!" + +"If only Marie were here!" groaned Jean. "M. Plon, I implore you to have +pity! wait until my wife arrives; you will believe her if you can't +believe your own eyes. Lock me into the room, do whatever you like--only +wait!" + +If M. Plon had indeed had sufficient calmness to contemplate the figure +before him, it is probable that in spite of alteration he would have +found something to recognise. But he was in a state of perturbed +excitement which altogether confused his judgment, and only inclined him +to refuse all his prisoner's suggestions. He therefore set himself more +vigorously than ever to bawl for help, and Perine seconded him with all +her might. The next moment Jean went back to the table, seated himself +upon it and crossed his arms. He had recognised Marie's step. + +She came into the room pale as death, and even as she came, hesitated, +and held up her hand, as if she would have prevented a man who was with +her from following. But seeing that she was too late, and that Jean was +already discovered, she rushed into his arms, crying out: + +"What has happened?" + +M. Plon took up the parable, quite regardless of her action. + +"What has happened, Madame Didier? There is no saying what might not +have happened if I had not been on the spot. Here is a rascally, +black-guardly, good-for-nothing!" and as he uttered these bold +invectives, he advanced and shook his fist in Jean's face. "You see him, +_M. le Commissaire_, you behold what a villain, what a desperate villain +he looks? Listen, then, I hear screams, I meet this poor imbecile flying +out in terror, I rush--I seize--I overpower--I make him my prisoner--" + +At this point the police officer interposed a question: + +"You used force, M. Plon?" + +"I used--but certainly--moral force. He had made his way into this room +through the window, Monsieur--Monsieur--?" + +"Leblanc, at your service," said the commissioner carelessly. "Did you +say through the window? That seems scarcely probable." + +But Plon was positive there was no other way by which he could have +entered unseen by him. And now he would give _M. le Commissaire_ a dozen +guesses to find out what this rascal had the villainy to pretend. To +look at him, would any one suppose now that he could be the husband of +madame? + +"Apparently," said the other, glancing at them, "Madame herself is not +averse from that opinion." + +"Her husband--hee, hee!" said M. Plon, getting red. "Poor Jean, who was +shot in _emeute_ three years ago! See there, monsieur, it is ridiculous! +If any one should know anything about those times, it is I. I was myself +on the very point of becoming a martyr for my country; and as for Jean +Didier, whether rightly or wrongly, he was shot, and there was an end of +him. To pretend that he turns up three years later...." + +Marie was crying, and M. Plon thought his eloquence had provoked her +tears, but she put aside his hand, walked to the commissioner, and +dropped on her knees before him. + +"Monsieur, if you have a wife--" + +"I have not," said the man roughly. + +"But your mother! If her son--" + +"I have my duty, that is enough," he said in the same tone, "Get up, +Madame Didier, and let me know the truth of all this matter. This +explains your unwillingness that I should return with you. Who's the +man?" + +"My husband, monsieur," sobbed Marie, springing up and putting her hand +in Jean's. + +"How came he here?" + +"Monsieur, he escaped and crawled here." + +"And how has he been supported?" + +"By me," said the wife simply. + +Plon had recoiled during this explanation, and gazed helplessly from one +to the other. + +"Go on," said Leblanc, taking out a note-book. + +"He has not been out of this room for three years--three years! That is +a long time for a man to be shut up," pleaded Marie, with her heart in +her eyes. "And, _M. le Commissaire_, you must understand it was all a +mistake. He tried to stop them, but they dragged him along, the +Communists, and then one of them turns round and denounces him. There +are very wicked people in the world, _M. le Commissaire_." + +"His name?" + +Jean answered for her: + +"The name of that man was Fort." + +Leblanc turned the pages of his note-book more quickly." +Dumont--Court--ah, here it is, 'Jean Didier, glazier, with insurgents; +pointed out as Communist by one Fort; executed on spot.' Is that +correct?" + +"He was innocent," said Marie, nervously twisting her fingers. + +"But am I to understand that you deny his identity?" said the officer, +turning sharply on Plon. "Speak up, man!" + +M. Plon looked round, bewildered. "How could he have got into the +house?" + +"Never mind that. What we want is 'yes' or 'no' Is it Jean Didier? Come +close and see for yourself." + +"It is like him," said the landlord, examining him from head to foot, +"certainly it is like him; I could almost believe it was he, only--how +could he have got into the house?" + +"As to that--where there's a woman--" said Leblanc, turning away. They +were all watching him, except Perine, who was sobbing stormily on the +wooden stool, and he said shortly, "There is something more in my +note-book." + +"More!" repeated Jean with alarm. + +"Would you rather not have it?" + +Marie, who had not taken her eyes from him, advanced with her hands +pressed upon her heart. + +"Courage, my friend," she said breathlessly. "Yes, _M. le +Commissaire_, we will hear." + +It had struck her that he was smiling. + +He began to read in his sing-song voice, "Fort, convicted of forgery, +died last month in the Grande Roquette. Before his death he confessed +his denunciation of Jean Didier to have been false." + +Jean Didier's wife turned round, opened her arms and fell upon her +husband's neck, speechless. + + * * * * * + +So this was the end of that affair. As for No. 7639, which had brought +Leblanc in pursuit of Perine, it did not turn out so romantically as +might have been desired, having nothing to do with the great robbery of +the Rue Vivienne, which remains a mystery--to most people--to this day. +But oddly enough, it set the police on the track of a smaller crime; a +certain reward was handed over to the Didiers for the use of the poor +girl, and no one will deny that it was her unconscious instrumentality +which brought their change of fortune. Jean is almost always kind to +her, but Marie treats her with a sort of reverence. + +You may see them sometimes, of a summer evening, walking along the +quays. The great river sweeps slowly down, the busy lights which flit +about the houses or point the span of the bridges with golden dots, +fling long reflections on its surface. Overhead, more peaceful lights +are shining. All about us is the rush of tumult and change, men drifting +here and there, struggling, weeping, jesting, passing away; but over all +God watches, and His world goes on. + +FRANCES MARY PEARD + + + + + +GONERIL + + +A STORY IN FOUR CHAPTERS. + + + + +CHAPTER 1. + +THE TWO OLD LADIES. + + +On one of the pleasant hills round Florence, a little beyond Camerata, +there stands a house, so small that an Englishman would probably take it +for a lodge of the great villa behind, whose garden trees at sunset cast +their shadow over the cottage and its terrace on to the steep white +road. But any of the country people could tell him that this, too, is +Casa Signorile, spite of its smallness. It stands somewhat high above +the road, a square, white house with a projecting roof, and with four +green-shuttered windows overlooking the gay but narrow terrace. The beds +under the windows would have fulfilled the fancy of that French poet who +desired that in his garden one might, in gathering a nosegay, cull a +salad, for they boasted little else than sweet basil, small and white, +and some tall grey rosemary bushes. Nearer to the door an unusually +large oleander faced a strong and sturdy magnolia-tree, and these, with +their profusion of red and white sweetness, made amends for the dearth +of garden flowers. At either end of the terrace flourished a thicket of +gum-cistus, syringa, stephanotis, and geranium bushes, and the wall +itself, dropping sheer down to the road, was bordered with the customary +Florentine hedge of China roses and irises, now out of bloom. Great +terra-cotta flower-pots, covered with devices, were placed at intervals +along the wall; as it was summer, the oranges and lemons, full of +wonderfully sweet white blossoms and young green fruit, were set there +in the sun to ripen. + +It was the 17th of June. Although it was after four o'clock, the olives +on the steep hill that went down to Florence looked blindingly white, +shadeless, and sharp. The air trembled round the bright green cypresses +behind the house. The roof steamed. All the windows were shut, all the +jalousies shut, yet it was so hot that no one could stir within. The +maid slept in the kitchen; the two elderly mistresses of the house dozed +upon their beds. Not a movement; not a sound. + +Gradually, along the steep road from Camerata there came a roll of +distant carriage-wheels. The sound came nearer and nearer, till one +could see the carriage, and see the driver leading the tired, thin, +cab-horse, his bones starting under the shaggy hide. Inside the carriage +reclined a handsome middle-aged lady, with a stern profile turned +towards the road; a young girl in pale pink cotton and a broad hat +trudged up the hill at the side. + +"Goneril," said Miss Hamelyn, "let me beg you again to come inside the +carriage." + +"Oh, no, Aunt Margaret; I'm not a bit tired." + +"But I have asked you; that is reason enough." + +"It's so hot!" cried Goneril. + +"That is why I object to your walking." + +"But if it's so hot for me, just think how hot it must be for the +horse." + +Goneril cast a commiserating glance at the poor halting, wheezing nag. + +"The horse, probably," rejoined Miss Hamelyn, "does not suffer from +malaria, neither has he kept his aunt in Florence nursing him till the +middle heat of the summer." + +"True!" said Goneril. Then, after a few minutes, "I'll get in, Aunt +Margaret, on one condition." + +"In my time young people did not make conditions." + +"Very well, auntie; I'll get in, and you shall answer all my questions +when you feel inclined." + +The carriage stopped. The poor horse panted at his ease, while the girl +seated herself beside Miss Hamelyn. Then for a few minutes they drove on +in silence past the orchards, past the olive-yards, yellow underneath +with ripening corn; past the sudden wide views of the mountains, faintly +crimson in the midst of heat, and, on the other side, of Florence, the +towers and domes steaming beside the hazy river. + +"How hot it looks down there!" cried Goneril. + +"How hot it _feels_!" echoed Miss Hamelyn rather grimly. + +"Yes, I am so glad you can get away at last, dear, poor old auntie." +Then, a little later. "Won't you tell me something about the old ladies +with whom you are going to leave me?" + +Miss Hamelyn was mollified by Goneril's obedience. + +"They are very nice old ladies, I met them at Mrs. Gorthrup's." But this +was not at all what the young girl wanted. + +"Only think, Aunt Margaret," she cried impatiently, "I am to stay there +for at least six weeks, and I know nothing about them, not what age they +are, nor if they are tall or short, jolly or prim, pretty or ugly; not +even if they speak English!" + +"They speak English," said Miss Hamelyn, beginning at the end. "One of +them is English, or at least Irish: Miss Prunty." + +"And the other?" + +"She is an Italian, Signora Petrucci; she used to be very handsome." + +"Oh," said Goneril, looking pleased. "I'm glad she's handsome, and that +they speak English. But they are not relations?" + +"No, they are not connected; they are friends." + +"And have they always lived together?" + +"Ever since Madame Lilli died," and Miss Hamelyn named a very celebrated +singer. + +"Why?" cried Goneril, quite excited; "were they singers too?" + +"Madame Petrucci; nevertheless a lady of the highest respectability. +Miss Prunty was Madame Lilli's secretary." + +"How nice!" cried the young girl, "how interesting! Oh, auntie, I'm so +glad you found them out." + +"So am I, child; but please remember it is not an ordinary pension. They +only take you, Goneril, till you are strong enough to travel, as an +especial favour to me and to their old friend, Mrs. Gorthrup." + +"I'll remember, auntie." + +By this time they were driving under the terrace in front of the little +house. + +"Goneril," said the elder lady, "I shall leave you outside; you can play +in the garden or the orchard." + +"Very well." + +Miss Hamelyn left the carriage and ascended the steep little flight of +steps that leads from the road to the cottage garden. + +In the porch a singular figure was awaiting her. + +"Good afternoon, Madame Petrucci," said Miss Hamelyn. + +A slender old lady, over sixty, rather tall, in a brown silk skirt, and +a white burnouse that showed the shrunken slimness of her arms, came +eagerly forward. She was still rather pretty, with small refined +features, large expressionless blue eyes, and long whitish-yellow +ringlets down her cheeks, in the fashion of forty years ago. + +"Oh, _dear_ Miss Hamelyn," she cried, "how _glad_ I am to see you. +And have you brought your _charming_ young relation?" + +She spoke with a languid foreign accent, and with an emphatic and +bountiful use of adjectives, that gave to our severer generation an +impression of insincerity. Yet it was said with truth that Giulia +Petrucci had never forgotten a friend nor an enemy. + +"Goneril is outside" said Miss Hamelyn. "How is Miss Prunty?" + +"Brigida? Oh, you must come inside and see my invaluable Brigida. She is +as usual fatiguing herself with our accounts." The old lady led the way +into the darkened parlour. It was small and rather stiff. As one's eyes +became accustomed to the dim green light one noticed the incongruity of +the furniture; the horsehair chairs and sofa, and large accountant's +desk with ledgers; the large Pleyel grand piano, a bookcase, in which +all the books were rare copies or priceless MSS. of old-fashioned +operas; hanging against the wall an inlaid guitar and some faded laurel +crowns; moreover, a fine engraving of a composer, twenty years ago the +most popular man in Italy; lastly, an oil-colour portrait, by Winterman, +of a fascinating blonde, with very bare white shoulders, holding in her +hands a scroll, on which were inscribed some notes of music, under the +title Giulia Petrucci. In short, the private parlour of an elderly and +respectable Diva of the year '40. + +"Brigida!" cried Madame Petrucci, going to the door. "Brigida! our +charming English friend is arrived!" + +"All right!" answered a strong hearty voice from upstairs. "I'm coming." + +"You must excuse me, dear Miss Hamelyn," went on Madame Petrucci. "You +must excuse me for shouting in your presence, but we have only one +little servant, and during this suffocating weather I find that any +movement reminds me of approaching age." The old lady smiled, as if that +time were still far ahead. + +"I am sure you ought to take care of yourself," said Miss Hamelyn. "I +hope you will not allow Goneril to fatigue you." + +"Gonerilla! What a pretty name! Charming! I suppose it is in your +family?" asked the old lady. + +Miss Hamelyn blushed a little, for her niece's name was a sore point +with her. + +"It's an awful name for any Christian woman," said a deep voice at the +door. "And pray who's called Goneril?" + +Miss Prunty came forward; a short, thick-set woman of fifty, with fine +dark eyes, and, even in a Florentine summer, with something stiff and +masculine in the fashion of her dress. + +"And have you brought your niece?" she said, turning to Miss Hamelyn. + +"Yes, she is in the garden." + +"Well; I hope she understands that she'll have to rough it here." + +"Goneril is a very simple girl," said Miss Hamelyn. + +"So it's she that's called Goneril?" + +"Yes," said the aunt, making an effort. "Of course I am aware of the +strangeness of the name, but--but in fact my brother was devotedly +attached to his wife, who died at Goneril's birth." + +"Whew!" whistled Miss Prunty. "The parson must have been a fool who +christened her!" + +"He did, in fact, refuse; but my brother would have no baptism saving +with that name, which, unfortunately, it is impossible to shorten." + +"I think it is a charming name!" said Madame Petrucci, coming to the +rescue. "Goneril: it dies on one's lips like music! And if you do not +like it, Brigida, what's in a name? as your charming Byron said." + +"I hope we shall make her happy," said Miss Prunty. + +"Of course we shall!" cried the elder lady. + +"Goneril is easily made happy," asserted Miss Hamelyn. + +"That's a good thing," snapped Miss Prunty; "for there's not much here +to make her so!" + +"Oh, Brigida! I am sure there are many attractions. The air! the view! +the historic association! and, more than all, you know there is always a +chance of the Signorino!" + +"Of whom?" said Miss Hamelyn, rather anxiously. + +"Of him!" cried Madame Petrucci, pointing to the engraving opposite. +"He lives, of course, in the capital; but he rents the villa behind our +house--the Medici Villa; and when he is tired of Rome he runs down here +for a week or so; and so your Gonerilla may have the benefit of _his_ +society!" + +"Very nice, I'm sure!" said Miss Hamelyn, greatly relieved; for she knew +that Signor Graziano must be fifty. + +"We have known him," went on the old lady, "very nearly thirty years. He +used to largely frequent the _salon_ of our dear, our cherished Madame +Lilli." + +The tears came into the old lady's eyes. No doubt those days seemed near +and dear to her; she did not see the dust on those faded triumphs. + +"That's all stale news!" cried Miss Prunty, jumping up. "And Gon'ril +(since I'll have to call her so) must be tired of waiting in the +garden." + +They walked out on the terrace. The girl was not there; but by the gate +into the olive-yard, where there was a lean-to shed for tools, they +found her sitting on a cask, whittling a piece of wood and talking to a +curly-headed little contadino. + +Hearing steps, Goneril turned round. "He was asleep," she said. "Fancy, +in such beautiful weather!" + +Then, remembering that two of the ladies were strangers, she made an +old-fashioned little curtsey. + +"I hope you won't find me a trouble, ladies," she said. + +"She is charming!" said Madame Petrucci, throwing up her hands. + +Goneril blushed; her hat had slipped back and showed her short brown +curls of hair, strong, regular, features, and flexile scarlet mouth, +laughing upwards like a faun's. She had sweet dark eyes, a little too +small and narrow. + +"I mean to be very happy," she exclaimed. + +"Always mean that, my dear," said Miss Prunty. + +"And now, since Gonerilla is no longer a stranger," added Madame +Petrucci, "we will leave her to the rustic society of Angiolino, while +we show Miss Hamelyn our orangery." + +"And conclude our business!" said Bridget Prunty. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +THE SIGNORINO. + + +One day when Goneril, much browner and rosier for a week among the +mountains, came in to lunch at noon, she found no signs of that usually +regular repast. The little maid was on her knees, polishing the floor; +Miss Prunty was scolding, dusting, ordering dinner, arranging vases, all +at once; strangest of all, Madame Petrucci had taken the oil-cloth cover +from her grand piano, and, seated before it, was practising her sweet +and faded notes, unheedful of the surrounding din and business. + +"What's the matter!" cried Goneril. + +"We expect the signorino," said Miss Prunty. + +"And is he going to stay here?" + +"Don't be a fool!" snapped that lady; and then she added--"Go into the +kitchen and get some of the pastry and some bread and cheese, there's a +good girl." + +"All right!" said Goneril. + +Madame Petrucci stopped her vocalising. "You shall have all the better a +dinner to compensate you, my Gonerilla!" She smiled sweetly, and then +again became Zerlina. + +Goneril cut her lunch, and took it out of doors to share with her +companion, Angiolino. He was harvesting the first corn under the olives, +but at noon it was too hot to work. Sitting still there was, however, a +cool breeze that gently stirred the sharp-edged olive-leaves. + +Angiolino lay down at full length and munched his bread and cheese in +perfect happiness. Goneril kept shifting about to get herself into the +narrow shadow cast by the split and writhen trunk. + +"How aggravating it is!" she cried. "In England, where there's no sun, +there's plenty of shade--and here, where the sun is like a +mustard-plaster on one's back, the leaves are all set edgewise on +purpose that they shan't cast any shadow!" + +Angiolino made no answer to this intelligent remark. + +"He is going to sleep again!" cried Goneril, stopping her lunch in +despair. "He is going to sleep, and there are no end of things I want to +know. Angiolino!" + +"Sissignora," murmured the boy. + +"Tell me about Signor Graziano." + +"He is our padrone; he is never here." + +"But he is coming to-day. Wake up, Angiolino. I tell you he is on the +way!" + +"Between life and death there are so many combinations," drawled the +boy, with Tuscan incredulity and sententiousness. + +"Ah!" cried the girl, with a little shiver of impatience. "Is he young?" + +"Che!" + +"Is he old, then?" + +"Neppure!" + +"What is he like? He must be _something_." + +"He's our padrone," repeated Angiolino, in whose imagination Signor +Graziano could occupy no other place. + +"How stupid you are!" exclaimed the young English girl. + +"May be," said Angiolino stolidly. + +"Is he a good padrone? do you like him?" + +"Rather!" The boy smiled, and raised himself on one elbow; his eyes +twinkled with good-humored malice. + +"My Babbo has much better wine than _quel signore_," he said. + +"But that is wrong!" cried Goneril, quite shocked. + +"Who knows?" + +After this, conversation flagged. Goneril tried to imagine what a great +musician could be like: long hair, of course; her imagination did not +get much beyond the hair. He would, of course, be much older now than +his portrait. Then she watched Angiolino cutting the corn, and learned +how to tie the swathes together. She was occupied in this useful +employment when the noise of wheels made them both stop and look over +the wall. + +"Here's the padrone!" cried the boy. + +"Oh, he is old!" said Goneril; "he is old and brown, like a +coffee-bean." + +"To be old and good is better than youth with malice," suggested +Angiolino, by way of consolation. + +"I suppose so," acquiesced Goneril. + +Nevertheless she went in to dinner a little disappointed. + +The signorino was not in the house; he had gone up to the villa. But he +had sent a message that later in the evening he intended to pay his +respects to old friends. Madame Petrucci was beautifully dressed in soft +black silk, old lace, and a white Indian shawl. Miss Prunty had on her +starchiest collar and most formal tie. Goneril saw it was necessary that +she, likewise, should deck herself in her best. She was too young and +impressionable not to be influenced by the flutter of excitement and +interest which filled the whole of the little cottage. Goneril, too, was +excited and anxious, although Signor Graziano had seemed so old and +like a coffee-bean. She made no progress in the piece of embroidery she +was working as a present for the two old ladies; jumping up and down to +look out of the window. When, about eight o'clock, the door-bell rang, +Goneril blushed, Madame Petrucci gave a pretty little shriek, Miss +Prunty jumped up and rang for the coffee. A moment afterwards the +signorino entered. While he was greeting her hostesses, Goneril cast a +rapid glance at him. He was tall for an Italian; rather bent and rather +grey; fifty at least, therefore very old. He certainly was brown, but +his features were fine and good, and he had a distinguished and +benevolent air that somehow made her think of an abbe, a French abbe of +the last century. She could quite imagine him saying "Enfant de St. +Louis; montez au ciel!" + +Thus far had she got in her meditations, when she felt herself addressed +in clear, half-mocking tones-- + +"And how, this evening, is Madamigella Ruth?" + +So he had seen her this evening, binding his corn. + +"I am quite well, padrone," she said, smiling shyly. + +The two old ladies looked on amazed, for of course they were not in the +secret. + +"Signor Graziano, Miss Goneril Hamelyn," said Miss Prunty, rather +severely. + +Goneril felt that the time was come for silence and good manners. She +sat quite quiet over her embroidery, listening to the talk of Sontag, +of Clementi, of musicians and singers dead and gone. She noticed that +the ladies treated Signor Graziano with the utmost reverence; even the +positive Miss Prunty furling her opinions in deference to his gayest +hint. They talked, too, of Madame Lilli; and always as if she were still +young and fair, as if she had died yesterday, leaving the echo of her +triumph loud behind her. And yet all this had happened years before +Goneril had ever seen the light. + +"Mees Goneril is feeling very young!" said the signorino, suddenly +turning his sharp kind eyes upon her. + +"Yes," said Goneril, all confusion. + +Madame Petrucci looked almost annoyed; the gay serene little lady that +nothing ever annoyed. + +"It is she that is young!" she cried, in answer to an unspoken thought. +"She is a baby!" + +"Oh, I am seventeen!" said Goneril. + +They all laughed, and seemed at ease again. + +"Yes, yes; she is very young," said the signorino. + +But a little shadow had fallen across their placid entertainment. The +spirit had left their memories; they seemed to have grown shapeless, +dusty, as the fresh and comely faces of dead Etruscan kings crumble into +mould at the touch of the pitiless sunshine. + +"Signorino," said Madame Petrucci, presently, "if you will accompany me, +we will perform one of your charming melodies." + +Signor Graziano rose, a little stiffly, and led the pretty withered +little Diva to the piano. + +Goneril looked on, wondering, admiring. The signorino's thin white hands +made a delicate fluent melody, reminding her of running water under the +rippled shade of trees, and, like a high, sweet bird, the thin, +penetrating notes of the singer rose, swelled, and died away, admirably +true and just, even in this latter weakness. At the end, Signor Graziano +stopped his playing to give time for an elaborate cadenza. Suddenly +Madame Petrucci gasped, a sharp, discordant sound cracked the delicate +finish of her singing. She put her handkerchief to her mouth. + +"Bah!" she said, "this evening I am abominably husky." + +The tears rose to Goneril's eyes. Was it so hard to grow old? This doubt +made her voice loudest of all in the chorus of mutual praise and thanks +which covered the song's abrupt finale. + +And then there came a terrible ordeal. Miss Prunty, anxious to divert +the current of her friend's ideas, suggested that the girl should sing. +Signor Graziano and madame insisted; they would take no refusal. + +"Sing, sing, little bird!" cried the old lady. + +"But, madame, how can one--after you?" + +The homage in the young girl's voice made the little Diva more +good-humouredly insistant than before, and Goneril was too well-bred to +make a fuss. She stood by the piano wondering which to choose, the +Handels that she always drawled, or the Pinsuti that she always +galloped. Suddenly she came by an inspiration. + +"Madame," she pleaded, "may I sing one of Angiolino's songs?" + +"Whatever you like, cara mia." + +And standing by the piano, her arms hanging loose, she began a chant +such as the peasants use working under the olives. Her voice was small +and deep, with a peculiar thick sweetness that suited the song, +half-humorous, half-pathetic. These were the words she sang:-- + + Vorrei morir di morte piccinina, + Morta la sera e viva la mattina. + Vorrei morire, e non vorrei morire, + Vorrei veder, chi mi piange e chi lide; + Vorrei morir, e star sulle finestre, + Vorrei veder chi mi cuce la veste; + Vorrei morir, e stare sulla scala, + Vorrei veder chi mi porta la bara; + Vorrei morir, e vorre' alzar la voce, + Vorrei veder chi mi parta la croce. + +"Very well chosen, my dear," said Miss Prunty, when the song was +finished. + +"And very well sung, my Gonerilla!" cried the old lady. + +But the signorino went up to the piano and shook hands with her. + +"Little Mees Goneril," he said, "you have the makings of an artist." + +The two old ladies stared, for after all Goneril's performance had been +very simple. You see they were better versed in music than in human +nature. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +SI VIEILLESSE POUVAIT! + + +Signor Graziano's usual week of holiday passed and lengthened into +almost two months, and still he stayed on at the villa. The two old +ladies were highly delighted. + +"At last he has taken my advice!" cried Miss Prunty. "I always told him +those premature grey hairs came from late hours and Roman air." + +Madame Petrucci shook her head and gave a meaning smile. Her friendship +with the signorino had begun when he was a lad and she a charming +married woman; like many another friendship, it had begun with a +flirtation, and perhaps (who knows?) she thought the flirtation had +revived. + +As for Goneril, she considered him the most charming old man she had +ever known, and liked nothing so much as to go out a walk with him. +That, indeed, was one of the signorino's pleasures; he loved to take the +young girl all over his gardens and vineyards, talking to her in the +amiable, half-petting, half-mocking manner that he had adopted from the +first. And twice a week he gave her a music lesson. + +"She has a splendid organ!" he would say. + +"Vous croyez?" fluted Madame Petrucci with the vilest accent and the +most aggravating smile imaginable. + +It was the one hobby of the signorino's that she regarded with +disrespect. + +Goneril, too, was a little bored by the music lesson; but, on the other +hand, the walks delighted her. + +One day Goneril was out with her friend. + +"Are the peasants very much afraid of you, signore?" she asked. + +"Am I such a tyrant?" counter-questioned the signorino. + +"No; but they are always begging me to ask you things. Angiolino wants +to know if he may go for three days to see his uncle at Fiesole." + +"Of course" + +"But why, then, don't they ask you themselves? Is it they think me so +cheeky?" + +"Perhaps they think I can refuse you nothing." + +"Che! In that case they would ask Madame Petrucci." + +Goneril ran on to pick some china roses. The signorino stopped +confounded. + +"It is impossible!" he cried; "she cannot think I am in love with +Giulia! She cannot think I am so old as that!" + +The idea seemed horrible to him. He walked on very quickly till he came +to Goneril, who was busy plucking roses in a hedge. + +"For whom are those flowers?" he asked. + +"Some are for you, and some are for Madame Petrucci." + +"She is a charming woman, Madame Petrucci." + +"A dear old lady," murmured Goneril, much interested in her posy. + +"Old do you call her?" said the signorino rather anxiously. "I should +scarcely call her that, though of course she is a good deal older than +either of us." + +"Either of us!" Goneril looked up astounded. Could the signorino have +suddenly gone mad? + +He blushed a little under his brown skin, that had reminded her of a +coffee-bean. + +"She is a good ten years older than I am," he explained. + +"Ah well, ten years isn't much." + +"You don't think so?" he cried delighted. Who knows, she might not think +even thirty too much. + +"Not at that age," said Goneril blandly. + +Signor Graziano could think of no reply. + +But from that day one might have dated a certain assumption of +youthfulness in his manners. At cards it was always the signorino and +Goneril against the two elder ladies; in his conversation, too, it was +to the young girl that he constantly appealed, as if she were his +natural companion--she, and not his friends of thirty years. Madame +Petrucci, always serene and kind, took no notice of these little +changes, but they were particularly irritating to Miss Prunty, who was, +after all, only four years older than the signorino. That lady had, +indeed, become more than usually sharp and foreboding. She received the +signorino's gay effusions in ominous silence, and would frown darkly +while Madame Petrucci petted her "little bird," as she called Goneril. +Once indeed Miss Prunty was heard to remark it was tempting Providence +to have dealings with a creature whose very name was a synonym for +ingratitude. But the elder lady only smiled, and declared that her +Gonerilla was charming, delicious, a real sunshine in the house. + +"Now I call on you to support me, signorino," she cried one evening, +when the three elders sat together in the room while Goneril watered the +roses on the terrace. "Is not my Goneril a charming little bebe?" + +Signor Graziano withdrew his eyes from the window. + +"Most charming, certainly; but scarcely such a child. She is seventeen, +you know, my dear signora." + +"Seventeen! Santo Dio! And what is one at seventeen but an innocent, +playful, charming little kitten?" + +"You are always right, madame," agreed the signorino; but he looked as +if he thought she were very wrong. + +"Of course I am right," laughed the little lady. "Come here my +Gonerilla, and hold my skein for me. Signor Graziano is going to charm +us with one of his delightful airs." + +"I hoped she would sing," faltered the signorino. + +"Who? Gonerilla? Nonsense, my friend. She winds silk much better than +she sings." + +Goneril laughed. She was not at all offended. But Signor Graziano made +several mistakes in his playing. At last he left the piano. "I cannot +play tonight," he cried. "I am not in the humour. Goneril, will you come +and walk with me on the terrace?" + +Before the girl could reply Miss Prunty had darted an angry glance at +Signor Graziano. + +"Good Lord, what fools men are!" she ejaculated. "And do you think, now, +I'm going to let that girl, who's but just getting rid of her malaria, +go star-gazing with any old idiot while all the mists are curling out of +the valleys?" + +"Brigida, my love, you forget yourself," said Madame Petrucci. + +"Bah!" cried the signorino. He was evidently out of temper. + +The little lady hastened to smooth the troubled waters. "Talking of +malaria," she began in her serenest manner, "I always remember what my +dearest Madame Lilli told me. It was at one of Prince Teano's concerts. +You remember, signorino?" + +"Che! How should I remember," he exclaimed. "It is a lifetime ago, dead +and forgotten." + +The old lady shrank, as if a glass of water had been rudely thrown in +her face. She said nothing, staring blindly. + +"Go to bed, Goneril!" cried Miss Prunty in a voice of thunder. + + * * * * * + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +BIRDS OF A FEATHER. + + +A few mornings after these events the postman brought a letter for +Goneril. This was such a rare occurrence that she blushed rose red at +the very sight of it, and had to walk up and down the terrace several +times before she felt calm enough to read it. Then she went upstairs and +knocked at the door of Madame Petrucci's room. + +"Come in, little bird." + +The old lady, in pink merino and curl-papers, opened the door. Goneril +held up her letter. + +"My cousin Jack is coming to Florence, and he is going to walk over to +see me this afternoon. And may he stay to dinner, cara signora?" + +"Why, of course, Gonerilla. I am charmed!" + +Goneril kissed the old lady, and danced downstairs brimming over with +delight. + +Later in the morning Signor Graziano called. + +"Will you come out with me, Mees Goneril," he said; "on my land the +earliest vintage begins to-day." + +"Oh, how nice!" she cried. + +"Come, then," said the signorino, smiling. + +"Oh, I can't come to-day, because of Jack." + +"Jack?" + +"My cousin: he may come any time." + +"Your cousin?" the signorino frowned a little. "Ah, you English," he +said, "you consider all your cousins brothers and sisters!" + +Goneril laughed. + +"Is it not so?" he asked a little anxiously. + +"Jack is much nicer than my brothers," said the young girl. + +"And who is he, this Jack?" + +"He's a dear boy," said Goneril, "and very clever; he is going home for +the Indian Civil Service Exam; he has been out to Calcutta to see my +father." + +The signorino did not pay any attention to the latter part of this +description, but he appeared to find the beginning very satisfactory. + +"So he is only a boy," he muttered to himself, and went away +comparatively satisfied. + +Goneril spent most of the day watching the road from Florence. She might +not walk on the highway, but a steep short-cut that joined the main road +at the bottom of the hill was quite at her disposal She walked up and +down for more than an hour. At last she saw some one on the Florence +road. She walked on quickly. It was the telegraph-boy. + +She tore open the envelope and read: "Venice.--Exam. on Wednesday. +Start at once. _A rivederci._" + +It was with very red eyes that Goneril went in to dinner. + +"So the cousin hasn't come," said Miss Prunty kindly. + +"No; he had to go home at once for his examination." + +"I dare say he'll come over again soon, my dear," said that +discriminating lady. She had quite taken Goneril back into her good +graces. + +They all sat together in the little parlour after dinner. At eight +o'clock the door-bell rang. It was now seven weeks since Goneril had +blushed with excitement when first she heard that ring; and now she did +not blush. + +The signorino entered. He walked very straight, and his lips were set. +He came in with the air of one prepared to encounter opposition. + +"Mees Goneril," he said, "will you come out on the terrace?--before it +is too late," he added, with a savage glance at Miss Prunty. + +"Yes," said Goneril, and they went out together. + +"So the cousin did not come?" said the signorino. + +"No." + +They went on a little way in silence together. The night was moonlit and +clear; not a wind stirred the leaves; the sky was like a sapphire, +containing but not shedding light. The late oleanders smelt very sweet; +the moon was so full that one could distinguish the peculiar +greyish-pink of the blossoms. + +"It is a lovely night!" said Goneril. + +"And a lovely place." + +"Yes." + +Then a bird sang. + +"You have been here just eight weeks," said the signorino. + +"I have been very happy." + +He did not speak for a minute or two, and then he said:-- + +"Would you like to live here always?" + +"Ah, yes! But that is impossible." + +He took her hand and turned her gently so that her face was in the +light. + +"Dear Mees Goneril, why is it impossible?" + +For a moment the young girl did not answer. She blushed very red and +looked brave. + +"Because of Jack!" she said. + +"Ah!" + +"Nothing is settled," added the young girl, "but it is no use pretending +not to know!" + +"It is no use," he repeated very sadly. + +And then for a little while they listened to the bird. + +"Mees Goneril," said the signorino at last, "do you know why I brought +you out here?" + +"Not at all," she answered. + +It was a minute before he spoke again. + +"I am going to Rome to-morrow," he said, "and I wanted to bid you +good-bye. You will sing to me to-night, as it will be the last time?" + +"Oh, I hope not the last time!" + +"Yes, yes," he said a little testily; "unless--and I pray it may not be +so--unless you ever need the help of an old friend." + +"Dear Signor Graziano!" + +"And now you will sing me my 'Nobil Amore'?" + +"I will do anything you like!" + +The signorino sighed and looked at her for a minute. Then he led her +into the little parlour where Madame Petrucci was singing shrilly in the +twilight. + +A. MARY F. ROBINSON. + + + + + +OUT OF THE SEASON. + + +"But why not? There isn't a soul in London--who's to see? What harm is +there in it?" + +"Oh, none of course--a cup of tea is a cup of tea, and whether you drink +it here or there, what matter!--only--well, the thing I think of is, +would Rowley mind?" + +"Mind his own business, I should say, rather I That's what they have to +swear to do in the marriage service, haven't they?" + +The lady to whom this question was addressed, Mrs. Rowley Dacres, shook +her head reprovingly. She was young and very pretty; and Teddy +Vere--known among certain of his friends as the Fledgeling--was not +averse to seeing her make a pretence of being angry. + +"Don't let me hear you speak so flippantly of matrimony," she began +severely; "and for your future edification, it is not the man but the +_woman_ who swears to obey." + +"Then why in Heaven's name don't you do as I bid you?" + +"As _you_ bid me! Come, that's rather strong form, I must say! You're +not Rowley, are you?" + +"No, worse luck for me, I'm not," and the good-looking fair face put on +such an intensely woebegone expression that the resolution of the +beholder gave way. + +Poor boy! it really was dreadfully unlucky that be should be so +desperately in love with her, more especially since Rowley had taken to +be absurdly jealous of him, as if--now that she was married--she could +ever think seriously of anybody. Only after you'd been brought up--to +cut your teeth, as one might say--flirting, well, it was just a little +bit hard to give it up at twenty-three. Besides, it wasn't as if she +meant anything--except in Rowley's case she never had; and as far as +Teddy went, scores of mothers had said before her, dozens of times, that +they were only too delighted to see their sons attach themselves to a +married lady--it kept them out of harm's way; so that instead of +mischief, it was a service she was doing Teddy. The two had been of the +same party during Goodwood week. Teddy had joined them after on board +Lord Datchett's yacht at Cowes; and, his leave up, and he forced to stop +in London during the end of August, what more natural than that when she +came up to town for a few days' shopping, Teddy should offer to act +escort to her?--it was such a pleasure to him, poor fellow! And as there +wasn't a single soul left to see them, what harm could there be! + +Notwithstanding, the little lady never lost sight of propriety--Garden +was always near enough for her to be able to say, "I've my maid with +me;" and added to this, "Bella Chetwode was in town, very much occupied +it's true, but still that same staunch friend, always good at a pinch, +who, if told that you had been met going to see her, invariably answered +that she expected you. Life is full of surprises, and if one is armed at +all points matters go on so much more smoothly." + +Now it happened that on the previous evening Teddy had shown visible +signs of becoming unruly. He didn't see why he should be sent away. Why +could he not stop--stop and have dinner with her? + +"Why? Because, in the first place, it wouldn't do; and in the second--I +forgot though," she said; "being a man, I ought to have reversed the +order--there's nothing to give you." + +"That don't matter," said Teddy heroically--"I don't care what I eat." + +"Oh, don't you; but I do--you might be wanting to eat me." + +Teddy threw a look intended to convey that he could conceive no more +delicious morsel. + +"There there, say good-bye and go away, do!" she cried. "I declare +you're beginning to get cannibalish already." + +And in spite of all further entreaties and a goodly show of ill-humour, +which experience had taught him to keep handy for display, Teddy was +forced to obey her command that he should take his departure. + +"I must take care not to let that boy go too far," Nina reflected when +he had gone. "He wants his paces pulled up now and then, or else he'll +get trying to kick over. However, it's only for a day or two, and then I +shall be off; and by next season--Oh, he'll have forgotten me, I +daresay." + +She did not "daresay" anything of the sort--there was a deal too much +vanity in her composition to willingly give up any homage that had once +been offered to her; but the supposition served as a salve for her +conscience, which in the matter was not altogether easy, for in her +letters to Rowley, and she wrote to him every day, she had never said a +single syllable of having seen Teddy. It was not that she had any wish +to be sly with him; but, reasoning in her own way--what good was there +in telling any one things which would make them uneasy, and Rowley was +such a good fellow, so wrapt up in and devoted to her,--he'd be wretched +if she told him that Teddy was in town and came to see her every day. +No; where ignorance was bliss it was folly to let it interfere with +fishing; much better let Rowley continue in peace and tranquillity; and +on Saturday he and she were to join each other at the Twyford Junction, +on their way to Scotland to pay a heap of visits together, some new +gowns for which had brought her to London; and her face softened with a +smile that flitted across it as she assured herself that ten minutes +with Rowley would make her forget the existence of Teddy. Poor +infatuated boy! + +Possibly Mrs. Dacres' velvety brown eyes would have opened a trifle +wider could she have followed the footsteps of her devoted admirer. +Teddy, wise in his generation, made the provision of a consolation a +matter of principle; therefore when the door closed behind him at one +house, he quickly hailed a hansom which should take him to another, +where he would not only be welcomed, but instead of having to beg for a +dinner he would be begged to eat one. Matters turned out as he premised, +and he only picked up his grievance against Nina the next day when he +was urging her that they should go to his rooms and have tea. + +When this proposition was started Teddy wasn't particularly keen as to +whether she came or whether she did not; but, ill luck would have it, +Nina chose that very opportunity for asserting her dignity--and after +that the question of the tea became a question of who should be +conqueror. + +"If I give in again, I'll be hanged," said Teddy to himself, and he +brought to bear the various resources he was master of with such effect +that Nina, driven into a corner, was fairly beaten and confessed to +herself that it served her right--"he's been allowed to go too far, and +this is the upshot of it." + +She made these reflections however with a face that told no tales, +stepped into a hansom with a pretty air of being overruled by a will +stronger than her own, and only insisted on keeping up her ungainly +sized parasol because "the sun in one's eyes is so disagreeable." + +Now, as chance would have it, instead of fishing in the country, +Captain Rowley Dacres was spending that day in London. Circumstances had +brought him to town early in the morning; but, to his discredit do I +tell it, he hated shopping, and hadn't Nina told him in every letter she +sent that she was with the dressmaker every hour of the day? If he went +home he should have to go with her there, or to some other confounded +place, for so long as a shop was near, Nina would be safe to have +something to buy in it. During those few months they were engaged, what +a purgatory he had gone trough. He was a lover then--he was a husband +now, and he whistled the air of a popular tune known by the name of "Not +for Joe." + +The first few bars had but just escaped him, when who should he stumble +across but an old chum, Nick Walcot, who, hearing that up to seven +o'clock--when he was going to pop in upon Nina--Rowley had nothing to +do, gave a mysterious wink of his eye saying, "All right, old fellow; +I'm going somewhere, and I'll take you." + +The somewhere proved to be a small bijou residence in the neighbourhood +of Thurloe Square; and, arrived at the door, it suddenly struck Rowley +who lived there. + +"Oh come, I say," he began, drawing back a step or two. "I don't half +think this'll do. I'm married now, you see, and I've given up this sort +of society.". + +Nick looked at him with an air of injured surprise. + +"What do you mean?" he asked. "There's nothing against Miss Fisher that +I know of; it's simply that I've been asked to lunch with her, and as I +know she'll have a friend, I take ditto because I'd rather sit down four +than three." Rowley hastened to disabuse any prejudice against Miss +Fisher, whom he felt sure was the very soul of propriety, "Only, don't +you know, women get an idea, and though my little wife's the best sort +in the world, if she got scent that I'd been lunching with an actress +instead of going straight to her, there'd be the very deuce to pay." + +"Fiddle de dee! besides, how is she to know? who's to tell her?" and +before there was time to answer, a vigorous pull was given to the bell. + +"Confound this fellow; I wish I'd gone straight off to Nina. What a fool +I am!" These were the reflections of Captain Dacres as he followed his +friend into the presence of Miss Fisher, who received him with easy +cordiality. + +"Good gracious on me! Captain Dacres," she said, "what a time it is +since I've seen you, to be sure; I took it for granted you were dead." + +"Dead!" repeated Nick Walcot. "Why he's married; didn't you know?" + +"Oh, it's about the same to me," laughed the lady, and then tilting +herself back in her chair so that her voice might reach the further room +more easily, she called, "Doady I say, come in here--there's a surprise +for you." + +And in answer to the summons a young lady appeared, who threw herself +into a dramatic attitude exclaiming, "What! Captain Dacres? Well I +never! Why--who'd a thought of seeing you?" + +Certainly it was not Captain Dacres who had anticipated that pleasure, +for while responding with the best grace he could command to the chaff +and banter which began to be darted at him, he was consigning Miss +Fisher, and more especially the effusive Doady, to every depth between +this world and the one below. + +The announcement of luncheon opened a more cheerful vista. "Here I am, +and I must make the best of it," thought Rowley following, in company +with Doady, Nick Walcot and Miss Fisher. "But if ever anything of the +sort happens again may I be tarred and feathered. To think I ever +thought this woman pretty, and to fancy that to this day Nina is jealous +of her." + +The luncheon, commenced at an unusually late hour, took a long time +getting through; the two ladies were excellent company, and +notwithstanding the invectives he had indulged in, five o'clock struck +very quickly. Then it was discovered that everybody was going the same +way, and it ended with two hansoms being called. Miss Fisher and Nick +Walcot got into one, Captain Rowley and Doady Donne occupied the other. + +"How tiresome the sun is, let me put up your parasol?" said our friend +Rowley, with evident anxiety to screen her; but Doady begged he wouldn't +trouble. + +"I don't mind the sun a bit," she said. "And I'm not in the least +afraid of any one seeing me, since you've married you've grown so very +respectable." + +"Confound her," ejaculated Rowley mentally, and he congratulated himself +on the emptiness of London, resolving to keep his head well back and sit +a little on one side as they went through Piccadilly. Doady asked a +question about some friend in whom she had formerly felt an interest; +this led to past reminiscences and the telling of some good story, over +which Rowley was still laughing when there came a crash, followed by a +bump and a swaying forward and back. "Hang the fellow, he's run into +another hansom!" + +In an instant Rowley had dexterously jumped out on to the pavement; the +occupant of the other hansom, whose wheel was locked into theirs, +obeying the same instinct, had done the same. + +"Why, if ain't Teddy Vere. Oh my!" ejaculated one feminine voice +shrilly, while from under a red parasol, still open, another groaned, +"Rowley! it can't be! Oh, what will become of me?" + +Self-preservation is the first law of nature; the woman who hesitates is +lost. Before another minute had passed Nina was out of one cab and into +another close by. + +"Drive off as fast as you can--never mind where! I'll tell you when we +get further on," and five minutes later she gave the cabman the address +of Mrs. Chetwode's house. + +Bursting into the room she cried, "Oh, Bella, such a horrible thing has +occurred! Do help me." And she told her the whole story, ending by +saying, "I left word at home, when I went out, that I was going to see +you." + +Mrs. Chetwode said something by way of calming her, and then she rang +the bell. + +"Tell Martin to go to Mrs. Dacres', and say she will not return to +dinner, I've prevailed on her to stop with me. Now, my dear, try and +keep calm and put on the best face you can, and we must trust to +Providence to help us through." + +"But suppose he saw me" + +"Oh, no, we'll suppose he didn't see you; and I think you may trust to +Teddy--he's got his head screwed on the right way." + +Nina wiped away the tears which had flowed over. "Nothing can excuse me +for being so imprudent," she said with a half sob; "all the time I knew +how wrong it was of me; and the worst is, Bella, I didn't care." + +"Didn't care! How?" + +"I mean I didn't care for Teddy. What could a boy like that possibly be +to me? Why, of course I love Rowley dearly--more than I could tell you; +and to think I should risk it all in this stupid way. Oh! it's my +abominable vanity; that's what it is. Aunt Jane always said it would be +my ruin, and so it will be--after this, you see, Rowley will believe +anything of me? Oh, Bella, what shall I do? I shall die." + +"Well, my dear, it's the best thing that could happen to you if you are +going to behave in this absurd manner." Mrs. Chetwode saw that strong +measures must be resorted to; she quite intended reading Nina a lecture; +but the time to do so was not now. "There's no doubt but that you _have_ +been imprudent, _very_; but if I am to help you it's not by letting you +sit there and cry." + +"Wh--at do you wish me to do?" + +"To dry your eyes and come down with me to dinner and chat away as we +always do. If your husband was going home Martin will bring back word +that he is there, or else he will come here and fetch you." + +"You took the message?" Mrs. Chetwode asked as the two ladies descended +to dinner. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Really, Nina, I ought to have ordered a better dinner for you." + +"Oh, I'm not a bit hungry." + +"But you ought to be after going about so much as we have to-day. +By-the-by, how did you decide about that hat I saw; do you think it will +suit you? Describe it to me." + +Forced to answer, Nina was trotted by her friend from one subject of +toilette to the other, until in the midst of a got-up argument +concerning trimmings, there came a thundering knock at the door. + +"Dear bless me! What a late visitor! Who can it be? Martin, just go out +and look--never mind the door," and Mrs. Chetwode jumped up and stood +so that she could hear the inquiry: "Is Mrs. Dacres here?" + +"Yes, sir, the ladies are at dinner." + +"Oh! Ah!" + +"Captain Dacres, is that you?" Bella had run out to meet him. "Why, what +a surprise--Nina, fancy, here's your husband, dear," and she preceded +Rowley back into the dining-room. + +"Rowley!" For her life Nina couldn't say more--every atom of colour had +forsaken her. + +"My dear child, have I frightened you? I'm so sorry, but I found after +all I had to come to town. Carne has made such an awful mess about the +gun he was to get for me, and so I didn't write. I thought I'd surprise +you." + +Nina laughed out like a boisterous child. "What a silly thing I am," she +said, "I was afraid something had happened." + +Rowley put his arm round her, for though she was laughing, her voice +sounded like crying all the time. + +Under other circumstances he might have been more struck with the little +embarrassment which she could not perfectly control, but at the moment +he was not quite himself either. That impudent Doady Donne had played a +shameful hoax on him, had actually had the audacity to declare that she +had seen his wife--Nina, Mrs. Dacres--in Teddy Vere's hansom! He hadn't +taken what she said very pleasantly, for the bare notion made him +furious, and--though telling himself all the while that he didn't +believe it--until he had found Nina seated with her friend, it was +impossible to feel any security. + +"'Pon my life, it's too bad!" he was saying mentally. "I don't know what +things are coming to; there ought to be a stop put to it, a line must be +drawn somewhere; and such women oughtn't to be permitted to speak of a +lady in that chaify way." + +While these reflections occupied his mind he was giving scraps of news +to Nina, and answering Mrs. Chetwode, who was frankly saying that she +hadn't a morsel of dinner to give him. + +"But I don't want any, I've only just had a most enormous luncheon." + +"Luncheon! Where?" + +"Why, my dear, at the station--ham, beef, beer--you know--veal pie--that +sort o' thing." + +"Rowley! how could you! You'll be awfully ill, you know." + +"Not a bit of it, not I. I--" but at this moment rat-tat-a-tat-tat went +the knocker. + +Oh! agony--there wasn't a doubt this was Teddy! + +"I say, what a game--here's another visitor!" remarked Captain Dacres +cheerily. + +"One who is expected, I shouldn't wonder." Mrs. Chetwode, as usual, rose +equal to the emergency. "We may as well let the cat out of the bag, +Nina, and tell him.--We've got a young man coming to take us to the +play," and turning to Martin she said, "Show him into the boudoir if +that's Mr. Vere." + +"Mr. Vere! What, Teddy! Here, stop, I'll open the door!" exclaimed +Rowley hastily "Don't you go" + +"But why?" interposed Mrs. Chetwode amazedly. + +"Because it's interrupting you so awfully in your dinner. No, no, we'll +go up stairs together--it'll be all right you'll see" + +He was already in the hall, had opened the door--their voices, laughing +it seemed--sounded together. + +"What can it mean?" said Nina anxiously + +"Never mind, one thing is certain--he didn't see you" + +"Perhaps it's the beer--he seems a little excited, don't you think?" + +"I'm not going to leave them together Teddy," called out Mrs. Chetwode, +"come in here. Have you brought tickets for the comedy?" + +"Tickets, eh?" + +"Oh, it's no use disguising; we've--" + +"No, no!" broke in Rowley, "not a bit, I know all about it, old fellow; +they've told me what you've come to do--I'll go with you. By Jove, +capital idea! Ha, ha." + +"Oh, it must be the beer," thought Nina, and watching Bella's eye she +tapped her forehead with her finger to indicate that there was no doubt +that Rowley's head was slightly affected. + +"Mrs. Chetwode, I'm awfully sorry," began Teddy, "but do you know, I've +made such a mess about the comedy; they aint playing that piece at all +there now. I hope you'll both forgive me." + +"How tiresome! What a naughty boy you are!" said Bella. "Now there's +nothing for us to do." + +"Nothing to do," said Rowley. "Not a bit of it; we ain't going to be +stumped for one failure; we'll go somewhere--where shall it be, Nina, +eh?" + +"Any place you like, dear," so long as I am with you, the big brown eyes +seemed to say; and Rowley, looking back again, thought, "And I could +doubt her--bless her heart, the darling!" while Nina kept repeating, +"This will be a lesson for me as long as I live. Never again, no more +flirtation--never, never, never!" + +Later in the evening when it was decided that they should all go to the +Fisheries, without hesitation as to the other two, Nina and Rowley went +off together. + +"Are we to follow the turtle doves?" said Teddy with sarcasm. + +"As you please," said Bella, "but it doesn't in the least matter--you +know I've a scolding in store for you, Teddy?" + +"No, not now," and he held up his hands pleadingly. + +"Yes, but you've been most imprudent, and it's by the very greatest luck +in the world that Rowley didn't see you. If he had, it would have been +anything but pleasant for Nina." + +"Hm!" and Teddy gave his nose a screw. He was terribly tempted to tell what +he looked on as the very best joke in the world--only--well--no--perhaps +better not--if you once let a thing slip out it often gets spoken of, +nobody knows how; and as Rowley had whispered at the door, "Teddy, I say, +not a word about having seen me before," and he had answered "Honour +bright, old chap; you may trust me," he'd keep the matter dark; only there +was one to score against Miss Doady Donne for telling him last night at +dinner that she was going to play propriety to a friend that day. He hated +a lie without a reason; and as it seemed to him he'd gone quite far enough +in that direction, this would serve as a capital peg to hang a quarrel on. + +"Shall we say good-night?" said Bella. + +"Do you want to get rid of me?" + +"N--no." + +"Oh, I see you do," and he held out his hand to her. + +"Good-night," she began, trying to hold herself very severely, "and let +this little adventure be a lesson to you. All's well that ends well, but +remember _all_ doesn't always end so." + +"Quite true," he said, feigning to have listened penitently." +By-the-way, would you mind repeating that same little sermon to our +friend Rowley?--it might be of service to him. What do I mean?--oh +nothing--only that one good turn deserves another." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tales from Many Sources, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES FROM MANY SOURCES *** + +***** This file should be named 16415.txt or 16415.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/1/16415/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Graeme Mackreth and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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